Chapter 51 – Louvè Baryè (A Haitian Creole word, means open the gate )
Naëlle's hands trembled.
Not from fear—but from urgency.
Peterson's weight dragged against her shoulder as she half-carried, half-dragged him backward across the cracked ground. His breaths were shallow now, uneven, his body still twitching from the backlash of the Midnight King's partial power.
"Stay with me," she whispered desperately. "Please… just stay awake."
Blood stained his shirt. His eyes fluttered, barely open.
The footsteps behind them grew closer.
Afre laughed. Not loudly. Calmly. Like a hunter who knew the prey had nowhere left to run.
"You really think prayer is faster than us?" he called out.
Naëlle stopped.
Right there—between fear and faith.
She lowered Peterson gently onto the ground, kneeling beside him. Her heart slammed against her ribs as she placed both palms together, fingers interlocked, forehead bowing low.
Her voice came out steady.
Clear.
Ancient.
"Oh! Great Papa Legba," she chanted, eyes closed, soul open,
"you who know all routes,
you who stand at every crossroads,
you who are master of gates and keeper of paths…"
The air changed.
Wind died.
Sound thinned.
Even Afre stopped walking.
Naëlle continued, voice growing stronger.
"Grant your humble servant this wish.
Open the way where there is none.
Protect the one who walks with fate on his back."
She lifted her hands slowly.
"Papa Legba… Louvè Baryè."
The ground beneath her palms answered.
Water burst forth—not splashing, not chaotic—but controlled. Spiraling upward like liquid glass, glowing faintly blue, then white, then something deeper that shimmered like moonlight on the sea.
The water twisted into a perfect circle.
A gate.
Afre's smile vanished instantly.
"…That's not a standard portal," he muttered.
Ravena's eyes narrowed. "Papa Legba's mark. This is a private route."
The gate widened.
Naëlle didn't hesitate.
She hooked her arms under Peterson's shoulders, summoned what strength she had left, and pulled him toward it.
"Sorry," she whispered to the world. "We're coming through."
She jumped.
Water swallowed them whole.
The sensation was not falling—but passing. Like slipping through memory itself. Pressure wrapped around them, warm and heavy, muffling sound, slowing time.
Naëlle emerged on the other side with a gasp, collapsing to one knee as water splashed outward onto stone.
The Loa's world breathed around her.
She barely had time to look.
She dragged Peterson farther from the gate, chest heaving, arms burning.
Behind them—
Afre and Ravena charged into the portal.
They hit an invisible wall.
Hard.
The water gate rejected them.
A shockwave rippled outward, throwing both of them back several steps.
"What!?" Afre snarled.
Ravena pressed her palm against the barrier, purple energy flaring. It didn't budge.
"…Papa Legba," she said slowly. "He locked it."
Afre growled. "Then open another."
Red energy surged beneath their feet.
A new circle began forming.
Naëlle saw it.
Her heart dropped.
"No—no, no, no…"
She turned back to Peterson, panic rising. His breathing was worse now. Shallow. Weak.
What if they open their own gate?
What if they come through anyway?
What if I'm not enough?
Her hands shook.
Then she clenched them.
Her fear hardened into resolve.
Naëlle stood.
She turned her back to the forming red gate and faced the open space ahead of her. Her shoulders squared. Her breathing steadied.
"Papa Legba," she whispered, voice low but fierce,
"you gave me the path… now give me the strength to stand on it."
She raised her arms.
Water surged from the ground, the air, the unseen currents of the world itself. It wrapped around her forearms, climbing upward, spiraling into shape.
Armor.
Not heavy.
Not rigid.
Flowing—like living tide.
Liquid plates formed across her shoulders, chest, and legs, shimmering with layered runes that pulsed softly with blue-white light. The water hardened where it needed to, softened where it must.
Power settled into her bones.
Two shapes formed in her hands.
Guns—but not metal.
Forged of condensed water, glowing faintly, runes etched along their frames. The barrels shimmered like ocean glass.
Naëlle exhaled slowly.
She glanced back.
Peterson lay against the stone, eyes half-open, watching her.
"I will protect you," she said quietly.
Not a vow.
A fact.
"I will protect you, Peterson Joseph."
The red gate behind her flared brighter.
Figures began to emerge.
Water rolled across her arms.
Her grip tightened.
The crossroads had opened.
And Naëlle Célestin chose her path.
End of Chapter 51.