I tell myself that, if I want to survive, I must fight through the fear. With arrow drawn, I pull the string of my bow taut. The point of my arrow twists and turns in my hands, but the creatures fly above with unreal agility, shadows darting all around us, making it nearly impossible to line up my aim. A cacophony of commands are shouted over one another, becoming indecipherable. I tune it out, letting their words drown in the flood of the transpiring calamity these monsters wrought.
Focus, I tell myself. Steady…
One of the beasts, these teoliatl, swoops down, something viscous and dark drips from its mouth as it gnashes its fangs in anticipation. It flies toward me, jolting from side to side. I can already feel the chilling vapor of its breath bearing down on me. I loose the arrow, and it pierces its face with a pleasing thwack. I duck and roll to just get out of the way of the felled beast as it crashes, cratering the ground upon impact.
A thrill rushes through my veins at the sight of the slain teoliatl, as a thick, black sludge oozes from the gaping wound. But the brief joy of victory is immediately wiped away as I spot dozens more erupting from the chasm in the ground. It’s as though, for every one killed, two or three instantly replace it. Within a few blinks of an eye, we become vastly outnumbered.
The sky becomes filled with the dark creatures soaring through the air. A bitter scent permeates my senses as the substance drizzles from the teoliatl’s talons and bubbles up from the ground. The monsters swiftly dive down upon our warriors, tearing at them with claws and bites. With each strike that lands, a putrid venom drips from the teoliatl’s fangs and talons, releasing the acrid smell of melted flesh with the hissing of a repulsive sizzle. The creatures chew heaping chunks out of shoulders and limbs, making quick work of their victims.
“They are tearing through scores of our army!” Mexqutli exclaims. “We need a better plan!” In continuous motions, he swings his obsidian daggers like he’s swimming against the current of a mighty river, slashing at anything with the veiny, membranous skin.
Sianchu heaves his mighty sword, slicing through the dense blackness of the swarming creatures like trying to cut the night’s air. Each stroke splits the oncoming enemy. His face is splattered with the black slime, and he grimaces through the pain as his skin becomes pocked with acidic burns. After a while, I lose sight of him as he’s consumed by the sheer number of teoliatl swirling about him.
I loose one, two, three, four arrows in rapid succession, aimlessly releasing them up into the darkness of the onyx swarm. My efforts feel futile as the sea of blackened bodies is never-ending. The teoliatl continue streaming out of the rifts in the ground, spiraling upward before descending upon our warriors with relentless fury. There’s got to be a solution… but what could it be? How do we put an end to their increasing numbers?
Through the fluttering flurry, the occasional glimpse of red draws my focus. Looking on, the cultist leaders of the Eye in the Flame stand sentinel as the chaos conspires. They’re nearly a field away, appearing as mere specks amid the unfolding battle before them. I pause, enraged by the sight of them watching with amusement. Now I know what to do next.
Determined, I sprint away from the rift, toward the edge of the battlefield. I duck and maneuver to avoid being struck by friend or foe; hopping out of the way of one fight here, narrowly avoiding being hit by a flying teoliatl there.
I slide to an abrupt halt. My feet nearly dangle off the edge of an enormous cliff. Looking down, the endless abyss is almost as pitch black as the swarming masses of teoliatl. A pebble trickles down into the chasm, never once reaching the bottom to make that recognizable thud. In order to reach the edge of the fighting, I need to clear this tremendous rift first. I look to my right and only see the chasm expanding wider. To my left, a sea of silhouettes engage in combat.
The only way is through, I think to myself.
I take almost a dozen steps back, dodging one teoliatl swooping down to grab me in its clutches before turning around to face the chasm. I’m jostled off balance for a quick moment, struck by some wayward flying creature—or was it a warrior?—but urgently regain my balance. I take a few panicked breaths, questioning my sanity throughout the duration of the moment.
Long, slow breath in. Long, slow breath out.
Instilling every measure of energy within me, I charge at the rift. When my feet get close enough to the ledge, I launch myself into the air as the ground disappears beneath me. For a moment, the world seems to stand still. The howling wind that rushes past my ears mixes with the eerie cries of the teoliatl circling above. The creatures’ dark forms become a blur as my focus narrows to the far edge of the chasm.
This otherworldly energy surges through my veins, lending me an ephemeral sense of flight. The rift yawns wide below like an abyssal maw ready to swallow me whole. Yet the fear it should invoke is momentarily eclipsed by an indescribable rush of exhilaration. On the edge of life and death, I feel a precarious freedom.
My breath catches as the other side of the chasm draws near. I stretch every muscle, reaching for salvation on the opposite ledge. The teoliatl’s screeches fade into the background, and all existence narrows to the desperate need to clear this leap.
With a thump that sends shockwaves up my legs, my feet slam against the side of the far edge. For a harrowing moment, loose stones skitter beneath my weight, threatening to drag me back into the void. But with a fierce scramble, arms flailing for purchase, I claw my way up and over, collapsing onto safe, solid ground.
I lie there for a moment, gasping for breath while the cool, loose dirt beneath me offers the sweetest comfort. With the abyss behind me, and the teoliatl’s cries fading, I rise shakily to my feet. I pat my body as if checking to make sure everything is still in one piece, and breathe a sigh of relief when I identify my quiver and Sachia’s bow. In disbelief over my achievement, I pause to chuckle to myself at the absurdity of what I accomplished. Let’s hope I don’t need to make that leap twice, I think to myself.
Regaining my composure, I focus solely on the individuals in red robes; those donning ashen gray will have to wait their turn. I grab not one, but three arrows from my quiver. With the battlefield stretching out beneath their watchful gaze, the trio in red seem oblivious to my presence away from the calamity. Their attention remains fixated on the spectacle, making them the perfect targets for my audacious plan.
Gripping Sachia’s bow with a steadiness that belies my racing heart, I carefully nock the arrows, aligning them with practiced precision. It’s something I’ve only jokingly attempted with Sachia during our time together in the Tuatiu jungles. He’d call me mad for attempting it now, but I’d be the first to admit that this is more a result of desperate ingenuity than formal training.
I draw the bowstring back, and for a fleeting moment, doubt whispers through my mind—I’m reminded of the slim odds and what could come should I fail. Drawing the cultists’ attention and ire certainly won’t end well for me. But the thought vanishes as quickly as it came, replaced by an unwavering focus on the figures above. The world narrows to the space between us. Every breath, every heartbeat, marks the time to the moment of release.
