The Blood in the Sand
The next tribe Zion and Thalia encountered lived between harsh desert ridges and cliffs carved by wind and war. They called themselves the Red Shields, warriors who lived by the sword and trained their children in the art of survival from the time they could walk.
There were no gods here—not openly. Only ancestral chants, blood rites, and weapons that had tasted more than their share of flesh.
But when Zion and Thalia entered their stronghold, the air changed.
A heat—not of the sun, but something deeper—rose around Thalia. It pressed into her chest. Her fingers twitched. Her breath caught as her eyes glazed for a heartbeat too long.
"Zion…" she said hoarsely. "Something's… calling."
The Pit of Trial
To gain audience with the tribe's leader, both were forced to fight in the Trial Pit—a ceremonial arena surrounded by soldiers who screamed their approval or disdain. Zion fought with precision, reading his enemy and responding like a tide.
Thalia, however, fought like a storm.
Each blow she delivered seemed to echo with something ancient. Her body moved faster than her training should allow. When her opponent fell, the crowd went silent—not from defeat, but from recognition.
The elder chief stepped forward.
"You carry the fire," he said to Thalia. "We know those flames."
The Choosing
That night, Thalia could not sleep. Her skin burned. Her dreams split open.
In them, she stood in an endless forge, surrounded by seven thrones made of bloodied iron. Upon each sat a different face of Ogou:
Ogou Badagri – The war tactician, sharp-eyed and solemn.
Ogou Balenjo – The healer-smith, who cooled blades in water and mended flesh.
Ogou Feray – The furious general, whose sword never dulled and whose wrath knew no equal.
Oggun Balendjo – The protector of the broken, gentle but unyielding.
Ogou Je Rouj – The red-eyed berserker, who danced in blood and laughed in fire.
Ogou 2manyé – The diplomat warrior, who wore silk and steel with equal grace.
Ogou Balizay – The silent guardian of crossroads, whose blade judged without mercy.
They did not speak.
They simply watched her.
Then one by one, they stood and plunged their weapons into the earth at her feet.
The forge roared.
Thalia awoke, soaked in sweat, fists clenched.
At her side, a glowing iron sigil pulsed beneath her skin.
Zion stared, wordless, but his gaze was filled with something between awe and caution.
"You've been chosen," he said.
"By all of them," she whispered. "All seven."
The Fire's Aftermath
The Red Shields bowed to her the next morning—not in submission, but in recognition.
"The Daughter of Iron has returned," said their matron. "We are not yours… but we will honor your fire."
And so, an alliance was forged—not through gifts or politics, but through flame, combat, and destiny.
Zion, quietly watching the change in Thalia, realized something:
The gods were no longer just watching.
They were planting pieces.
And war was not far behind