As the last echoes of the gate’s destruction reverberate through the thick, smoke-filled air, I press closer to the shattered remnants of Analoixan’s defenses. Rain and ash mingle with sweat, matting my hair to my forehead. It’s a cool contrast to the feverish heat emanating from the city ahead. My heart pounds against my ribcage—a drum of war in its own right—urging me to action despite the overwhelming odds.
Around me, the city burns. Unhindered by the precipitation, flames spread with a voracious appetite across wooden structures, their fiery tongues licking the dark sky with hues of orange and red. Wooden structures that once constituted Ulxa homes smolder about us, succumbing to the inferno. I can feel the heat intensifying as if conspiring to stop us, to swallow us whole in its fiery maw.
Because of the heavy and unrelenting rain from earlier, the ground is sludge beneath my feet, making it a burden to drag Paxilche’s unconscious form to safety. Nevertheless, I set my jaw and tighten my grip on him while he’s blissfully oblivious to the chaos swirling around us. Though shallow yet steady, his breathing is the only noise that cuts through the cacophony of destruction. The sounds of battle grow louder as we enter the threshold of Analoixan, but it’s the silence that follows—a sudden, eerie lull—that chills me more than the encroaching flames.
Ahead, it’s a scene from the darkest of nightmares. The silhouettes of the fire dogs move with unnatural speed, their forms shimmering in the fire that engulfs them. Their roars pierce the evening, melding with the cries of warriors and the crackle of consuming flames. Their eyes are deep pools of molten lava, seeking out life amid the devastation, eager to extinguish it.
Just as I begin to doubt my quest at the sight of the devastating scene, the howls of the fire dogs are answered by the shouts of Ulxa men and women, rallying cries that cut through the clamoring. They rush past me, raising their obsidian swords, unperturbed with the mortifying sight of these unreal monsters destroying their city. The moment pushes me forward. In my chest, a fire of my own kindles, encouraged by the valor of the Ulxa warriors, and determined to rise to the challenge set forth by this enemy.
Braving the flames and the danger, Ulxa warriors clash with the beasts. But their efforts seem almost futile against such supernatural ferocity. Every swipe of a fiery claw, every bite of scorching teeth, brings ruin and suffering. Though they valiantly strike at the creatures, they’re brought to a grizzly demise, as the monstrous beasts slash and shred them apart with ease.
Then, my gaze is drawn to a solitary structure that defies the chaos consuming its city: the temple. Unlike the surrounding tinderbox of wooden homes and market stalls now falling to the flames, the temple stands resolute. The only building constructed of stone, it endures the catastrophe taking place among the land that cradles it. Rising high from the ground are large columns of bronze statues, twinkling radiantly amidst the horrific scene that surrounds them. Though they’re too far away to confirm this, they appear to be beset throughout with various precious gemstones of all shades and hues.
As we dash through the streets, the heat at our heels intensifies. The ground beneath us feels as if it's about to melt away. Manifesting from the flames, the dogs close in, each snarl sending embers scattering into the air. Though not of flesh and bone, their paws leave the ground scorched in their wake as they rumble towards us with unnerving speed. With every glance back, I see their fiery eyes, like molten coals, fixated on us. They leap over obstacles with ease, their flames undiminished by the small sputtering of rain.
The city’s defenders struggle against the tenacity of the Eye in the Flame’s fire dogs. Though their ranks are quickly dismantled, the Ulxa warriors persist, determined to shift the fate of this battle in their favor. Overwhelming booms that reverberate throughout the entirety of Analoixan rattle my bones, and explosions of nearby balls of fire momentarily illuminate the city with an ominous orange glow.
Paxilche starts to come back to life, grunting and groaning while rubbing the back of his head. “Wha…” he’s barely able to get out the words before yielding to the pain of his injuries.
“You’ve been knocked unconscious,” I answer him. “While you were attempting to summon your abilities.”
“Was it the Eye in the Flame?” he asks. “The ones responsible for my condition?” When I don’t reply, he shakes his head in disbelief. “So, someone else then…” His remark is more statement than inquiry, for he must know all too well the circumstances that led to the state in which he finds himself.
I continue to scan the horizon for any threat, trying to identify our best course of action to get to safety. Paxilche doesn’t allow me to consider our next move in peace, declaring, “I wasn’t left with much choice, you know. The city was–“
“We are always given a choice!” I say harshly, my words more biting than I intended. “You were harming those who sought to defend the city! Your reckless actions not only washed away innocent lives in a merciless tide, but also stirred turmoil among those who might have stood with us.”
Paxilche scoffs. “Some innocent lives were sacrificed, so what? Had I not intervened, the Eye in the Flame would’ve caused even more destruction than what they’ve already done. It’s a small price to pay to defend the city.”
“Every life is precious, even of those you deem insufficient,” I charge. “Who are you to determine which ally’s life is worth more than another’s? They joined our cause after we earned their trust—trust that you just betrayed. There is a fine line between defense and destruction, a line you crossed without a second thought.”
“That is the life of a warrior—and death is the risk they take,” Paxilche shouts above the din. Yet his condition is still unimproved, and he starts to collapse against the remnants of a wooden wall that once belonged to a home. Groggily, he adds, “If wielding the tempest’s fury spares Analoixan from the cult’s clutches, then so be it. I’ll bear that weight so others don’t have to.”
I stare at him, stunned by the defiance in his tone. “A storm leaves nothing but ruins in its wake,” I counter, trying to restrain my own storm that rages within me. “We vowed to protect this land and its people, not decide their fates with the arrogance of gods.”
Though is eyes are fierce and unyielding, his silence is telling, like a tumultuous sea stilled momentarily by my words. For now, an uneasy truce appears to settle between us. His reasoning is disturbing, and while our enemy might unite us, it’s evident that the paths we choose to walk may divide us.
But we have no time to spare, as the presence of our foe bears down upon us. The sounds of destruction grow louder, and the heat from the burning buildings intensifies. The panicked cries and screams of residents trapped by the swirling fires blends with the crashes of falling buildings. From the corner of my eye, they are close by, crouching low behind anything that could afford them a modicum of protection. I call out to them, urging them to run to safety. But they’re petrified in place, too scared to move. I know the makeshift shields they hide behind are not enough, and I know they need to be protected from the fire dogs right away, as I hear the approaching beasts’ flaming paws thump the ground like striking a war drum.
The nearest source of water remains too far away, and I see no other well or pool of water large enough for me to douse the flames that threaten the nearby villagers. The fiery red eyes of the beasts appear above the ruined thatch roofs that once belonged to homes, searching the area for their next target, their next victim.
A few droplets of rain patter against my cheek. I look up, seeing the dark gray clouds hovering overhead, and an idea comes to me in a flash. Turning to Paxilche, I exhale a steadying breath, then ask, “If we can set aside our differences for one moment, can you intensify the storm circling above us? It can hopefully bring enough water that I may have a chance at moving it to where it is needed most.”