Long, slow breath in. Long, slow breath out. Help guide my arrows, dear friend.
With a slow exhale, I let the arrows fly. They cut through the air in a tight, spiraling formation. The distance closes with agonizing slowness, each moment stretching out as the arrows seek their mark.
The impact is almost anti-climactic. The arrows find their targets with a precision that feels like destiny fulfilled. The figures stagger, simultaneously clutching at their chests as blood coats their already-red robes. Their shock is as palpable as the silence that follows. For a heartbeat, everything stops. The battlefield. The cries. Even, it seems, the very wind. I relish the sight, as they collapse to the ground like gently falling leaves.
As chaos resumes, a fierce pride swells within me, and the success lights a fire in my veins. Perhaps it was luck, perhaps it was Sachia’s spirit, or maybe it was skill honed by necessity. Either way, I’ve sent a clear message: I was made for this fight.
Stunned, those in the gray robes cast their gazes about, desperate to identify the assailant. Who dared defy them so brazenly? A reckless part of me itches to reveal myself, to shout that it was I who diminished their ranks.
Instead, I charge toward them. Without breaking stride, my hand finds its way to my quiver, and my fingers wrap around another arrow with instinctual ease.
I dart forward, each step propelling me closer to the gray-clad figures. My focus sharpens—a predator’s gaze locking onto its quarry. Sachia’s bow feels like an extension of my arm as I nock an arrow and draw the string back. My surroundings blur into insignificance, leaving only my target in clear view.
Hearing only the rush of the wind, I release the arrow. It finds its mark with uncanny precision, and my foe’s confusion turns to dismay. His eyes go blank with a long-distance stare toward the heavens as he tumbles forward and off the ledge.
I nock and release a second arrow, then a third, then a fourth, never halting my pursuit. The fanatics gesture wildly with their hands, seemingly performing some ritual or casting some spell. Their efforts are fruitless: The arrows plunge into their robes, penetrating through the thick swath of cloth as their garments become bespeckled with blood.
One, however, remains. My arrow just drifts wide, clattering with the stone structure atop of which he stands. I curse at myself, then hurriedly hunt him down. He scrambles around the corner of the watchtower, fleeing to safety. He won’t escape my clutches so easily.
From my periphery, my attention is briefly drawn away at an astonishing sight. Shadowy figures no longer emerge from the chasm. My hopes have been confirmed, in that it was these cultists preserving the teoliatl’s existence! The beasts have seemingly lost the tenacity with which they once attacked, appearing weakened. No longer overwhelmed, our warriors begin making noticeable progress in combatting these creatures, ceaselessly hacking and slashing at any monster in range.
I determine to put an end to this once and for all. Chasing down the last remaining cultist, I storm up the stone stairs. I breeze along the parapet, then, after slinging Sachia’s bow over my shoulder, I hurry up a wooden ladder. I make it a few rungs up when I spot a shadowy silhouette. At the top, the cultist grins with sinister intent. He pushes the ladder away from the ledge, sending it toppling backward.
I leap off the rung and flail my arms, extending them with the hope of clasping onto anything that can at least break my fall. My palms cling to a rough edge of the wall, scraping my hands in the process. However, I’m narrowly able to grip my fingers onto the seam between two of the stones. My feet slip initially, unable to support me, and I begin sliding down the face of the wall. At the last moment, my sandal catches an uneven section of stone, briefly halting my tumble downward.
I gasp in panicked heaves, then lower myself back onto the parapet. Relieved, I regain my focus and lift the ladder back up before it drops onto the ground below. It takes me a while—too long, I would argue—but I manage to place it into position. With the speed of a puma, I scale the ladder before the cultist can return to knock me off again. Now, that scum has angered me even more.
My eyes sweep the top of the landing, searching for any sign of that lowlife. There’s a walkway leading to a corner of the watchtower. I don’t recall them wielding any weapons, but to be fair, they were quite some distance away. I refuse to take any chances.
Using caution, I approach, prepared for him to leap out and attempt to shove me off. He would, that coward. I draw my daggers, spinning them around in my hands. For a faint moment, I observe how I’m holding them like Mexqutli, like the Ulxa warrior he is. I scoff, simultaneously amused while berating myself for this switch in technique.
The sound of my contemptuousness toward myself alerts the cultist. He flies around the corner, taking one step to close in the distance, then brings down a dagger from overhead. So they did possess weapons, I think to myself. I take two steps back, parrying his effort. With my right arm, I swoop in a backhanded motion and slam my dagger into his shoulder, the momentum spinning him into the wall. With him pinned, I bring my left arm across and slash diagonally down and away, slicing the remnants of his shoulder.
While he writhes in pain, I adjust my stance, then shove him off the ledge, sending him plummeting. His shriek in horror abruptly ends as he splatters on the ground, contorting his body into a twisted, unnatural shape. Refusing to sheathe my daggers, I make sure the tower is clear of cultists eager to catch me unawares. To my relief, I am all that remains atop this structure after a thorough inspection.
From the perch, I witness a breathtaking sight. It’s as if a fire has been extinguished: The teoliatl, once an overwhelming swarm whose numbers could blot out the sun, evaporate into the air in puffs of black smoke. The warriors swing at black clouds, their weapons slicing through air. I’m reminded of the final battle of the War of Liberation, when the gray creatures we fought that day disintegrated inexplicably. Despite being clearly outnumbered, we somehow emerged victorious. All things considered, this moment feels just as miraculous.
Returning to the group, we inspect the losses, tallying up the dead for the quipus. Likewise, finding those unmarred by the creatures are few and far between. Nearly every warrior possesses scars from burns caused by the teoliatl’s acidic venom. Many will bear permanent scars, their skin transformed into grotesque, waxy distortions. I can only hope they’ll receive the same treatment as the Tuatiu give to their warriors marred by combat, earning a hero’s welcome upon their return.
This is becoming too routine—accounting for the dead—something I’ve performed far too often. It’s something of which I try not to become disparaged, but after so many deaths, I begin to question the plausibility of all of this. The increasingly unlikely probability that any of us will return to our homes. We are warriors, and being such comes with a significant cost. But what is the measure of that cost? What makes that cost feel justified?
