Chapter 57 – The Weight of Tomorrow
Papa Legba stood quietly at the foot of the bed.
Up close, Peterson could feel it—not pressure, not fear, but presence. The kind that settled into your bones and reminded you that the world was older, deeper, and far more dangerous than it looked.
The old Loa's skin was dark like roasted coffee beans left too long under the sun, roughened by centuries of wind and prayer. His eyes were blue—deep ocean blue, the kind that carried both storms and calm. His white beard, braided neatly, rested against his chest, while short curls of white hair framed his face. He looked like a man in his fifties… yet everything about him said timeless.
Beneath his flowing white robe, Peterson caught glimpses of a fitted gray outfit marked by three dark vertical lines running from Legba's left shoulder down past his thigh, knee, and all the way to the hem of his pants. Simple. Intentional. Functional. Brown-and-black sandals rested lightly against the floor, as if gravity itself treated him with respect.
And in his hand—
A tall white staff carved with blue veve symbols that pulsed faintly, like breathing light.
"So, Peterson Joseph," Papa Legba said calmly, his voice smooth and grounded, "you're finally awake."
Peterson blinked slowly, his head still buzzing, thoughts colliding inside his skull. What Naëlle had told him replayed over and over again, each word heavier than the last.
Papa Legba continued, his tone neither cold nor gentle—just honest.
"Things may sound too hard to believe. Too cruel to accept. But what Naëlle told you… it's true. Someone used your medallion. They cracked it open like a dam and released the power of countless loa souls into the human world."
Peterson's fingers curled into the bedsheets.
"People didn't ask for it," Legba went on. "They didn't prepare for it. They simply… woke up. Some with blessings. Some with curses. Many with powers they don't understand—and even fewer can control."
Peterson swallowed.
"And I'm sorry," Papa Legba added quietly, "but while you slept, we stayed here. Guarding you. Keeping you alive. We have no clear information about your friends… or your family."
That was it.
The last thread holding Peterson together snapped.
He raised both hands, grabbing his hair, fingers digging hard into his scalp as tears poured freely down his face.
"No…" his voice cracked. "No, no, no—this is my fault. All of it. If my family dies… if my mother—" his chest hitched violently. "I don't know what I'll do. I should've been stronger. I should've won that fight. If only I hadn't picked up that stupid meda—"
He didn't finish.
Something warm pressed gently against his lips.
Then arms wrapped tightly around him.
Naëlle.
"Shhh… Pete," she whispered, holding him close, her forehead resting against his. "It's not your fault."
Peterson trembled in her arms.
"Even if it wasn't you," she continued softly, voice breaking just slightly, "someone else would've found it. Someone worse. At least you fought back. At least you stood up."
She tightened her grip.
"All you need to do now… is get stronger."
Peterson's breathing slowly steadied. He wiped his face with shaking hands, looking down at the floor.
"I promise," he said hoarsely. "From now on… I will never lose again. No matter what. I'll protect the people I love. I'll protect you."
Naëlle lifted her head and smiled through her own tears.
"That's what I wanted to hear, Peterson Joseph."
Up close, she was even more beautiful than he remembered. Not just her face—but the strength behind her eyes. The courage. The care.
Before he could overthink it, Peterson leaned in.
Naëlle didn't pull away.
She closed her eyes.
Their lips met softly—awkward, gentle, real. Not dramatic. Not perfect. Just… honest.
"Ahem."
They froze.
Papa Legba stood there, arms crossed, smiling with far too much amusement.
"Get a room," he said dryly. "I'm standing right here, and you two look dangerously close to skipping several steps."
Peterson and Naëlle both turned bright red instantly.
Papa Legba chuckled. "Relax. Love strengthens the soul just as much as hardship does."
A sudden chime echoed in Peterson's mind.
[SYSTEM MERGING COMPLETED]
You are now fully synchronized with the Voodoo System.
Stats and skills have been reset.
Welcome back, Player.
Peterson blinked. "Oh… right. That thing."
He focused inward.
[STATUS WINDOW]
Name: Peterson Joseph
Race: Human
Level: 1
Power: Veve's Path
Health: 100/100
Stamina: 50/50
Magic: 200/200
Midnight King Meter: 3% / 100%
Strength: 1
Endurance: 1
Agility: 1
Charisma: 1
Dexterity: 1
Luck: 7 / 10
Skills: None
New Quest:
Train for 3 hours
Reward: 10 EXP
Current EXP: 0 / 100
Peterson's shoulders sagged.
"All that power… gone," he murmured.
He looked up at Papa Legba and slid off the bed, bowing deeply.
"Please," he said sincerely. "Train me. I don't care how hard it is. I'll owe you my life."
Papa Legba smiled slowly.
"That," he said, gripping his staff, "is exactly what I wanted to hear."
He leaned forward slightly, eyes sharp now.
"From today onward, you are my disciple. I will break you, crack your bones, and rebuild you properly."
Peterson gulped.
Naëlle laughed softly. "Don't worry, Pete. I'll help too."
Peterson forced a nervous smile.
"…I think I'm gonna die."
Papa Legba laughed.
"No," he said. "You're going to live."