The prophet no one would hear.
The Niri Eze swears his oath, bowing in disguise,
Rada Rhamirez Loa sees an ally, but I see lightning in his eyes.
Amadioha — I warned the throne, but my words have no appeal,
Mais - of course they don't. Why fear a man who kneels?
Three years served, three years grown,
Blood teaches patience, made Rada Mysters feel like home.
But across the border, Niri stirs — the thunder never sleeps,
Amadioha swears his loyalty, mais the silence runs so deep.
I bring the proof, I lay it at Rada Rhamirez Loa's feet —
"The Niri spirit runs deep, ma Loa — his knee will not bend"
She looks at me the way she did the day I first arrived
A déserteur with dirty hands, fear in his eyes
"Never bring doubt to my plan," Rada Loa commands,
"Never be more pain than use to my hands."
She earned her throne through her sweat, not by right,
And hubris has blinded the Loa to the night.
Fout Tonné! - I curse.
Let her rule as she would,
The Loa who earned all misses the wolves in the wood.
She won't listen. Mon Dieu, the storm gathers near,
But Rada Loa stand still, and she refuses to hear.
I’ve told her, I’ve begged her, but words blow away—
Her self-made throne doesn't care what servants say.
They call me shadow-chaser, say I’m choking on my dread,
That every false alarm is just a sickness in my head.
They think Amadioha is the fever in my brain —
Peut-être. But I smell the air and taste the rain.
Rada Loa forged her title leaving bodies in the past.
Other Loas born to power, sleeping safe within the caste,
She cannot see a world where what she built could ever fall,
She smiles at every warning, standing ten feet tall.
She won't listen. Mon Dieu, the storm gathers near,
But Rada Loa stand still, and she refuses to hear.
I’ve told her, I’ve begged her, but words blow away —
Her self-made throne doesn't care what servants say.
And then the morning broke, exactly as I feared,
The thunder hit the Mysters and daylight disappeared.
I begged you, ma Loa, but hélas, c'est trop tard,
The war I saw three years ago just slaughtered every guard.
She won't listen. Mon Dieu, the storm gathers near,
But Rada Loa stand still, and she refuses to hear.
I’ve told her, I’ve begged her, but words blow away—
Her self-made throne doesn't care what servants say.
I told her. Fout Tonné, I told her.