A spark of defiance suddenly flickers to life within me. I’m consumed by the knowledge that our cause transcends the mere defense of Qapauma. Rescuing the city from the clutches of the Eye in the Flame is certainly a noble purpose, but, truly, we are guardians of hope, fighting to preserve a legacy that will echo through the ages.
As piercing as the morning sun through the remnants of night, this realization rekindles the purpose within me. Our strength lies in our relentless pursuit of what is just, despite the specter of loss that marches beside us. So as I look upon the weary faces of my companions, with resolve mirroring my own—a significant change from their mindset in Xaqelatun—they know as well as that we can’t falter now. They’ve seen what we’re up against. For the sake of those we’ve lost, for those who still stand beside us, and for the countless innocents depending on our victory, we will press forward. There’s one more battle to be won, and I’m not one to shirk fate.
The trek to Qapauma winds around the base of the nearby mountains, which contains the great volcano, Petale. The column of smoke continuously rises into the air, a regular presence for the three factions whose territories border the mountain range. Seeing it from a different perspective, its imposing silhouette commands a renewed sense of awe within me. Yet as breathtaking as the sight is, I can’t help but wish my admiration weren’t tinged with the urgency of impending conflict.
Wait, that’s a curious sight. In the horizon to the south, another plume of smoke extends upward to the skies. Not one… numerous. Multiple streaks of black smoke. And to the south? That’s… where Qapauma is!
“We need to hurry. Now!” I exclaim. When Sianchu and Mexqutli look at me questioningly, I point to the smoke. “Something’s amiss. The battle is… underway?”
Concern and mourning grows on Sianchu’s face. “We may be too late.” He halts, grief-stricken at the thought of losing his home. For a fleeting moment, a rare glimpse reveals itself through his stoic facade.
“We are too late,” Mexqutli agrees. There’s a note of despair in his voice, but not of loss. Perhaps it’s frustration? Or fear of failure? Defeat? It’s restraint of revealing the disappointment he harbors. Sharing a warrior’s spirit, I understand this feeling of regret over unfulfilled duty.
“Perhaps there’s still time,” I say, not just to reassure them, but to reassure myself, as well.
With the urgency of gales heralding an approaching storm, we hasten toward the capital. The billowing smoke swells as we draw nearer, revealing the city's walls, which are now marred and broken. Their devastation is laid bare before our eyes, with gaping holes punctured throughout the length of the stone barrier. What could’ve caused such destruction?
Then my mind recalls the ruination of Iantana. The sheer ease with which the Eye in the Flame and their creatures were able to demolish our measures of protection was alarming. But our city walls are comprised of wood. To achieve this amount of destruction against stone? I shudder at the thought, fearing the worst with what we’re about to face.
The distant cacophony of conflict echoes through the ravaged gates. From my vantage point, the muffled clamor of weapons striking weapons, and warriors clashing with warriors, reverberates throughout the grounds. The air carries the scent of dust and ash, and the clouds of kicked-up debris hinder our ability to see the devastation inside the city.
Though the battle rages out of sight, the ground seems to tremble beneath my feet. The low clouds mingle with the plumes of smoke, obscuring the sun’s waning light. Elongated shadows creep across the land, adding to the grim cries of the fallen and the rallying shouts of those still fighting. It’s unsettling, seeing a once bustling city reduced to rubble.
Our warriors march down the street, weapons drawn in preparation for a confrontation. My ears pick up on the faint clattering of weapons. Someone is engaged in a skirmish. I point toward the sound, directing a few members of our squad to investigate. They peek around the corner, assessing the situation.
With a few hand gestures, they indicate what I worried about most: gray creatures—two, maybe three—surrounding a number of Tapeu warriors. A building close by tumbles to the ground from the impact of a gray creature’s strike. We’ll need to act quickly, lest we allow the monstrosities to have their way with the hapless men and women.
I gesture to Mexqutli and Sianchu, though they appear to not understand my signal. Nevertheless, I dart behind a collapsed wall, peering over the debris to assess the scene. The Tapeu warriors are outnumbered and outmatched, barely holding their own against the relentless assault of the gray creatures as their shields begin splintering into pieces. Though their efforts are valiant, their weapons seem to barely make a scratch in the beasts’ thick hides.
Without a moment’s hesitation, I dash into the fray, moving swiftly and silently. I slip between the creatures as they wildly swing their claws down upon the trapped warriors. Somehow, curiously, they don’t appear to notice me, despite rushing directly in front of them.
Surveying the chaos around me, I notice a precariously balanced stone structure or statue, cracked and damaged, teetering on a pedestal near the skirmish. With a swift calculation, I grab a heavy rock from the rubble at my feet, weighing its heft in my hand. I hurl the stone towards the base of the structure, holding my breath as it soars toward my desired target.
It strikes with a thud, except the sound is barely audible over the calamity of battle. Yet, though the beasts didn’t become distracted by the sound, it’s enough to jar the structure. It loosens just enough, and I determine with one strong push, I can knock it over. I press up against it and thrust all my strength and weight behind a mighty heave, straining every muscle. With a slow groan of resistance, it begins to lean, then topple, crashing down towards the street with a resounding boom. The sound echoes through the alleyways, drawing the attention of the gray creatures. Their heads snap towards the noise, the sudden movement and disruption pulling their focus away from the Tapeu warriors.
They spot me right away. Confused and enraged by my elusive presence, they turn their focus towards me. I lead them on a chase, weaving through the debris and ruins. I notch an arrow and loose it towards one of the beasts, the sharp twang of the bowstring cutting through the air. Then another, and another, each shot guiding them away from the Tapeu warriors and toward me.
As the creatures close in, I glance to see Mexqutli and Sianchu positioned just as I hoped. In Mexqutli’s hand gleams the obsidian dagger, and Sianchu, though less familiar with the weapon, stands ready beside him with the other. I suppose they understood me after all, I think to myself.
With a final burst of speed, I dash past my allies with the gray creatures hot on my heels. As they lunge towards me, I duck and roll to the side, allowing Mexqutli and Sianchu to leap forward. Their daggers find their mark, sinking deep into the creatures’ sagging, lifeless flesh. The beasts let out a ghastly howl as their forms disintegrate into specks of ash.