Still groggy, Paxilche rubs his temples. “I’m not sure I have the power to do that,” he says with uncertainty. “I… I just discovered this ability, and I’m not confident about knowing the limits of what I can do. I may have expelled all that I can.”
A whirlwind of thoughts tangle in my mind. Paxilche has only just come into his powers, and he may be too physically exhausted to utilize them anyhow. But furthermore, his mental state, knowing what defense he raised for his actions, makes it that much more difficult to trust him with such a request anyhow.
Then the realization that I might possess what can unleash his potential—and by extension, ensure the survival of Analoixan—comes to me. The jade and onyx amulet, warm against my skin, pulses as if in agreement. I clutch it tighter, contemplating the magnitude of the decision before me.
I glance at Paxilche, considering the potential of his newfound abilities against the enormity of the task at hand. The idea of amplifying his power with one of the amulets nestles into my mind like an ember of hope flickering to life. Handing over such a potent artifact to him, however, especially after his recent recklessness, feels akin to entrusting a child with a blade.
I find myself torn, staring at the amulet in my hand. Entrusting Paxilche with this could either be our salvation or our doom. It was only moments ago when he unleashed an indiscriminate fury between friend and foe. I’m haunted by the memory of his lightning, indiscriminate and wild. What if, in his attempt to save, he brings down more destruction? Can I risk amplifying that power, especially now when precision and control are paramount?
Yet as I watch the encroaching flames, I see our options dwindle like the fading light of day, as the decision becomes less about trust and more about necessity. The people of Analoixan, whose lives hang by an ever-fraying thread, cannot afford my hesitation. The thought of failing them, of watching helplessly as the city falls to the Eye of the Flame and the ruthless beasts they’ve summoned, solidifies my choice.
“Paxilche,” I start, fighting to force my voice to become firm, “I… might possess an item that could enhance your connection to the storm.” I pause, gauging his reaction, the jade and onyx amulet cool against my palm. I extend the amulet towards him, its green and black gemstones radiating in the fiery glow surrounding us. “It might give us the edge we need. But you must promise me, promise all of us, that you’ll control it. No more blind rage, no more reckless endangerment of lives. Our aim is to protect, not to destroy further.”
He inspects the amulet, and his hand hesitates before taking it, making it evident he’s battling his inner storms. “I… understand. I’ll do whatever it takes to save them, Walumaq. You have my word,” he assures me, though I catch a flicker of doubt in his eyes that mirrors my own.
As the amulet passes into his possession with a trembling hand, the skies respond, and the storm’s rumble grows more intense as if anticipating the unleashing of its full might. Cautiously, he places the gold chain over his head, letting the jade and onyx amulet drop to his chest. He looks at me questioningly, uncertain of what’s to come. But I give him a single, reassuring nod, finding that I’ve braced myself, ready to guide the deluge with every ounce of concentration I possess.
Paxilche closes his eyes to concentrate, drowning out the calamity that threatens to overtake us where we rest. I place a hand on his shoulder to help put him at ease. Then, in unison, we recite the prayer of my morning ritual. There’s an encouraging calm that washes over him, and I hope beyond hope that he’s channeling his powers from a source of love, not hate.
At once, rain begins to pour—not just in droplets, but in a deluge. A tremendous torrent streams from the sky, as if the heavens themselves have opened in response to Paxilche’s silent plea. I watch as the water gathers at my feet, swelling into rivulets that chase the flames back, bit by bit. I can barely believe the sight as the land transforms. The once fierce and uncontrollable fires begin to hiss and steam under the onslaught of the rain. What moments ago was a hellish landscape of fire and ash now becomes a scene of rejuvenation, as each drop of rain acts as a salve to the scorched ground.
Seizing this gift of rain, I stretch out my hands, willing the water to rise. The water obeys, swirling and coalescing. With the twist and rotation of my hands and wrists, I direct the concentrated streams into protective barriers that shield villagers from the encroaching flames and dogs of fire. It encircles us into a wall that deflects the incoming embers and debris flung from nearby explosions of splintered homes. The relief on the faces of the trapped villagers is palpable, and their despair turns into hope as paths to safety emerge from the chaos. Without hesitating, they scurry away, retreating into the ever darkening evening as they flee the scene.
However, with each motion, I feel my strength waning. The effort to control such vast amounts of water strains every fiber of my being. I struggle for breath, my chest compressing as if a giant boulder rests upon it, and I’m starkly reminded of my limits with the absence of the jade and onyx amulet around my neck.
Nevertheless, I push myself further. With the villagers clear of the scene, I shift the water towards the dark creatures, causing them to recoil and whine as the rain drenches their fiery coats. The beasts snarl and leap, only to be met by cascades of water that douse their flames, reducing them to whimpering shadows of their former selves. They evaporate into a steaming mist, gratifyingly vanishing before our eyes.
But as the last of them falls, I can feel my powers waning. My knees buckle beneath me as my energy is spent. The barriers of water begin to waver, then dissipate, dropping to the ground with a resounding whoosh as it spreads throughout the ruined remains of the city. The world tilts and blurs as I fall to exhaustion, while the rain continues to fall around me.
Lying there, soaked to the bone but alive, I look up to the dark sky as it continues to unleash its torrent upon us. Despite this, I feel a smile tug at my lips. I’m filled only with gratitude and relief.
Paxilche’s shouts gradually make their way to my ears. He calls out for me, desperately repeating my name. “It’s okay,” I say, with barely enough strength to wave my hand dismissively. “I haven’t worn the amulets for that long, yet it seems I’ve already forgotten the limits to my abilities.”
He lifts me up to my feet. Every limb, every part of my body—even the hairs upon my head—ache severely. I wince, but battle through the pain. Our fight to defend Analoixan is far from finished, as the discordant sounds of the assault raging off in the distance reminds me.
Recognizing what little time we have before the next wave of creatures storms through the city, we pick up our trek toward the temple through the mud and sludge. It’s difficult for me to determine whether it’s the muck or my weathered muscles that hinders my movement. Clutching Paxilche closer, we maneuver through the rubble-strewn streets towards this fortress, this safe haven. As we approach, its towering walls reveal intricate patterns of terra cotta intertwined with robust stone. The large bronze columns nearly scratch the sky, they are so tall, embedded with turquoise, emeralds, and jade—stones seemingly from all over Pachil. Stone statues line the way toward the temple, with stoic faces carved into them. Details involving carvings of mythical beasts and deities adorn its entrance, etched with such precision it’s as though they might spring to life at any moment. It’s an awe-inspiring sight that, for one fleeting moment, allows me to forget the peril nipping at our heels.
