Oya stepped fully into the forge, her presence immediately shifting the atmosphere. The heavy, grounded Ase of Ogun was challenged by her wild, dynamic energy. She was stunning and fierce, eyes flashing with the power of a thousand storms. Her double-headed axe was tucked into a sash at her waist.
"Ogun, my dearest rival," Oya retorted, a smirk playing on her lips. "I see you’re keeping up with your favorite hobby: sulking in iron." She turned her intense gaze upon Zélie. "So this is the Scion of the River. Smaller than I expected. Frailer."
Zélie stiffened, instinctively reaching for the gold stone around her neck. "I am Zélie. I am gathering the council at Ile-Ife."
Oya laughed, a sound like dry leaves skittering across pavement in a whirlwind. "A council? The last time we all sat in a room, the sky nearly fell. Shango threw lightning bolts, Ogun sharpened his blade, and Oshun wept enough to flood a city block. It was divine chaos at its finest."
"It is time to organize that chaos," Zélie said firmly, channeling the stability and patience of the earth itself, a quiet power Mama Tunde had described as a necessary counterpoint to Oshun’s flow.
"Eshu has opened the paths," Oya said, swirling a hand and causing a small vortex of dust to spin across the forge floor. "He tells me we have a leader of sorts. I came because the wind carries whispers of the Veil Sickness. It irritates me. My realm—the marketplace, the winds of change, the dead—it is all in disarray."
Ogun wiped his hands on a rag, looking away from Oya. "You come here to mock me, or to join the child’s quest?"
"I am here because my husband, Shango, is being a difficult Abiku," Oya snapped, her humor vanishing instantly, replaced by genuine frustration. "He is reveling in the chaos, claiming the influx of power from the broken Veil is his just due. He is obsessed with reclaiming his ancient glory as a king and a warrior, ignoring the fact that the world itself is dying."
Oya stepped closer to Zélie. "He is in the Old Oyo National Park, where the ruins of his former kingdom stand. He is performing rituals, trying to draw more power from the remnants of his worship. He will not listen to me, his wife, but perhaps he will listen to a neutral party—a child of the water who holds the fire of the forge."
Zélie looked at the two powerful, warring deities standing before her. Ogun, grounded, strong, and resentful. Oya, fierce, dynamic, and stressed.
"I need Ogun to agree to attend without starting a war," Zélie said.
Ogun crossed his massive arms over his chest. "I will be present at Ile-Ife. I have given my word. A god's word is law, even in exile."
Oya nodded, a look of respect passing briefly between the two ancient rivals. "Then I will meet you there, Zélie, once my husband sees reason."
Oya turned, the wind whipping around her, pulling the corrugated iron walls of the shed taut. In a burst of swirling color and motion, she was gone, leaving only the sound of a distant, rising gale.
Ogun stared at the empty doorway. "Shango is a problem," he murmured to Zélie. "His pride is bigger than the sky. Be careful, little Scion. Fire and thunder are powerful things. They destroy as much as they create."
"I will be careful," Zélie promised. She looked at the iron stone around her neck. It was warm now, buzzing with a quiet energy that felt like resilience. She was ready to face the thunder king. The path forward was clear, and it led straight into the heart of the storm.
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