Breathing heavily, I rise to my feet and join the group. The Tapeu warriors look on with awe and gratitude. I’m prepared to hear a bit of scolding from my companions for my rash tactics. But instead of berating me, or speaking to me about strategy or our next moves, Mexqutli and Sianchu meet me with bewildered concern.
“Where did you go? One moment you were there, making confusing gestures, and then… darkness,” Mexqutli demands, scanning me up and down as if he doesn’t believe I’m presently standing before him. He extends a hand, touching my shoulder and inspecting it.
Sianchu nods in agreement while returning the dagger to Mexqutli, his eyes wide. “You just disappeared. What happened to you?”
I blink as confusion settles over me. “I was just… being stealthy,” I stammer, unsure how else to explain. I felt nothing unusual, just the thrill of the fight and my determination to save the warriors. Could they truly not have seen where I went? After all, I was standing beside them before enacting my plan.
“No, it was more than that,” Mexqutli insists, his gaze sharp and searching. “It was as though you became one with the shadows. Like the night personified.”
I laugh nervously, completely confused by what he could be implying. “You’re seeing things. I guess I’m just that fast—too fast for your old eyes. It was quick thinking and the shadows played tricks on you.” What is Mexqutli speaking about? Is there something being lost in his translation from Ulxa to Merchant’s Tongue? Then again, Sianchu claims to have noticed it, too. What could they be implying? Is there a part of me I’m not yet aware of?
For now, I push those thoughts aside, refocusing on the battle at hand. After all, there will be time later to explore these questions—if we survive.
We hurry down the city’s streets, running toward the unmistakable sounds of combat. My gaze flicks up, noticing the high walls of the Qapauma palace. Arrows rain down from the wall’s archers, descending like a sudden storm upon the enemies below. Yet their efforts seem futile as the surge of gray creatures overwhelms the defenses at the gates. The warriors are met with a fiery assault, with balls of flame hurtling toward them and annihilating their numbers. A grizzly sight we’re all too familiar with.
As we edge closer to the chaos, a figure atop the palace walls catches my eye: A woman draped in a neutral-colored robe, her movements are deliberate and focused. From this distance her presence seems almost serene, blue skies amidst the storm. Her hands move diligently while manipulating something, some mechanism.
Then… is that… water? I hear the roar of the cascading rush of a river. We haven’t seen water since the Maiu Antumalal, although I suppose the vast waters of the Haqu Suquinoq is nearby. Except even that is quite a distance away. And, is the water coming from… the palace?
A powerful flood courses through the streets. Winding through the rubble, the rushing waters wash away enemies and Tapeu warriors alike, tossing them about as it flows away from the palace. They scramble against the sudden deluge, sweeping through the paths and alleys. The gray creatures persist, fighting through the crashing waves and continuing toward their desired destination, but ultimately succumb to the intensity of the waters, drifting back and way from the palace.
My eyes track back to the woman, and a newfound respect kindles within me. In a city besieged, she’s turned its very lifeblood into a weapon. She rushes away, disappearing back into the palace grounds. If we make it out of this, I’ll hope to remember to thank her for the moment of reprieve, should we ever meet.
“To the walls!” I shout to those around me. “We must aid those defending the palace!”
The floods within the city become difficult to navigate. The currents of the waters rush like rapids down the sloped streets, whipping about debris as it flows out toward the perimeter walls. Searching for a way through, I notice a series of raised stone pathways stretching like veins across the city. With the water diverted, these channels for the city’s ingenious water causeways could now serve as our makeshift bridges. The conditions will be precarious, but it could still offer a navigable route above the tumultuous waters.
I signal my warriors to follow, guiding them onto the narrow manmade stone ridges. Our progress is cautious, as the pathways are still slick with remnants of the water it once transported. The roar of the water below constantly reminds us of the danger, but we press on, knowing this is our only passage to the beleaguered palace.
We descend the pathway, finding ourselves on the streets nearly at the palace walls. Just around the remains of a dilapidated building, a group of scarlet-robed figures gather. Their chanting is harsh and stilted, sounding as though their words contain nothing but malice. It’s the language Mexqutli speaks, the severe language seemingly meant to intimidate any non-speaker like a war cry.
The ground beneath us is too wet to approach with stealth, with puddles forming among the stone ground. Exchanging glances with Mexqutli, Sianchu, and a score of the nearby Qantua warriors, we appear to arrive at the same conclusion.
With weapons drawn, we hastily charge at the robed figures. Before they open their eyes to catch us closing in on them, we swiftly lay them to waste. Swords and daggers slash wildly at anything wearing the red of the cult, disposing of them before they can conjure more evil upon Qapauma. Arrows whiz past, finding their marks with deadly precision, while the ground becomes littered with the fallen foes.
In a moment, fires inflicted upon the walls suddenly go out. The stone, still blackened by the scorching flames, remain resilient and stand tall. Were those cultists attempting to tear down more of the barrier? Will more reinforcements arriving to complete the task? We may have briefly spared the palace, but it’s a victory nonetheless.
“Noble warriors!” An urgent shout calls down to us, halting us in our tracks. I search for the voice’s source, finally looking up at the top of the wall. The woman in the white robes has returned, her innovative use of the aqueduct waters lingering in my mind—a stroke of genius that turned the tide, however briefly, against our relentless foes. She stands defiantly as she casts her gaze upon us, her silhouette is like a beacon in this dark time. “This way,” she beckons, pointing away from the main palace gate toward an unseen path. “There’s a way inside, through the aqueducts. Hurry!”
Mexqutli eyes the figure suspiciously, his brow furrowed in thought. “Are we to trust one so boldly standing alone?” he questions, skepticism lacing his words. “And wearing robes, no less, much like the Eye in the Flame.”
Sianchu counters softly, “Yet was she not the one who utilized the city’s aqueducts against the enemy?”
Their debate fades into the background as I fixate on her directive. This woman, whoever she may be, had already proven herself an ally in spirit, if not in name. Something about her presence ignites a spark of trust within me. “She has shown us a path,” I assert, my decision firm. “We would be fools to ignore the advantage she’s provided.”
We regroup, then rush toward the directed destination with quickened footsteps pattering against the mucky ground. As we approach the shadowed entrance to the aqueducts, we realize there is no turning back, and plunge into the darkness, the cool air of the tunnel enveloping us. This battle is far from over, and we are its last, best hope.