Chanting suddenly rises above the rumbles and dissonance, piquing my curiosity. Is there prayer taking place during a battle waged on Analoixan? Could the defenders have stooped to dark rituals to reclaim their city? Could the Eye in the Flame have already captured the sacred structure? Or could those be healers, seeking aid from their gods? More wailing and cries call out, though I can’t discern whether they’re from pain or exultation.
Paxilche looks disturbed, uncertain if we should proceed. Yet there’s a resolve within me, determined to find out who is behind this mysterious event. If it’s a friend, we can exchange information and develop a strategy. If its foe… well, I just hope it’s a friend on the other side of these ruins.
Yet as I round a corner, the horrifying scene that unfolds before me brings me to a halt. After pushing through a dense crowd of onlookers, there’s an undercurrent of anticipation among those gathered. Their eager attention is focused on what’s occurring atop the large, stone structure they’re swarming. Their feverish chants are howled into the darkening sky, a sound that causes my stomach to clench.
Arrayed before the temple, a group of Ulxa priests stand in a circle. The hairs on the back of my neck raise as their voices unite in a dark, growling chant. Roughly a dozen shamans stand poised at the edge of the stone platform, adorned in elaborate headdresses of feathers in vibrant blue, teal, and red hues that flit with the wind. Across their bare chests and arms are tattoos in intricate patterns and symbols, with various spots connected by crisscrossing lines. Pendants of bone and jade clink softly around their necks, and I deduce these must be sacred artifacts for their communion with the divine.
In their hands are ceremonial knives with obsidian blades, catching the glow of a towering bonfire with a menacing gleam, and a bundle of herbs that are ready to be offered to the flames. One of the shaman steps forward, his body painted with bold streaks of red and black crossing his chest, arms, and face, and atop his head sits a towering headdress, bristling with obsidian feathers and jagged bone.
Glowering with sharp, observant eyes behind them, a formidable warrior woman stands with an unyielding confidence. She’s adorned with a majestic headdress made from an array of feathers that enshrouds her head. Intricately designed gold and jade jewelry dangle from her ears and neck, catching glints of fire light. Bold lines of thick, black lines along her face accentuate her set jaw, and patterns trace down her toned arms. She wears armor that is both ornate and utilitarian, crafted from leather, bone, and vibrant textiles that blend in with the Ulxa landscape.
Encircling them are the city’s defenders, faces as blank as the stone that surrounds them. Before the shamans, nearly two dozen victims kneel, wearing the unmistakable garb of the Eye in the Flame, their silhouettes casting long shadows in the flickering light. The cultists, whose ashen gray and crimson robes are a stark contrast to the vibrant colors of the shamans’ attire, watch with anticipation. They appear resigned to their fate, understanding the ritual that’s about to be performed. Their expressions remain eerily composed, a disturbing tranquility that belies their unwavering devotion to their dark cause.
At the heart of this spectacle lies the stone altar, its surface somehow shimmering in the dim light. The shaman who stepped forward begins with a low, rhythmic chant that cuts through the silence like a sword. The crowd is hushed, hanging on every syllable, every gesture that he makes. The flames from the nearby torches dance wildly, as if stirred by some unseen force with the cadence of his incantations.
The shaman’s movements become more fervent, and his chants louder, more insistent. The herbs are cast into the fire, sending up plumes of smoke that fill the air with a heady, intoxicating aroma. He then raises the ceremonial knife, and the crowd draws a collective breath. My heart tightens from dread, from a knowing anticipation. As the knife descends, a part of me recoils, silently screaming inside my mind, and I nearly feint at the sight. The others follow his actions, mirroring the grotesque action upon the other cultists. With their final breaths, some of the Eye in the Flame zealots extol their image of Eztletiqa, one reshaped to fit their twisted faith, but their devotions are abruptly silenced by the ritual blade. The sounds that follow—wet, squelching noises, the sharp snap of bone, a chorus of gasps and murmurs from the crowd—etch themselves into my memory unwelcomely. I don’t need to watch; the sounds create a vivid, gruesome image I wish I could wash away.
There’s a moment where the world seems to pause, teetering on the brink of something unfathomable. Then, the proud female warrior strides forward, receiving a chalice that’s been filled with… I dare not say, for fear of retching. I am rooted to the spot, transfixed, as the ceremony unfolds before me, its horrors too ghastly and brutal for words. I force myself to look away, to find anything else in the world to focus on but that. My gaze instead catches the faces of the onlookers, with their expressions of reverence and an unsettling eagerness that makes my skin crawl.
With the act done, the crowd’s reaction is immediate, filled with fervent cheers. But I can’t share in their gaze. No, my eyes are fixed on the ground, my mind desperately trying to unsee what it has witnessed. A sickening aroma, sweet and metallic, invades my nostrils and coats my tongue with the taste of iron. I swallow hard, fighting the bile that rises in my throat. Around me, the Ulxa continue their ritual with impassioned zeal.
I find myself backing away, distancing myself from the scene, from the blood that now seems to permeate the very air I breathe. When I dare to look again, it’s only at the faces around me—their twisted grimaces, their wide, unblinking eyes, some glazed with tears, others alight with a fervor that chills me to the bone. It’s in their faces that I see the true horror of what unfolds before us, a reflection of the brutality that I cannot bring myself to witness directly.
The need to act, to do something, anything to stop this madness, wells up within me, but I'm rooted to the spot, caught in a turmoil of my own conscience. As the ceremony concludes, the Ulxa's jubilant cries of victory and empowerment ring out, echoing through the approaching night. But for me, the sound is hollow. How can I fight alongside people who partake in such barbarism? And yet how can I turn away when the fate of all Pachil hangs in the balance, knowing the struggle for our land begins right here in Analoixan?
Then, a woman’s voice pierces through the air like the sharp call of a quetzal. “You, there.” It’s the woman from atop the ritual site. Her voice is strong, confident, proud. She points to me, her arm clattering with bronze jewelry that shake over her leather vambrace. “The embodiment of Iolatl, the mother of creation, walks among us! And She is joined by Aqxilapu, creator of storms! Please, bless us with your prayer, so that our precious city, Analoixan, may be protected by the invaders attacking our home.”
The crowd turns to look at me as she seemingly reiterates this pronouncement in their native tongue, mouths agape. So, too, is Paxilche’s reaction, stunned and tense. “Uh, what do we do?” Paxilche mutters to me, uneasy. From her high vantage point, I deduce that she must have seen our actions against the fire beasts, how we used our abilities to defend the villagers and usher them to safety. The Ulxa begin to revere us, placing their hands upon us and chanting something in some other dialect, something that sounds harsh and vitriolic, yet, because of their worship, their reverence, it can’t be so.
“Recalling my time in Qespina,” I reply, “I know all too well about being falsely worshipped. But we can’t turn these people away. They need to believe in the fight to protect their homeland, and if we denounce them or correct them, it could prove problematic.”
