_POV: Sango
The problem with running into a storm with 8 gods, 6 demigods from other countries, and one very angry cat is that nobody agrees on where to sit.
We were in the back of Kunle's truck. The one he built himself. It had seats, and a forge in the bed, and a cooler full of water, and zero air conditioning. It was 6 AM and already hot. The sky was still doing that thing where it looked normal everywhere except directly above us, where my dad was waiting like a bad sequel.
"So," said Thalia. The Greek girl. Lightning girl. My lightning girl. "This is how you Nigerians do road trips."
"This is how we do war," I said. "Road trips are on weekends."
The Egyptian boy, Khem, was holding Bastet. The cat had not moved from his lap since she hissed at the Storm Emperor and made him flinch. Khem looked proud about it. "Bastet says your father has bad energy," he said. "She also says she wants fish."
"We don't have fish," Dele said from the front. He was driving. Knuckles white on the wheel. "We have plantain."
"Bastet does not eat plantain," Khem said, scandalized.
"Bastet can eat plantain or walk," Dele said.
The Chinese girl, Mei, was painting in the air with her brush. Little dragons were popping out and then disappearing. The Filipino girl, Lani, was talking to the wind and the wind was answering. The Indian boy, Arjun, had not closed his book once.
"This is a lot," Zainab said. She was flipping her coin. It kept landing on heads. "Too many gods in one truck."
"We're not gods," I said. "We're kids with bad job descriptions."
Juma was reading. Out loud. Because apparently that's what you do when the world is ending.
"Before the sky had a name, there was fire that walked," he read. "Before the fire had a throne, there was a man who danced with thunder. This is the Eulogy of Shango."
Everyone got quiet. Even the cat.
"Shango was not born a king," Juma said. "He was born the third son of a farmer. His brothers were clever. His sisters were kind. Shango was loud. He broke pots. He laughed too big. He loved too hard. The village said he had too much sky in him for one body."
Kunle snorted from the passenger seat. "Relatable."
"One day the sky cracked," Juma continued. "Not from war. From hunger. The rains forgot how to fall. The rivers forgot how to run. People were praying to gods who weren't listening, because the gods were also thirsty. So Shango did the stupidest, bravest thing. He climbed the tallest iroko tree and he shouted. Not a prayer. A demand. 'If you are there, answer! If you are not, get out of the way and let me try!'"
Mei's brush paused. Lani stopped talking to the wind.
"The sky answered," Juma said. "With lightning. It struck the tree. It should have killed him. It didn't. It filled him. Fire in his chest. Thunder in his voice. And when he came down, he was not just Shango anymore. He was Shango, the one who carries the storm so others don't have to."
Dele gripped the wheel harder.
"He became king," Juma said. "Not because he wanted to. Because nobody else could hold the lightning without burning. He built a city of drums. Every time it rained, people danced. Every time it didn't, he climbed the roof and danced anyway, to remind the sky how. He had two wives. Oya, who was wind and change. And Osun, who was water and sweetness. They fought. They loved. They made the world make sense."
Tsehay was tying red string around her fingers while she listened.
"But kings get lonely," Juma said. "And lightning gets tired. One night Shango climbed his roof again. The sky was clear. No one needed rain. No one needed thunder. So he looked up and said, 'If I am not needed, then let me go.' And he walked into the storm. And the storm took him. Not as punishment. As thanks. Because some gods don't die. They become weather."
Juma closed the book.
For a long time nobody talked.
Then Bastet meowed.
"That was beautiful," Thalia said quietly. "And also terrifying. So my dad is basically Zeus and yours is basically... Shango's angry cousin?"
"My dad is what happens when Shango forgets how to dance," Dele said. "He just screams."
We drove in silence for a while. The truck hit a pothole and Arjun finally looked up from his book. "According to this, in my tradition, Indra also rides lightning and also has anger issues. We should start a support group."
"I'm in," Thalia said immediately. "First rule of Lightning Dads Club: don't talk about Lightning Dads Club."
That got a laugh. Even from Dele.
The truck slowed. We were at the edge of Lagos. Where the city ends and the sky begins. And there, blocking the road, was the storm.
It wasn't rain. It was a wall.
And in front of the wall were 6 people.
Not my dad. His heralds.
The Greek girl with the trident. Poseidon's kid. She looked miserable.
The Egyptian boy with the ankh. Ra's kid. He was sweating.
The European boy with the small hammer. Thor's cousin. He looked 12.
A Brazilian girl with feathers in her hair.
A Japanese boy with paper charms.
And in the middle, a man in a coat made of clouds. Not the Emperor. His general.
"Dele," the general said. His voice was like static. "Hand him over. Or we take the city."
Dele got out of the truck. We all got out. 14 of us now. Against 6. Plus a storm.
"That's not how this works," Dele said.
The general smiled. "Then show me how it works."
The fight started stupid.
The Brazilian girl threw feathers and they turned into birds. The birds immediately got distracted by Bastet and the whole attack fell apart.
The Japanese boy threw charms and Lani just... talked to them. "Hey. You don't have to do this." The charms floated down and sat in her palm like puppies.
The European kid swung his hammer and hit a rock instead of Kunle, because Kunle built the rock to move.
It was chaos. It was funny. It was also dangerous.
The Greek girl, Poseidon's kid, looked at me. "I don't want to do this," she said. "My dad said if I don't, the ocean dries up."
"Mine said if I don't, people forget," I said. "Wanna not do it together?"
She nodded. And then we both pretended to fight while actually talking about food.
"Have you had jollof?" I asked.
"No."
"We're fixing that after this."
In the middle of it, Dele walked straight through the fight. Straight to the general.
"Where is he?" Dele asked.
"The Emperor is waiting," the general said. "In the eye."
"Good," Dele said. And then he did the thing I was afraid he'd do.
He called lightning.
Not the small stuff. Not the grid stuff.
The real stuff.
The sky opened and came down in his hands.
And for a second, he looked exactly like his father.
The general stepped back. "You're just like him."
"No," Dele said. "I'm like my mom."
And he threw the lightning. Not at the general. At the wall of the storm.
It punched a hole.
Big enough for a truck.
Big enough for us.
"Get in," Dele said. Voice shaking. "We're going to the eye."
We piled in. The other demigods looked at each other, then at us, then got in too.
Even the general. He was too shocked to stop us.
As we drove through the hole, the storm closed behind us.
And inside was quiet.
A perfect circle of clear sky.
And in the middle, a throne made of clouds.
And on it, my father's father.
The Storm Emperor.
He was tall. Taller than I remembered. His coat was the storm. His eyes were the sky before it kills you.
And in his lap was a small wooden carving.
Of a woman.
My mom.
He looked up. Saw Dele.
"You said her name," he said.
"I did," Dele said.
"Then you're ready to learn what it costs."
He stood.
The storm outside roared.
And Bastet jumped out of Khem's lap, walked up to the Emperor, and peed on his throne.
Everyone froze.
Then Arjun said, "Well. That's one way to start a war."
Dele didn't laugh.
But I saw his mouth twitch.
And for the first time since his mom died, he didn't look alone.
Because he had 13 other idiots behind him.
And a cat with no fear.
And a name that meant something.
The Emperor raised his hand.
The storm answered.