I tell myself that, if I want to survive, I must fight through the fear. With arrow drawn, I pull the string of my bow taut. The point of my arrow twists and turns in my hands, but the creatures fly above with unreal agility, shadows darting all around us, making it nearly impossible to line up my aim. A cacophony of commands are shouted over one another, becoming indecipherable. I tune it out, letting their words drown in the flood of the transpiring calamity these monsters wrought.
Focus, I tell myself. Steady…
One of the beasts, these teoliatl, swoops down, something viscous and dark drips from its mouth as it gnashes its fangs in anticipation. It flies toward me, jolting from side to side. I can already feel the chilling vapor of its breath bearing down on me. I loose the arrow, and it pierces its face with a pleasing thwack. I duck and roll to just get out of the way of the felled beast as it crashes, cratering the ground upon impact.
A thrill rushes through my veins at the sight of the slain teoliatl, as a thick, black sludge oozes from the gaping wound. But the brief joy of victory is immediately wiped away as I spot dozens more erupting from the chasm in the ground. It’s as though, for every one killed, two or three instantly replace it. Within a few blinks of an eye, we become vastly outnumbered.
The sky becomes filled with the dark creatures soaring through the air. A bitter scent permeates my senses as the substance drizzles from the teoliatl’s talons and bubbles up from the ground. The monsters swiftly dive down upon our warriors, tearing at them with claws and bites. With each strike that lands, a putrid venom drips from the teoliatl’s fangs and talons, releasing the acrid smell of melted flesh with the hissing of a repulsive sizzle. The creatures chew heaping chunks out of shoulders and limbs, making quick work of their victims.
“They are tearing through scores of our army!” Mexqutli exclaims. “We need a better plan!” In continuous motions, he swings his obsidian daggers like he’s swimming against the current of a mighty river, slashing at anything with the veiny, membranous skin.
Sianchu heaves his mighty sword, slicing through the dense blackness of the swarming creatures like trying to cut the night’s air. Each stroke splits the oncoming enemy. His face is splattered with the black slime, and he grimaces through the pain as his skin becomes pocked with acidic burns. After a while, I lose sight of him as he’s consumed by the sheer number of teoliatl swirling about him.
I loose one, two, three, four arrows in rapid succession, aimlessly releasing them up into the darkness of the onyx swarm. My efforts feel futile as the sea of blackened bodies is never-ending. The teoliatl continue streaming out of the rifts in the ground, spiraling upward before descending upon our warriors with relentless fury. There’s got to be a solution… but what could it be? How do we put an end to their increasing numbers?
Through the fluttering flurry, the occasional glimpse of red draws my focus. Looking on, the cultist leaders of the Eye in the Flame stand sentinel as the chaos conspires. They’re nearly a field away, appearing as mere specks amid the unfolding battle before them. I pause, enraged by the sight of them watching with amusement. Now I know what to do next.
Determined, I sprint away from the rift, toward the edge of the battlefield. I duck and maneuver to avoid being struck by friend or foe; hopping out of the way of one fight here, narrowly avoiding being hit by a flying teoliatl there.
I slide to an abrupt halt. My feet nearly dangle off the edge of an enormous cliff. Looking down, the endless abyss is almost as pitch black as the swarming masses of teoliatl. A pebble trickles down into the chasm, never once reaching the bottom to make that recognizable thud. In order to reach the edge of the fighting, I need to clear this tremendous rift first. I look to my right and only see the chasm expanding wider. To my left, a sea of silhouettes engage in combat.
The only way is through, I think to myself.
I take almost a dozen steps back, dodging one teoliatl swooping down to grab me in its clutches before turning around to face the chasm. I’m jostled off balance for a quick moment, struck by some wayward flying creature—or was it a warrior?—but urgently regain my balance. I take a few panicked breaths, questioning my sanity throughout the duration of the moment.
Long, slow breath in. Long, slow breath out.
Instilling every measure of energy within me, I charge at the rift. When my feet get close enough to the ledge, I launch myself into the air as the ground disappears beneath me. For a moment, the world seems to stand still. The howling wind that rushes past my ears mixes with the eerie cries of the teoliatl circling above. The creatures’ dark forms become a blur as my focus narrows to the far edge of the chasm.
This otherworldly energy surges through my veins, lending me an ephemeral sense of flight. The rift yawns wide below like an abyssal maw ready to swallow me whole. Yet the fear it should invoke is momentarily eclipsed by an indescribable rush of exhilaration. On the edge of life and death, I feel a precarious freedom.
My breath catches as the other side of the chasm draws near. I stretch every muscle, reaching for salvation on the opposite ledge. The teoliatl’s screeches fade into the background, and all existence narrows to the desperate need to clear this leap.
With a thump that sends shockwaves up my legs, my feet slam against the side of the far edge. For a harrowing moment, loose stones skitter beneath my weight, threatening to drag me back into the void. But with a fierce scramble, arms flailing for purchase, I claw my way up and over, collapsing onto safe, solid ground.
I lie there for a moment, gasping for breath while the cool, loose dirt beneath me offers the sweetest comfort. With the abyss behind me, and the teoliatl’s cries fading, I rise shakily to my feet. I pat my body as if checking to make sure everything is still in one piece, and breathe a sigh of relief when I identify my quiver and Sachia’s bow. In disbelief over my achievement, I pause to chuckle to myself at the absurdity of what I accomplished. Let’s hope I don’t need to make that leap twice, I think to myself.
Regaining my composure, I focus solely on the individuals in red robes; those donning ashen gray will have to wait their turn. I grab not one, but three arrows from my quiver. With the battlefield stretching out beneath their watchful gaze, the trio in red seem oblivious to my presence away from the calamity. Their attention remains fixated on the spectacle, making them the perfect targets for my audacious plan.
Gripping Sachia’s bow with a steadiness that belies my racing heart, I carefully nock the arrows, aligning them with practiced precision. It’s something I’ve only jokingly attempted with Sachia during our time together in the Tuatiu jungles. He’d call me mad for attempting it now, but I’d be the first to admit that this is more a result of desperate ingenuity than formal training.
I draw the bowstring back, and for a fleeting moment, doubt whispers through my mind—I’m reminded of the slim odds and what could come should I fail. Drawing the cultists’ attention and ire certainly won’t end well for me. But the thought vanishes as quickly as it came, replaced by an unwavering focus on the figures above. The world narrows to the space between us. Every breath, every heartbeat, marks the time to the moment of release.