“But we’re being worshipped,” Paxilche emphasizes. “This is madness! We’re not gods! They have us mistaken!”
My initial reaction to Paxilche’s statement wants me to remind him of his actions not moments earlier, when he cast the lightning in a godlike manner, using no discretion. However, much like these Ulxa, I need him as an ally, not pushed away as an enemy.
Biting my tongue, I choose to instead respond with, “Follow my lead, and err on the side of caution. We don’t want to enhance their false perceptions of us.”
Against my better judgement, I lift my chin and, still weary from the earlier battle, limp toward the distinguished woman. Those gathered chant in unison, their disturbingly droning voices cause my breath to shorten into quick, panicked gasps. Yet my outward bravery belies my inner fears, concealing the terror that churns within me.
It takes all of my energy to scale the steep, stone stairs, and I approach the presumed leader with overwhelming nervousness. Her dark eyes practically glare at me, but upon closer observation of her sharply arched eyebrows, I soon realize this intensity is simply her fixed demeanor. I also notice the markings along her arms, appearing to be numerous dots connected by lines to form a variety of shapes, reminiscent of designating constellations that the Sanqo use to navigate the seas.
I can see she’s about to make a grand speech, so I quickly interject. “You honor us by bestowing upon us the mantle of the gods. However, I am Walumaq, princess of the Sanqo people, daughter of Sianchu. And this Paxilche, noble warrior of the Qiapu. We have arrived to defend Analoixan from the evil that has come to consume your homeland, and all of Pachil.”
The woman looks at me with an evaluative gaze, before proclaiming with flourish, “You have clearly been touched by the gods, chosen by them to shield our people. For this, the Ulxa will hold your names in high esteem, recounting your bravery for generations to come. We are forever entwined with your fates, Princess Walumaq and Paxilche.”
The crowd chants our name in their stilted, hissing dialect, which distresses me greatly. It’s as if they still revere Paxilche and me as demigods, despite my objection and correction, though their leader has yet to make this distinction clear, I suppose. Paxilche appears to take it all in, poorly hiding a smile that barely cracks the corners of his mouth. It’s all an unsettling sight, something I wish to put behind me as quickly as I can.
“To whom is the revered leader I address?” I inquire, hoping to divert attention away from myself.
“I am Tlexnín, the leader chosen by the Itztecatl,” she says, prompting the shamans to reflexively shout some unintelligible response. The one calling herself Tlexnín remains stoic, her presence commanding, as she casts her sharp gaze upon me.
Swallowing the lump in my throat, I ask, “May we discuss the matters of defending Analoixan in a more… private… location?” I glance about the shamans and warriors surrounding us, then flicker my attention to the gathered villager at the bottom of this sacred site.
Initially appearing confused, Tlexnín eventually responds, “As you wish. Though I do not travel anywhere without my warriors.”
“Understood, Tlexnín,” I say, bowing my head, hoping it’s taken as a sign of respect. She ushers us down the long, steep steps, and through the dense crowd of adoring villagers worshipping our every step. The warriors attempt to clear a path for us, forcefully and aggressively pushing the onlookers out of the way. Yet it’s not enough to dissuade them from reaching out to grab at us. I clutch at the amulet, then look back to make sure Paxilche does the same—which he doesn’t, at first, but eventually catches on—to ensure we protect our precious relics.
Tlexnín guides us through winding, torch-lit corridors, the walls adorned with intricate carvings that seem to move in the flickering light. We arrive at a grand chamber, its sheer scale and opulence taking my breath away. There is the heavy scent of burning copal everywhere, a sacred resin with its pungent, smoky perfume. Bright, colorful tapestries hang from the walls, depicting scenes of conquest and communion with the divine. They’re seemingly brought to life under the soft glow of torches mounted on gold and turquoise fixtures. Laid in patterns, the floor is made into a mosaic of polished stones with more detailed etchings upon their faces, like that outside the grand entrance. At the chamber’s center stands an imposing throne, carved from a single block of polished obsidian, glinting in the low light. The ceiling soars high above, painted to mimic the night sky of Pachil, complete with what I recognize to be constellations that have guided our people for generations.
Tlexnín regally lowers herself onto the throne, then stares at Paxilche and me expectantly. After an awkward pause, I take one step forward and, to her amusement, curtsey before addressing her.
“Your grace,” I state, “we have traveled far from our respective homelands to aid your people in the fight against this evil, those calling themselves the Eye in the Flame. We–“
She interrupts, waving her hand dismissively at me. “Yes, these are troublesome dissenters to the throne, led by delusional fools. The only aspect that I find amusing is that their leaders are misguided in different ways, yet misguided nonetheless. With the ritual completed, the enemy at our gates will be crushed by Wiqamasqa.”
Out of sight, the distant sounds of the assault carry on. Explosions and howls and yelling and chest-thumping booms and cries of agony continue to ring out in the background. Through all of this, Tlexnín remains inexpressive. Is she serious in her inaction? Does she truly believe the matter to be settled?
I cannot allow this to stand as is. “I understand the significance of your rituals and respect your devotion to your beliefs,” I say, “but the sounds of battle still rage outside these walls. While it may certainly sway the tide, Wiqamasqa’s intervention cannot be the only action upon which we rely.”
“Wiqamasqa has heard our prayers,” she declares with unwavering confidence. “The offering of the enemy’s own has sealed their fate. They dare defile our lands, yet now they serve as the key to their undoing. Wiqamasqa’s wrath shall be unyielding. The skies themselves will crush our enemies at the gates.”
“Your grace,” I respond, “our enemies are many, and their resolve is strong. We must stand and fight, not wait for divine retribution to save us. We need a strategy that complements your faith with action. Can we not prepare our warriors, set defenses, or find a way to outmaneuver them on the battlefield? The ritual may have weakened them, but it is by our hands that we must secure Analoixan's safety.”
Tlexnín appears to consider my words, her lips pursed and her severe eyes narrowing. She pauses, as a flicker of perplexity crosses her features. “You speak of action alongside faith,” she finally says with bewilderment. “Such a notion strikes me as strange, for have we not already sought the favor of Wiqamasqa through prayer and ritual? Have we not done enough?”
I’m about to respond, but I see her wrestling with this concept internally. Her thoughtful gaze lingers on me for a moment, and then, slowly, a resolve forms. “Yet, the presence of one not from Ulxa, advocating with such fervor for the survival of our people, cannot be overlooked. Perhaps it is indeed wise to wield both faith and action as our weapons.”
The look of resolution washes over her. “Though you refuse the mantle of divinity, Sanqo princess, the counsel you offer shines with the clarity of the gods themselves,” she says. “Your reluctance to embrace the sole guidance of Wiqamasqa, paired with a strategy that marries the celestial with the corporeal, reveals a divine prudence. Hence, even if you walk among us as flesh and blood, the gods speak through you. Let us blend our approaches in preparation for battle against the darkness at the walls of our city.”
