Zélie left the volatile domain of Shango and set her sights on Ile-Ife, the spiritual heart of the Yoruba world, the mythical spot where creation began. But first, she needed to gather the two most important remaining Orishas: Yemaya, the mother of waters and seas, and Orunmila, the master of destiny and wisdom.
The journey led her back towards the coast, away from the dry heat of the interior. The atmosphere changed again, the air growing salty and thick with the deep, maternal Ase of the ocean. The "Veil Sickness" here manifested as massive, inexplicable tides and strange, luminescent algae blooms that turned the night waves into ghostly green light.
Yemaya resided not in a grand temple, but in a small, isolated cove where the freshwater river finally embraced the ocean. Zélie found her sitting on a smooth rock, looking out at the vast blue expanse.
Yemaya was everything Zélie imagined: nurturing, powerful, yet steeped in sorrow. She wore a simple white dress trimmed with seven layers of blue fabric, representing the seven seas. Her presence radiated a deep, profound calm that instantly soothed Zélie’s frayed nerves from the encounter with Shango.
"Welcome, little river," Yemaya said, turning slightly. Her eyes held the depth and wisdom of millennia of existence. "The wind told me you were coming. The iron on your neck sings a song of purpose."
Zélie knelt on the sand. "Mother of Waters, the world is sick. The Veil is breaking. I have gathered Ogun, Oya, and Shango—they have agreed to meet at Ile-Ife."
A sad smile touched Yemaya’s lips. "Gathered them, perhaps. United them, never. My children have always been so volatile, so consumed by their own glories and griefs." She gestured to the sea. "Look at the ocean, Zélie. It is vast and powerful, but it knows its boundaries. It maintains the balance. My children, the other Orishas, have forgotten their boundaries. They push and pull until the balance is lost."
"But you remember," Zélie said. "You maintain the balance of life itself."
"I am tired, Zélie," Yemaya whispered, her voice laced with an ancient weariness. "Faith is a fickle thing. I provide life, sustenance, and the very water in your veins, yet my temples are empty. Men turn their backs on the source of life, seeking power in fire and iron." She looked at Zélie, recognizing the latent Ase of her river counterpart, Oshun, the younger, more vibrant water goddess. "You have the spark of Oshun. She is too busy grieving lost love to see the world collapsing around her."
"I need your help, Yemaya," Zélie pleaded. "The gods need a mediator, a grounding force."
Yemaya reached out a hand, and Zélie felt a surge of cool, vital energy flow into her. It wasn't aggressive like Shango's lightning or heavy like Ogun's iron; it was pure life force.
"I will come to Ile-Ife," Yemaya agreed. "Not for my children’s pride, but for humanity. For Ayé. The world deserves a fighting chance, even if its gods are foolish."
"Thank you, Mother," Zélie said, tears welling up in her eyes.
"One more task remains," Yemaya said softly. "The most difficult. Shango brings fire and pride; Ogun brings will and iron; Oya brings the winds of change. You need wisdom, Zélie. You need the master of destiny."
Zélie knew who she meant: Orunmila, the wise one, the keeper of the secrets of Ifa divination, the only one who truly knew the Ori (destiny/head) of every being.
"He is the hardest to find," Yemaya continued. "He does not dwell in a place of power, but in a place of pure thought. Eshu might open the path, but only your inner spirit can walk it. You must find him in the grove of the sixteen sacred palm nuts, at the junction of past, present, and future."
Zélie nodded, understanding that this journey would be less physical and more spiritual. She had fire, iron, and water within her now. She was ready to seek destiny itself.
Zélie returned to the central plains and the historic, bustling city of Ile-Ife. The journey to Orunmila was inward. Mama Tunde guided her to a quiet, secluded grove near the center of the city, away from the noise and the burgeoning chaos of the assembling gods.
In the grove, Zélie sat cross-legged on a mat, facing a simple wooden divination tray (Opon Ifa). On the tray were laid out sixteen sacred palm nuts (ikin).
"Orunmila does not appear because you ask him to," Mama Tunde explained gently. "He appears when the truth is sought with a pure heart. You must perform the divination."
Zélie was no priestess, but the Ase of the gods within her guided her hands. She picked up the palm nuts, her heart beating a steady rhythm. She shook them in her hands and quickly grabbed a handful. She counted how many were left in the other hand. She tapped the powder on the tray, marking the sign, the sacred Odus of Ifa.
She repeated the process, channeling the energy of Yemaya, Ogun, and even the distant Shango. The process was meditative, connecting her not to the physical world, but to the intricate tapestry of fate. The air around her grew thick with wisdom, a weightless but profound presence.
On her twelfth cast, the pattern revealed a complex, profound sign—Odu Ifa. A soft light enveloped the tray. When Zélie looked up, Mama Tunde was gone. In her place sat an old man, peaceful and timeless, his face a map of the world's history. This was Orunmila.
"You seek balance in a world of extremes," Orunmila said, his voice the quiet rustle of the palm nuts themselves. "You carry iron and water, fire and wind."
"I seek the truth of the Veil Sickness," Zélie said, no longer nervous, just focused. "And how to fix it."
"The Veil is not breaking, Zélie," Orunmila corrected gently. "It is thinning. The gods have stepped back, and humanity has forgotten their Ori—their inner destiny, their purpose. Faith is the glue that binds Ayé and Òrún. Without it, the space between the worlds thins, allowing chaos to seep in."
"So the gods need to be present again?"
"Not simply present," Orunmila said. "They must reclaim their duties, not just their titles. Ogun must forge the path of progress in a balanced way, not just war. Shango must judge with wisdom, not just anger. Oshun must nurture life, not just grieve her losses. They must remember their original purpose, as given by Olodumare."
"They are gathering now, at Ile-Ife," Zélie said.
"Then the time is right," Orunmila nodded. He reached out a hand, and the sixteen palm nuts rose from the tray, swirling around Zélie, infusing her with knowledge, perspective, and the power of destiny itself. "I am present. The council is complete. Now, you must make them listen."
Zélie stood, feeling complete. She had sought out the pantheon as a simple human girl. Now she was the Scion, the bridge, imbued with the Ase of the gods themselves.
The council of the Orishas was about to begin, and the fate of the world rested on her ability to
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