Long, slow breath in. Long, slow breath out. Help guide my arrows, dear friend.
With a slow exhale, I let the arrows fly. They cut through the air in a tight, spiraling formation. The distance closes with agonizing slowness, each moment stretching out as the arrows seek their mark.
The impact is almost anti-climactic. The arrows find their targets with a precision that feels like destiny fulfilled. The figures stagger, simultaneously clutching at their chests as blood coats their already-red robes. Their shock is as palpable as the silence that follows. For a heartbeat, everything stops. The battlefield. The cries. Even, it seems, the very wind. I relish the sight, as they collapse to the ground like gently falling leaves.
As chaos resumes, a fierce pride swells within me, and the success lights a fire in my veins. Perhaps it was luck, perhaps it was Sachia’s spirit, or maybe it was skill honed by necessity. Either way, I’ve sent a clear message: I was made for this fight.
Stunned, those in the gray robes cast their gazes about, desperate to identify the assailant. Who dared defy them so brazenly? A reckless part of me itches to reveal myself, to shout that it was I who diminished their ranks.
Instead, I charge toward them. Without breaking stride, my hand finds its way to my quiver, and my fingers wrap around another arrow with instinctual ease.
I dart forward, each step propelling me closer to the gray-clad figures. My focus sharpens—a predator’s gaze locking onto its quarry. Sachia’s bow feels like an extension of my arm as I nock an arrow and draw the string back. My surroundings blur into insignificance, leaving only my target in clear view.
Hearing only the rush of the wind, I release the arrow. It finds its mark with uncanny precision, and my foe’s confusion turns to dismay. His eyes go blank with a long-distance stare toward the heavens as he tumbles forward and off the ledge.
I nock and release a second arrow, then a third, then a fourth, never halting my pursuit. The fanatics gesture wildly with their hands, seemingly performing some ritual or casting some spell. Their efforts are fruitless: The arrows plunge into their robes, penetrating through the thick swath of cloth as their garments become bespeckled with blood.
One, however, remains. My arrow just drifts wide, clattering with the stone structure atop of which he stands. I curse at myself, then hurriedly hunt him down. He scrambles around the corner of the watchtower, fleeing to safety. He won’t escape my clutches so easily.
From my periphery, my attention is briefly drawn away at an astonishing sight. Shadowy figures no longer emerge from the chasm. My hopes have been confirmed, in that it was these cultists preserving the teoliatl’s existence! The beasts have seemingly lost the tenacity with which they once attacked, appearing weakened. No longer overwhelmed, our warriors begin making noticeable progress in combatting these creatures, ceaselessly hacking and slashing at any monster in range.
I determine to put an end to this once and for all. Chasing down the last remaining cultist, I storm up the stone stairs. I breeze along the parapet, then, after slinging Sachia’s bow over my shoulder, I hurry up a wooden ladder. I make it a few rungs up when I spot a shadowy silhouette. At the top, the cultist grins with sinister intent. He pushes the ladder away from the ledge, sending it toppling backward.
I leap off the rung and flail my arms, extending them with the hope of clasping onto anything that can at least break my fall. My palms cling to a rough edge of the wall, scraping my hands in the process. However, I’m narrowly able to grip my fingers onto the seam between two of the stones. My feet slip initially, unable to support me, and I begin sliding down the face of the wall. At the last moment, my sandal catches an uneven section of stone, briefly halting my tumble downward.
I gasp in panicked heaves, then lower myself back onto the parapet. Relieved, I regain my focus and lift the ladder back up before it drops onto the ground below. It takes me a while—too long, I would argue—but I manage to place it into position. With the speed of a puma, I scale the ladder before the cultist can return to knock me off again. Now, that scum has angered me even more.
My eyes sweep the top of the landing, searching for any sign of that lowlife. There’s a walkway leading to a corner of the watchtower. I don’t recall them wielding any weapons, but to be fair, they were quite some distance away. I refuse to take any chances.
Using caution, I approach, prepared for him to leap out and attempt to shove me off. He would, that coward. I draw my daggers, spinning them around in my hands. For a faint moment, I observe how I’m holding them like Mexqutli, like the Ulxa warrior he is. I scoff, simultaneously amused while berating myself for this switch in technique.
The sound of my contemptuousness toward myself alerts the cultist. He flies around the corner, taking one step to close in the distance, then brings down a dagger from overhead. So they did possess weapons, I think to myself. I take two steps back, parrying his effort. With my right arm, I swoop in a backhanded motion and slam my dagger into his shoulder, the momentum spinning him into the wall. With him pinned, I bring my left arm across and slash diagonally down and away, slicing the remnants of his shoulder.
While he writhes in pain, I adjust my stance, then shove him off the ledge, sending him plummeting. His shriek in horror abruptly ends as he splatters on the ground, contorting his body into a twisted, unnatural shape. Refusing to sheathe my daggers, I make sure the tower is clear of cultists eager to catch me unawares. To my relief, I am all that remains atop this structure after a thorough inspection.
From the perch, I witness a breathtaking sight. It’s as if a fire has been extinguished: The teoliatl, once an overwhelming swarm whose numbers could blot out the sun, evaporate into the air in puffs of black smoke. The warriors swing at black clouds, their weapons slicing through air. I’m reminded of the final battle of the War of Liberation, when the gray creatures we fought that day disintegrated inexplicably. Despite being clearly outnumbered, we somehow emerged victorious. All things considered, this moment feels just as miraculous.
Returning to the group, we inspect the losses, tallying up the dead for the quipus. Likewise, finding those unmarred by the creatures are few and far between. Nearly every warrior possesses scars from burns caused by the teoliatl’s acidic venom. Many will bear permanent scars, their skin transformed into grotesque, waxy distortions. I can only hope they’ll receive the same treatment as the Tuatiu give to their warriors marred by combat, earning a hero’s welcome upon their return.
This is becoming too routine—accounting for the dead—something I’ve performed far too often. It’s something of which I try not to become disparaged, but after so many deaths, I begin to question the plausibility of all of this. The increasingly unlikely probability that any of us will return to our homes. We are warriors, and being such comes with a significant cost. But what is the measure of that cost? What makes that cost feel justified?