I believe the matter to be settled, exhaling a sigh of relief. But then Tlexnín adds, “I will marshal our warriors to reinforce our defenses, but I entrust you and your allies to spearhead this effort. The enemy’s aggression demands a response in kind. Once victory is ours, we shall offer the blood of the conquered as a final homage to Wiqamasqa. Their spirits will fuel our lands, ensuring prosperity and warding off future threats.”
Her statement chills me to the core. The memory of the ritual I’d witnessed and the bloodlust in the crowd’s cheers haunt me. I hesitate, and I find my resolve wavering. Can I, in good conscience, lead a charge knowing it culminates in such barbarity?
Tlexnín notices my discomfort, and her expression immediately softens. “I see my words have troubled you, Sanqo princess. Understand, the rituals of Ulxa are steeped in tradition, in a belief that the strength of our enemies can fortify our warriors. It is true, the rituals of Ulxa are woven into our heritage, revered for their power to connect us with the gods. Yet,” she continues, her voice lowering, “there are those among us who cling to these traditions out of a fear of change. A fear that by evolving, we might somehow diminish our strength or anger the gods.”
She leans closer, her voice almost a conspiratorial whisper. “But I dare to dream of a different Ulxa. One where our might is not measured by the blood we spill in ritual. I recognize this belief has made me… unpopular with the traditionalists within our ranks. They see this as a betrayal, a departure from the path laid by our ancestors.”
Straightening up, her expression hardens as she raises her voice, which finally attracts Paxilche’s attention. “Yet your presence here, along with your perspective, gives me hope that we are on the cusp of a new era. An era where Ulxa can find strength in unity, in alliances with the factions of Pachil. Perhaps, together, we can show that progress need not be feared, and tradition can evolve without losing its essence and power.”
Her admission offers a glimmer of hope, a possibility that my involvement could lead to more than just a temporary alliance against a common enemy. It could spark a transformation within Ulxa itself, steering them away from their more brutal traditions.
With renewed determination, I nod. “Let us focus on the immediate threat. We will defend Analoixan, and in doing so, we will find a new path forward for Ulxa.”
Loud, thunderous booms cause the ground around us to tremble. Our attention returns to the present, recognizing that the threat still looms over Analoixan. Tlexnín nods with a newfound respect evident in her eyes. “Indeed, Sanqo princess. Let us proceed with our preparations. The battle awaits us, as does the future of Ulxa.”
Tlexnín stands up and makes a proclamation using her native tongue. Warriors hand her an ornate helmet made of bronze and decorated with numerous colorful feathers, an elaborate obsidian-tipped spear that is two heads taller than her proud stance, and a bronze breast plate. She exchanges these for what she wore to the ritual, then fiercely thumps her chest with her spear.
As I trail behind her, a tremendous fear surges through me, something I try to fight with what may perhaps be naïve reasoning. While I find the rituals and customs of Ulxa abhorrent, they are a proud and earnest people. They don’t deserve the fate the Eye in the Flame wish to thrust upon them. There is good in these people—that, I am most confident; I can see it in my exchange with Tlexnín. It’s been foretold that I am the uniter, and I intend to adhere to that prophecy. Perhaps I’m the one who will reform the Ulxa. Perhaps I’ve been sent to lay the foundation for a more peaceful, cooperative Pachil. Perhaps this is just the next step in my destiny realized.
As the last echoes of the gate’s destruction reverberate through the thick, smoke-filled air, I press closer to the shattered remnants of Analoixan’s defenses. Rain and ash mingle with sweat, matting my hair to my forehead. It’s a cool contrast to the feverish heat emanating from the city ahead. My heart pounds against my ribcage—a drum of war in its own right—urging me to action despite the overwhelming odds.
Around me, the city burns. Unhindered by the precipitation, flames spread with a voracious appetite across wooden structures, their fiery tongues licking the dark sky with hues of orange and red. Wooden structures that once constituted Ulxa homes smolder about us, succumbing to the inferno. I can feel the heat intensifying as if conspiring to stop us, to swallow us whole in its fiery maw.
Because of the heavy and unrelenting rain from earlier, the ground is sludge beneath my feet, making it a burden to drag Paxilche’s unconscious form to safety. Nevertheless, I set my jaw and tighten my grip on him while he’s blissfully oblivious to the chaos swirling around us. Though shallow yet steady, his breathing is the only noise that cuts through the cacophony of destruction. The sounds of battle grow louder as we enter the threshold of Analoixan, but it’s the silence that follows—a sudden, eerie lull—that chills me more than the encroaching flames.
Ahead, it’s a scene from the darkest of nightmares. The silhouettes of the fire dogs move with unnatural speed, their forms shimmering in the fire that engulfs them. Their roars pierce the evening, melding with the cries of warriors and the crackle of consuming flames. Their eyes are deep pools of molten lava, seeking out life amid the devastation, eager to extinguish it.
Just as I begin to doubt my quest at the sight of the devastating scene, the howls of the fire dogs are answered by the shouts of Ulxa men and women, rallying cries that cut through the clamoring. They rush past me, raising their obsidian swords, unperturbed with the mortifying sight of these unreal monsters destroying their city. The moment pushes me forward. In my chest, a fire of my own kindles, encouraged by the valor of the Ulxa warriors, and determined to rise to the challenge set forth by this enemy.
Braving the flames and the danger, Ulxa warriors clash with the beasts. But their efforts seem almost futile against such supernatural ferocity. Every swipe of a fiery claw, every bite of scorching teeth, brings ruin and suffering. Though they valiantly strike at the creatures, they’re brought to a grizzly demise, as the monstrous beasts slash and shred them apart with ease.
Then, my gaze is drawn to a solitary structure that defies the chaos consuming its city: the temple. Unlike the surrounding tinderbox of wooden homes and market stalls now falling to the flames, the temple stands resolute. The only building constructed of stone, it endures the catastrophe taking place among the land that cradles it. Rising high from the ground are large columns of bronze statues, twinkling radiantly amidst the horrific scene that surrounds them. Though they’re too far away to confirm this, they appear to be beset throughout with various precious gemstones of all shades and hues.
As we dash through the streets, the heat at our heels intensifies. The ground beneath us feels as if it's about to melt away. Manifesting from the flames, the dogs close in, each snarl sending embers scattering into the air. Though not of flesh and bone, their paws leave the ground scorched in their wake as they rumble towards us with unnerving speed. With every glance back, I see their fiery eyes, like molten coals, fixated on us. They leap over obstacles with ease, their flames undiminished by the small sputtering of rain.
