Smoke still clung to the hills.
The sky hung low and colorless, like it hadn't decided if it wanted to cry or burn. Charred spears, shattered bone, and silence covered what had once been a thriving village. The battle hadn't lasted long. It never does when grown warriors face off against something far worse than men.
And the warriors lost.
What was left of the tribe scattered—panicked, screaming, bloodied. Mothers sprinted into the hills with children. Elders hid. Some chose death over the unknown.
Only a small group made it out alive—barely.
A boy named Jomu led them. His chest was caked in ash, his jaw locked tight. He carried his best friend—Zion—on his back, limp, unconscious, maybe dead. Zion had been hit with something heavy. A rock, maybe. Or worse.
The group was no more than a dozen now. All teenagers. All terrified. And among them was her—the girl with a cold stare and a jagged scar over her collarbone. No one knew her well. Some said she could speak to spirits. Others called her cursed.
No one called her weak.
They didn't speak much as they ran. There was no need. The forest swallowed words. It only allowed breath and footsteps.
Night came fast.
They made camp in a jagged clearing, surrounded by whispering trees and distant howls. Zion's body was laid down near the fire, pale and unmoving. His face was too still.
Jomu sat next to him, knuckles white with guilt.
"We should've died with them," he whispered.
The girl heard him.
"You didn't," she said. "Neither did he. That means something."
Zion didn't dream.
He remembered.
His grandmother's voice from another world. Another life.
"When your back is against the fire, you call Papa Legba."
"When you seek wisdom, whisper to Ayida Wedo."
"When death comes near… show your teeth and laugh like Baron Samedi."
He had laughed. Even when they poisoned him. Even when they threw dirt over his coffin.
You'll come back stronger, she had said.
Now, he woke up in a body that wasn't his, in a world that smelled of blood and smoke, with strangers staring at him like he was a ghost.
And maybe he was.
Zion sat up slowly. The fire popped beside him. Jomu stared, wide-eyed.
"You're alive…"
Zion blinked. His voice was hoarse.
"What happened?"
"We lost. Everyone. They're gone, Zion. All of them."
Silence.
Zion looked at the others. Half-starved teens. No direction. No warriors. No gods.
He closed his eyes.
"Then we find the gods."
They all turned toward him.
"What gods?" someone asked.
Zion stared into the fire. He saw an old woman's eyes flickering in the coals.
"The ones who never forgot us."