A spark of defiance suddenly flickers to life within me. I’m consumed by the knowledge that our cause transcends the mere defense of Qapauma. Rescuing the city from the clutches of the Eye in the Flame is certainly a noble purpose, but, truly, we are guardians of hope, fighting to preserve a legacy that will echo through the ages.
As piercing as the morning sun through the remnants of night, this realization rekindles the purpose within me. Our strength lies in our relentless pursuit of what is just, despite the specter of loss that marches beside us. So as I look upon the weary faces of my companions, with resolve mirroring my own—a significant change from their mindset in Xaqelatun—they know as well as that we can’t falter now. They’ve seen what we’re up against. For the sake of those we’ve lost, for those who still stand beside us, and for the countless innocents depending on our victory, we will press forward. There’s one more battle to be won, and I’m not one to shirk fate.
The trek to Qapauma winds around the base of the nearby mountains, which contains the great volcano, Petale. The column of smoke continuously rises into the air, a regular presence for the three factions whose territories border the mountain range. Seeing it from a different perspective, its imposing silhouette commands a renewed sense of awe within me. Yet as breathtaking as the sight is, I can’t help but wish my admiration weren’t tinged with the urgency of impending conflict.
Wait, that’s a curious sight. In the horizon to the south, another plume of smoke extends upward to the skies. Not one… numerous. Multiple streaks of black smoke. And to the south? That’s… where Qapauma is!
“We need to hurry. Now!” I exclaim. When Sianchu and Mexqutli look at me questioningly, I point to the smoke. “Something’s amiss. The battle is… underway?”
Concern and mourning grows on Sianchu’s face. “We may be too late.” He halts, grief-stricken at the thought of losing his home. For a fleeting moment, a rare glimpse reveals itself through his stoic facade.
“We are too late,” Mexqutli agrees. There’s a note of despair in his voice, but not of loss. Perhaps it’s frustration? Or fear of failure? Defeat? It’s restraint of revealing the disappointment he harbors. Sharing a warrior’s spirit, I understand this feeling of regret over unfulfilled duty.
“Perhaps there’s still time,” I say, not just to reassure them, but to reassure myself, as well.
With the urgency of gales heralding an approaching storm, we hasten toward the capital. The billowing smoke swells as we draw nearer, revealing the city's walls, which are now marred and broken. Their devastation is laid bare before our eyes, with gaping holes punctured throughout the length of the stone barrier. What could’ve caused such destruction?
Then my mind recalls the ruination of Iantana. The sheer ease with which the Eye in the Flame and their creatures were able to demolish our measures of protection was alarming. But our city walls are comprised of wood. To achieve this amount of destruction against stone? I shudder at the thought, fearing the worst with what we’re about to face.
The distant cacophony of conflict echoes through the ravaged gates. From my vantage point, the muffled clamor of weapons striking weapons, and warriors clashing with warriors, reverberates throughout the grounds. The air carries the scent of dust and ash, and the clouds of kicked-up debris hinder our ability to see the devastation inside the city.
Though the battle rages out of sight, the ground seems to tremble beneath my feet. The low clouds mingle with the plumes of smoke, obscuring the sun’s waning light. Elongated shadows creep across the land, adding to the grim cries of the fallen and the rallying shouts of those still fighting. It’s unsettling, seeing a once bustling city reduced to rubble.
Our warriors march down the street, weapons drawn in preparation for a confrontation. My ears pick up on the faint clattering of weapons. Someone is engaged in a skirmish. I point toward the sound, directing a few members of our squad to investigate. They peek around the corner, assessing the situation.
With a few hand gestures, they indicate what I worried about most: gray creatures—two, maybe three—surrounding a number of Tapeu warriors. A building close by tumbles to the ground from the impact of a gray creature’s strike. We’ll need to act quickly, lest we allow the monstrosities to have their way with the hapless men and women.
I gesture to Mexqutli and Sianchu, though they appear to not understand my signal. Nevertheless, I dart behind a collapsed wall, peering over the debris to assess the scene. The Tapeu warriors are outnumbered and outmatched, barely holding their own against the relentless assault of the gray creatures as their shields begin splintering into pieces. Though their efforts are valiant, their weapons seem to barely make a scratch in the beasts’ thick hides.
Without a moment’s hesitation, I dash into the fray, moving swiftly and silently. I slip between the creatures as they wildly swing their claws down upon the trapped warriors. Somehow, curiously, they don’t appear to notice me, despite rushing directly in front of them.
Surveying the chaos around me, I notice a precariously balanced stone structure or statue, cracked and damaged, teetering on a pedestal near the skirmish. With a swift calculation, I grab a heavy rock from the rubble at my feet, weighing its heft in my hand. I hurl the stone towards the base of the structure, holding my breath as it soars toward my desired target.
It strikes with a thud, except the sound is barely audible over the calamity of battle. Yet, though the beasts didn’t become distracted by the sound, it’s enough to jar the structure. It loosens just enough, and I determine with one strong push, I can knock it over. I press up against it and thrust all my strength and weight behind a mighty heave, straining every muscle. With a slow groan of resistance, it begins to lean, then topple, crashing down towards the street with a resounding boom. The sound echoes through the alleyways, drawing the attention of the gray creatures. Their heads snap towards the noise, the sudden movement and disruption pulling their focus away from the Tapeu warriors.
They spot me right away. Confused and enraged by my elusive presence, they turn their focus towards me. I lead them on a chase, weaving through the debris and ruins. I notch an arrow and loose it towards one of the beasts, the sharp twang of the bowstring cutting through the air. Then another, and another, each shot guiding them away from the Tapeu warriors and toward me.
As the creatures close in, I glance to see Mexqutli and Sianchu positioned just as I hoped. In Mexqutli’s hand gleams the obsidian dagger, and Sianchu, though less familiar with the weapon, stands ready beside him with the other. I suppose they understood me after all, I think to myself.
With a final burst of speed, I dash past my allies with the gray creatures hot on my heels. As they lunge towards me, I duck and roll to the side, allowing Mexqutli and Sianchu to leap forward. Their daggers find their mark, sinking deep into the creatures’ sagging, lifeless flesh. The beasts let out a ghastly howl as their forms disintegrate into specks of ash.