The city’s defenders struggle against the tenacity of the Eye in the Flame’s fire dogs. Though their ranks are quickly dismantled, the Ulxa warriors persist, determined to shift the fate of this battle in their favor. Overwhelming booms that reverberate throughout the entirety of Analoixan rattle my bones, and explosions of nearby balls of fire momentarily illuminate the city with an ominous orange glow.
Paxilche starts to come back to life, grunting and groaning while rubbing the back of his head. “Wha…” he’s barely able to get out the words before yielding to the pain of his injuries.
“You’ve been knocked unconscious,” I answer him. “While you were attempting to summon your abilities.”
“Was it the Eye in the Flame?” he asks. “The ones responsible for my condition?” When I don’t reply, he shakes his head in disbelief. “So, someone else then…” His remark is more statement than inquiry, for he must know all too well the circumstances that led to the state in which he finds himself.
I continue to scan the horizon for any threat, trying to identify our best course of action to get to safety. Paxilche doesn’t allow me to consider our next move in peace, declaring, “I wasn’t left with much choice, you know. The city was–“
“We are always given a choice!” I say harshly, my words more biting than I intended. “You were harming those who sought to defend the city! Your reckless actions not only washed away innocent lives in a merciless tide, but also stirred turmoil among those who might have stood with us.”
Paxilche scoffs. “Some innocent lives were sacrificed, so what? Had I not intervened, the Eye in the Flame would’ve caused even more destruction than what they’ve already done. It’s a small price to pay to defend the city.”
“Every life is precious, even of those you deem insufficient,” I charge. “Who are you to determine which ally’s life is worth more than another’s? They joined our cause after we earned their trust—trust that you just betrayed. There is a fine line between defense and destruction, a line you crossed without a second thought.”
“That is the life of a warrior—and death is the risk they take,” Paxilche shouts above the din. Yet his condition is still unimproved, and he starts to collapse against the remnants of a wooden wall that once belonged to a home. Groggily, he adds, “If wielding the tempest’s fury spares Analoixan from the cult’s clutches, then so be it. I’ll bear that weight so others don’t have to.”
I stare at him, stunned by the defiance in his tone. “A storm leaves nothing but ruins in its wake,” I counter, trying to restrain my own storm that rages within me. “We vowed to protect this land and its people, not decide their fates with the arrogance of gods.”
Though is eyes are fierce and unyielding, his silence is telling, like a tumultuous sea stilled momentarily by my words. For now, an uneasy truce appears to settle between us. His reasoning is disturbing, and while our enemy might unite us, it’s evident that the paths we choose to walk may divide us.
But we have no time to spare, as the presence of our foe bears down upon us. The sounds of destruction grow louder, and the heat from the burning buildings intensifies. The panicked cries and screams of residents trapped by the swirling fires blends with the crashes of falling buildings. From the corner of my eye, they are close by, crouching low behind anything that could afford them a modicum of protection. I call out to them, urging them to run to safety. But they’re petrified in place, too scared to move. I know the makeshift shields they hide behind are not enough, and I know they need to be protected from the fire dogs right away, as I hear the approaching beasts’ flaming paws thump the ground like striking a war drum.
The nearest source of water remains too far away, and I see no other well or pool of water large enough for me to douse the flames that threaten the nearby villagers. The fiery red eyes of the beasts appear above the ruined thatch roofs that once belonged to homes, searching the area for their next target, their next victim.
A few droplets of rain patter against my cheek. I look up, seeing the dark gray clouds hovering overhead, and an idea comes to me in a flash. Turning to Paxilche, I exhale a steadying breath, then ask, “If we can set aside our differences for one moment, can you intensify the storm circling above us? It can hopefully bring enough water that I may have a chance at moving it to where it is needed most.”
Still groggy, Paxilche rubs his temples. “I’m not sure I have the power to do that,” he says with uncertainty. “I… I just discovered this ability, and I’m not confident about knowing the limits of what I can do. I may have expelled all that I can.”
A whirlwind of thoughts tangle in my mind. Paxilche has only just come into his powers, and he may be too physically exhausted to utilize them anyhow. But furthermore, his mental state, knowing what defense he raised for his actions, makes it that much more difficult to trust him with such a request anyhow.
Then the realization that I might possess what can unleash his potential—and by extension, ensure the survival of Analoixan—comes to me. The jade and onyx amulet, warm against my skin, pulses as if in agreement. I clutch it tighter, contemplating the magnitude of the decision before me.
I glance at Paxilche, considering the potential of his newfound abilities against the enormity of the task at hand. The idea of amplifying his power with one of the amulets nestles into my mind like an ember of hope flickering to life. Handing over such a potent artifact to him, however, especially after his recent recklessness, feels akin to entrusting a child with a blade.
I find myself torn, staring at the amulet in my hand. Entrusting Paxilche with this could either be our salvation or our doom. It was only moments ago when he unleashed an indiscriminate fury between friend and foe. I’m haunted by the memory of his lightning, indiscriminate and wild. What if, in his attempt to save, he brings down more destruction? Can I risk amplifying that power, especially now when precision and control are paramount?
Yet as I watch the encroaching flames, I see our options dwindle like the fading light of day, as the decision becomes less about trust and more about necessity. The people of Analoixan, whose lives hang by an ever-fraying thread, cannot afford my hesitation. The thought of failing them, of watching helplessly as the city falls to the Eye of the Flame and the ruthless beasts they’ve summoned, solidifies my choice.
“Paxilche,” I start, fighting to force my voice to become firm, “I… might possess an item that could enhance your connection to the storm.” I pause, gauging his reaction, the jade and onyx amulet cool against my palm. I extend the amulet towards him, its green and black gemstones radiating in the fiery glow surrounding us. “It might give us the edge we need. But you must promise me, promise all of us, that you’ll control it. No more blind rage, no more reckless endangerment of lives. Our aim is to protect, not to destroy further.”
He inspects the amulet, and his hand hesitates before taking it, making it evident he’s battling his inner storms. “I… understand. I’ll do whatever it takes to save them, Walumaq. You have my word,” he assures me, though I catch a flicker of doubt in his eyes that mirrors my own.
As the amulet passes into his possession with a trembling hand, the skies respond, and the storm’s rumble grows more intense as if anticipating the unleashing of its full might. Cautiously, he places the gold chain over his head, letting the jade and onyx amulet drop to his chest. He looks at me questioningly, uncertain of what’s to come. But I give him a single, reassuring nod, finding that I’ve braced myself, ready to guide the deluge with every ounce of concentration I possess.
Paxilche closes his eyes to concentrate, drowning out the calamity that threatens to overtake us where we rest. I place a hand on his shoulder to help put him at ease. Then, in unison, we recite the prayer of my morning ritual. There’s an encouraging calm that washes over him, and I hope beyond hope that he’s channeling his powers from a source of love, not hate.
