Toward the Obsidian Plains
Zion did not return to Nouvo Lakay.
With Thalia at his side, he rode Jakael across sweeping hills and into lands shadowed by ancient clouds. Every day brought them farther from home—and deeper into stories no one in their tribe had yet lived.
Their destination was spoken of only in half-whispers:
Khal T'shuna—the City of the Weaving God.
A civilization ten times the size of Zion's tribe.
Their warriors trained from birth. Their god, a Spider of Shadows, ruled every thread of their lives.
Their power? Discipline, vision, and patience sharpened into steel.
Even from the sky, Zion and Thalia could feel it: a quiet, calculated presence—watching them before they even descended.
A City That Watches
They landed just beyond the outer perimeter of the stone-woven city, where obsidian towers pierced the earth and silk banners whispered ancient hymns in the wind.
Dozens of masked warriors encircled them, every movement precise.
"You walk into a web, strangers," said General N'dara, her voice like glass. "Threads are not meant to be disturbed."
Zion nodded calmly.
"We do not disturb. We offer connection."
Thalia, ever watchful, rested a hand near her waist—but sensed no hostility. Only… evaluation.
The Temple of Silk and Blood
Khal T'shuna was not built like any village Zion had seen. Its walkways hung in layered spirals, each structure connected by glimmering bridges of reinforced spider silk. Beneath their feet, great shadowy pits echoed with the scurrying of beast-sized spiders, revered as divine servants.
The people worshiped Nak'thura, the Spider Oracle—a god who spun the fate of nations and taught that patience could capture the strongest prey.
At the temple's heart, Zion and Thalia met the High Spinner, Matron Ysira, a blind priestess with eight silk cords extending from her spine, each gently pulsing with divine presence.
"Two hearts. Threaded already," she said, eyes closed. "You carry balance—and disruption."
Zion inclined his head.
"We carry only what we're given."
Thalia added softly,
"But we choose how to carry it."
The Matron smiled faintly.
Trial on the Web
As was custom, no outsider was offered alliance without proving their balance. Zion was prepared to stand, but Thalia touched his arm.
"Let me," she said.
She stepped onto the Web of Judgment—a massive living net spun over a bottomless stone pit. Her opponent: a Spider Knight in jointed armor, silent and swift.
The trial was not for brute strength—but for poise, instinct, and adaptability.
Thalia dodged, countered, leapt, used the silk beneath her feet to her advantage. She fell once—only to rebound like a thread pulled taut.
The crowd of Spider Priests watched in respectful silence.
When the match ended, the Knight knelt in recognition.
"She listens," Matron Ysira said. "She learns. That is enough."
Trade of Life and Pattern
Zion then presented what he came to offer: a satchel of seeds—rare plants from Ife'Toro, grown in harmony with the land, offering healing, nourishment, and spiritual clarity.
The Spider Tribe was intrigued. Their own soil, rich in volcanic glass, yielded only harsh war-plants.
In exchange, they offered Memory Silk—threads that could store memory and emotion, used to pass down ancestral knowledge or preserve sacred dreams.
Thalia gasped as she touched one, feeling a rush of childhood laughter, ancient mourning, and a prayer whispered in a language she didn't know.
"Everything leaves a thread," said the Matron. "Even you."
Zion nodded.
"Then may our threads be woven beside yours—not against them."
Far Away — The Choosing
While Zion and Thalia brokered alliances, Nouvo Lakay stood still under the stars.
It was the night of choosing.
Ayomi, chosen by Papa Legba, stood with her eyes closed as the wind split and a key was placed in her hand—the key to crossroads, to voice, to fate.
Sael, bathed in the gentle power of Erzulie Freda, wept not from fear, but from overwhelming love. Her sigil bloomed like morning dew on rose petals.
Ayola, already marked by Baron Samedi, stood between life and death—and smiled as spirits danced around her feet.
The people knelt. The stars shimmered.
Thread and Flame
That night, high above Khal T'shuna, Zion stared into the fire while Thalia quietly leaned against him. Neither spoke.
But he felt it.
A pulse in his chest. A brush of wind not born from sky.
The distant, thunderous hum of gods returning—for a moment.
"It's done," he said quietly. "They've been chosen."
"You miss them?" Thalia asked.
"I trust them," he replied. "But yes."
She was quiet for a while, then reached for his hand.
"We keep walking. And they'll keep building."