Breathing heavily, I rise to my feet and join the group. The Tapeu warriors look on with awe and gratitude. I’m prepared to hear a bit of scolding from my companions for my rash tactics. But instead of berating me, or speaking to me about strategy or our next moves, Mexqutli and Sianchu meet me with bewildered concern.
“Where did you go? One moment you were there, making confusing gestures, and then… darkness,” Mexqutli demands, scanning me up and down as if he doesn’t believe I’m presently standing before him. He extends a hand, touching my shoulder and inspecting it.
Sianchu nods in agreement while returning the dagger to Mexqutli, his eyes wide. “You just disappeared. What happened to you?”
I blink as confusion settles over me. “I was just… being stealthy,” I stammer, unsure how else to explain. I felt nothing unusual, just the thrill of the fight and my determination to save the warriors. Could they truly not have seen where I went? After all, I was standing beside them before enacting my plan.
“No, it was more than that,” Mexqutli insists, his gaze sharp and searching. “It was as though you became one with the shadows. Like the night personified.”
I laugh nervously, completely confused by what he could be implying. “You’re seeing things. I guess I’m just that fast—too fast for your old eyes. It was quick thinking and the shadows played tricks on you.” What is Mexqutli speaking about? Is there something being lost in his translation from Ulxa to Merchant’s Tongue? Then again, Sianchu claims to have noticed it, too. What could they be implying? Is there a part of me I’m not yet aware of?
For now, I push those thoughts aside, refocusing on the battle at hand. After all, there will be time later to explore these questions—if we survive.
We hurry down the city’s streets, running toward the unmistakable sounds of combat. My gaze flicks up, noticing the high walls of the Qapauma palace. Arrows rain down from the wall’s archers, descending like a sudden storm upon the enemies below. Yet their efforts seem futile as the surge of gray creatures overwhelms the defenses at the gates. The warriors are met with a fiery assault, with balls of flame hurtling toward them and annihilating their numbers. A grizzly sight we’re all too familiar with.
As we edge closer to the chaos, a figure atop the palace walls catches my eye: A woman draped in a neutral-colored robe, her movements are deliberate and focused. From this distance her presence seems almost serene, blue skies amidst the storm. Her hands move diligently while manipulating something, some mechanism.
Then… is that… water? I hear the roar of the cascading rush of a river. We haven’t seen water since the Maiu Antumalal, although I suppose the vast waters of the Haqu Suquinoq is nearby. Except even that is quite a distance away. And, is the water coming from… the palace?
A powerful flood courses through the streets. Winding through the rubble, the rushing waters wash away enemies and Tapeu warriors alike, tossing them about as it flows away from the palace. They scramble against the sudden deluge, sweeping through the paths and alleys. The gray creatures persist, fighting through the crashing waves and continuing toward their desired destination, but ultimately succumb to the intensity of the waters, drifting back and way from the palace.
My eyes track back to the woman, and a newfound respect kindles within me. In a city besieged, she’s turned its very lifeblood into a weapon. She rushes away, disappearing back into the palace grounds. If we make it out of this, I’ll hope to remember to thank her for the moment of reprieve, should we ever meet.
“To the walls!” I shout to those around me. “We must aid those defending the palace!”
The floods within the city become difficult to navigate. The currents of the waters rush like rapids down the sloped streets, whipping about debris as it flows out toward the perimeter walls. Searching for a way through, I notice a series of raised stone pathways stretching like veins across the city. With the water diverted, these channels for the city’s ingenious water causeways could now serve as our makeshift bridges. The conditions will be precarious, but it could still offer a navigable route above the tumultuous waters.
I signal my warriors to follow, guiding them onto the narrow manmade stone ridges. Our progress is cautious, as the pathways are still slick with remnants of the water it once transported. The roar of the water below constantly reminds us of the danger, but we press on, knowing this is our only passage to the beleaguered palace.
We descend the pathway, finding ourselves on the streets nearly at the palace walls. Just around the remains of a dilapidated building, a group of scarlet-robed figures gather. Their chanting is harsh and stilted, sounding as though their words contain nothing but malice. It’s the language Mexqutli speaks, the severe language seemingly meant to intimidate any non-speaker like a war cry.
The ground beneath us is too wet to approach with stealth, with puddles forming among the stone ground. Exchanging glances with Mexqutli, Sianchu, and a score of the nearby Qantua warriors, we appear to arrive at the same conclusion.
With weapons drawn, we hastily charge at the robed figures. Before they open their eyes to catch us closing in on them, we swiftly lay them to waste. Swords and daggers slash wildly at anything wearing the red of the cult, disposing of them before they can conjure more evil upon Qapauma. Arrows whiz past, finding their marks with deadly precision, while the ground becomes littered with the fallen foes.
In a moment, fires inflicted upon the walls suddenly go out. The stone, still blackened by the scorching flames, remain resilient and stand tall. Were those cultists attempting to tear down more of the barrier? Will more reinforcements arriving to complete the task? We may have briefly spared the palace, but it’s a victory nonetheless.
“Noble warriors!” An urgent shout calls down to us, halting us in our tracks. I search for the voice’s source, finally looking up at the top of the wall. The woman in the white robes has returned, her innovative use of the aqueduct waters lingering in my mind—a stroke of genius that turned the tide, however briefly, against our relentless foes. She stands defiantly as she casts her gaze upon us, her silhouette is like a beacon in this dark time. “This way,” she beckons, pointing away from the main palace gate toward an unseen path. “There’s a way inside, through the aqueducts. Hurry!”
Mexqutli eyes the figure suspiciously, his brow furrowed in thought. “Are we to trust one so boldly standing alone?” he questions, skepticism lacing his words. “And wearing robes, no less, much like the Eye in the Flame.”
Sianchu counters softly, “Yet was she not the one who utilized the city’s aqueducts against the enemy?”
Their debate fades into the background as I fixate on her directive. This woman, whoever she may be, had already proven herself an ally in spirit, if not in name. Something about her presence ignites a spark of trust within me. “She has shown us a path,” I assert, my decision firm. “We would be fools to ignore the advantage she’s provided.”
We regroup, then rush toward the directed destination with quickened footsteps pattering against the mucky ground. As we approach the shadowed entrance to the aqueducts, we realize there is no turning back, and plunge into the darkness, the cool air of the tunnel enveloping us. This battle is far from over, and we are its last, best hope.