At once, rain begins to pour—not just in droplets, but in a deluge. A tremendous torrent streams from the sky, as if the heavens themselves have opened in response to Paxilche’s silent plea. I watch as the water gathers at my feet, swelling into rivulets that chase the flames back, bit by bit. I can barely believe the sight as the land transforms. The once fierce and uncontrollable fires begin to hiss and steam under the onslaught of the rain. What moments ago was a hellish landscape of fire and ash now becomes a scene of rejuvenation, as each drop of rain acts as a salve to the scorched ground.
Seizing this gift of rain, I stretch out my hands, willing the water to rise. The water obeys, swirling and coalescing. With the twist and rotation of my hands and wrists, I direct the concentrated streams into protective barriers that shield villagers from the encroaching flames and dogs of fire. It encircles us into a wall that deflects the incoming embers and debris flung from nearby explosions of splintered homes. The relief on the faces of the trapped villagers is palpable, and their despair turns into hope as paths to safety emerge from the chaos. Without hesitating, they scurry away, retreating into the ever darkening evening as they flee the scene.
However, with each motion, I feel my strength waning. The effort to control such vast amounts of water strains every fiber of my being. I struggle for breath, my chest compressing as if a giant boulder rests upon it, and I’m starkly reminded of my limits with the absence of the jade and onyx amulet around my neck.
Nevertheless, I push myself further. With the villagers clear of the scene, I shift the water towards the dark creatures, causing them to recoil and whine as the rain drenches their fiery coats. The beasts snarl and leap, only to be met by cascades of water that douse their flames, reducing them to whimpering shadows of their former selves. They evaporate into a steaming mist, gratifyingly vanishing before our eyes.
But as the last of them falls, I can feel my powers waning. My knees buckle beneath me as my energy is spent. The barriers of water begin to waver, then dissipate, dropping to the ground with a resounding whoosh as it spreads throughout the ruined remains of the city. The world tilts and blurs as I fall to exhaustion, while the rain continues to fall around me.
Lying there, soaked to the bone but alive, I look up to the dark sky as it continues to unleash its torrent upon us. Despite this, I feel a smile tug at my lips. I’m filled only with gratitude and relief.
Paxilche’s shouts gradually make their way to my ears. He calls out for me, desperately repeating my name. “It’s okay,” I say, with barely enough strength to wave my hand dismissively. “I haven’t worn the amulets for that long, yet it seems I’ve already forgotten the limits to my abilities.”
He lifts me up to my feet. Every limb, every part of my body—even the hairs upon my head—ache severely. I wince, but battle through the pain. Our fight to defend Analoixan is far from finished, as the discordant sounds of the assault raging off in the distance reminds me.
Recognizing what little time we have before the next wave of creatures storms through the city, we pick up our trek toward the temple through the mud and sludge. It’s difficult for me to determine whether it’s the muck or my weathered muscles that hinders my movement. Clutching Paxilche closer, we maneuver through the rubble-strewn streets towards this fortress, this safe haven. As we approach, its towering walls reveal intricate patterns of terra cotta intertwined with robust stone. The large bronze columns nearly scratch the sky, they are so tall, embedded with turquoise, emeralds, and jade—stones seemingly from all over Pachil. Stone statues line the way toward the temple, with stoic faces carved into them. Details involving carvings of mythical beasts and deities adorn its entrance, etched with such precision it’s as though they might spring to life at any moment. It’s an awe-inspiring sight that, for one fleeting moment, allows me to forget the peril nipping at our heels.
Chanting suddenly rises above the rumbles and dissonance, piquing my curiosity. Is there prayer taking place during a battle waged on Analoixan? Could the defenders have stooped to dark rituals to reclaim their city? Could the Eye in the Flame have already captured the sacred structure? Or could those be healers, seeking aid from their gods? More wailing and cries call out, though I can’t discern whether they’re from pain or exultation.
Paxilche looks disturbed, uncertain if we should proceed. Yet there’s a resolve within me, determined to find out who is behind this mysterious event. If it’s a friend, we can exchange information and develop a strategy. If its foe… well, I just hope it’s a friend on the other side of these ruins.
Yet as I round a corner, the horrifying scene that unfolds before me brings me to a halt. After pushing through a dense crowd of onlookers, there’s an undercurrent of anticipation among those gathered. Their eager attention is focused on what’s occurring atop the large, stone structure they’re swarming. Their feverish chants are howled into the darkening sky, a sound that causes my stomach to clench.
Arrayed before the temple, a group of Ulxa priests stand in a circle. The hairs on the back of my neck raise as their voices unite in a dark, growling chant. Roughly a dozen shamans stand poised at the edge of the stone platform, adorned in elaborate headdresses of feathers in vibrant blue, teal, and red hues that flit with the wind. Across their bare chests and arms are tattoos in intricate patterns and symbols, with various spots connected by crisscrossing lines. Pendants of bone and jade clink softly around their necks, and I deduce these must be sacred artifacts for their communion with the divine.
In their hands are ceremonial knives with obsidian blades, catching the glow of a towering bonfire with a menacing gleam, and a bundle of herbs that are ready to be offered to the flames. One of the shaman steps forward, his body painted with bold streaks of red and black crossing his chest, arms, and face, and atop his head sits a towering headdress, bristling with obsidian feathers and jagged bone.
Glowering with sharp, observant eyes behind them, a formidable warrior woman stands with an unyielding confidence. She’s adorned with a majestic headdress made from an array of feathers that enshrouds her head. Intricately designed gold and jade jewelry dangle from her ears and neck, catching glints of fire light. Bold lines of thick, black lines along her face accentuate her set jaw, and patterns trace down her toned arms. She wears armor that is both ornate and utilitarian, crafted from leather, bone, and vibrant textiles that blend in with the Ulxa landscape.
Encircling them are the city’s defenders, faces as blank as the stone that surrounds them. Before the shamans, nearly two dozen victims kneel, wearing the unmistakable garb of the Eye in the Flame, their silhouettes casting long shadows in the flickering light. The cultists, whose ashen gray and crimson robes are a stark contrast to the vibrant colors of the shamans’ attire, watch with anticipation. They appear resigned to their fate, understanding the ritual that’s about to be performed. Their expressions remain eerily composed, a disturbing tranquility that belies their unwavering devotion to their dark cause.
At the heart of this spectacle lies the stone altar, its surface somehow shimmering in the dim light. The shaman who stepped forward begins with a low, rhythmic chant that cuts through the silence like a sword. The crowd is hushed, hanging on every syllable, every gesture that he makes. The flames from the nearby torches dance wildly, as if stirred by some unseen force with the cadence of his incantations.
The shaman’s movements become more fervent, and his chants louder, more insistent. The herbs are cast into the fire, sending up plumes of smoke that fill the air with a heady, intoxicating aroma. He then raises the ceremonial knife, and the crowd draws a collective breath. My heart tightens from dread, from a knowing anticipation. As the knife descends, a part of me recoils, silently screaming inside my mind, and I nearly feint at the sight. The others follow his actions, mirroring the grotesque action upon the other cultists. With their final breaths, some of the Eye in the Flame zealots extol their image of Eztletiqa, one reshaped to fit their twisted faith, but their devotions are abruptly silenced by the ritual blade. The sounds that follow—wet, squelching noises, the sharp snap of bone, a chorus of gasps and murmurs from the crowd—etch themselves into my memory unwelcomely. I don’t need to watch; the sounds create a vivid, gruesome image I wish I could wash away.
There’s a moment where the world seems to pause, teetering on the brink of something unfathomable. Then, the proud female warrior strides forward, receiving a chalice that’s been filled with… I dare not say, for fear of retching. I am rooted to the spot, transfixed, as the ceremony unfolds before me, its horrors too ghastly and brutal for words. I force myself to look away, to find anything else in the world to focus on but that. My gaze instead catches the faces of the onlookers, with their expressions of reverence and an unsettling eagerness that makes my skin crawl.
With the act done, the crowd’s reaction is immediate, filled with fervent cheers. But I can’t share in their gaze. No, my eyes are fixed on the ground, my mind desperately trying to unsee what it has witnessed. A sickening aroma, sweet and metallic, invades my nostrils and coats my tongue with the taste of iron. I swallow hard, fighting the bile that rises in my throat. Around me, the Ulxa continue their ritual with impassioned zeal.
I find myself backing away, distancing myself from the scene, from the blood that now seems to permeate the very air I breathe. When I dare to look again, it’s only at the faces around me—their twisted grimaces, their wide, unblinking eyes, some glazed with tears, others alight with a fervor that chills me to the bone. It’s in their faces that I see the true horror of what unfolds before us, a reflection of the brutality that I cannot bring myself to witness directly.
The need to act, to do something, anything to stop this madness, wells up within me, but I'm rooted to the spot, caught in a turmoil of my own conscience. As the ceremony concludes, the Ulxa's jubilant cries of victory and empowerment ring out, echoing through the approaching night. But for me, the sound is hollow. How can I fight alongside people who partake in such barbarism? And yet how can I turn away when the fate of all Pachil hangs in the balance, knowing the struggle for our land begins right here in Analoixan?
Then, a woman’s voice pierces through the air like the sharp call of a quetzal. “You, there.” It’s the woman from atop the ritual site. Her voice is strong, confident, proud. She points to me, her arm clattering with bronze jewelry that shake over her leather vambrace. “The embodiment of Iolatl, the mother of creation, walks among us! And She is joined by Aqxilapu, creator of storms! Please, bless us with your prayer, so that our precious city, Analoixan, may be protected by the invaders attacking our home.”
The crowd turns to look at me as she seemingly reiterates this pronouncement in their native tongue, mouths agape. So, too, is Paxilche’s reaction, stunned and tense. “Uh, what do we do?” Paxilche mutters to me, uneasy. From her high vantage point, I deduce that she must have seen our actions against the fire beasts, how we used our abilities to defend the villagers and usher them to safety. The Ulxa begin to revere us, placing their hands upon us and chanting something in some other dialect, something that sounds harsh and vitriolic, yet, because of their worship, their reverence, it can’t be so.
“Recalling my time in Qespina,” I reply, “I know all too well about being falsely worshipped. But we can’t turn these people away. They need to believe in the fight to protect their homeland, and if we denounce them or correct them, it could prove problematic.”
“But we’re being worshipped,” Paxilche emphasizes. “This is madness! We’re not gods! They have us mistaken!”
My initial reaction to Paxilche’s statement wants me to remind him of his actions not moments earlier, when he cast the lightning in a godlike manner, using no discretion. However, much like these Ulxa, I need him as an ally, not pushed away as an enemy.
Biting my tongue, I choose to instead respond with, “Follow my lead, and err on the side of caution. We don’t want to enhance their false perceptions of us.”
Against my better judgement, I lift my chin and, still weary from the earlier battle, limp toward the distinguished woman. Those gathered chant in unison, their disturbingly droning voices cause my breath to shorten into quick, panicked gasps. Yet my outward bravery belies my inner fears, concealing the terror that churns within me.
It takes all of my energy to scale the steep, stone stairs, and I approach the presumed leader with overwhelming nervousness. Her dark eyes practically glare at me, but upon closer observation of her sharply arched eyebrows, I soon realize this intensity is simply her fixed demeanor. I also notice the markings along her arms, appearing to be numerous dots connected by lines to form a variety of shapes, reminiscent of designating constellations that the Sanqo use to navigate the seas.
I can see she’s about to make a grand speech, so I quickly interject. “You honor us by bestowing upon us the mantle of the gods. However, I am Walumaq, princess of the Sanqo people, daughter of Sianchu. And this Paxilche, noble warrior of the Qiapu. We have arrived to defend Analoixan from the evil that has come to consume your homeland, and all of Pachil.”
The woman looks at me with an evaluative gaze, before proclaiming with flourish, “You have clearly been touched by the gods, chosen by them to shield our people. For this, the Ulxa will hold your names in high esteem, recounting your bravery for generations to come. We are forever entwined with your fates, Princess Walumaq and Paxilche.”
The crowd chants our name in their stilted, hissing dialect, which distresses me greatly. It’s as if they still revere Paxilche and me as demigods, despite my objection and correction, though their leader has yet to make this distinction clear, I suppose. Paxilche appears to take it all in, poorly hiding a smile that barely cracks the corners of his mouth. It’s all an unsettling sight, something I wish to put behind me as quickly as I can.
“To whom is the revered leader I address?” I inquire, hoping to divert attention away from myself.
“I am Tlexnín, the leader chosen by the Itztecatl,” she says, prompting the shamans to reflexively shout some unintelligible response. The one calling herself Tlexnín remains stoic, her presence commanding, as she casts her sharp gaze upon me.
Swallowing the lump in my throat, I ask, “May we discuss the matters of defending Analoixan in a more… private… location?” I glance about the shamans and warriors surrounding us, then flicker my attention to the gathered villager at the bottom of this sacred site.
Initially appearing confused, Tlexnín eventually responds, “As you wish. Though I do not travel anywhere without my warriors.”
“Understood, Tlexnín,” I say, bowing my head, hoping it’s taken as a sign of respect. She ushers us down the long, steep steps, and through the dense crowd of adoring villagers worshipping our every step. The warriors attempt to clear a path for us, forcefully and aggressively pushing the onlookers out of the way. Yet it’s not enough to dissuade them from reaching out to grab at us. I clutch at the amulet, then look back to make sure Paxilche does the same—which he doesn’t, at first, but eventually catches on—to ensure we protect our precious relics.
Tlexnín guides us through winding, torch-lit corridors, the walls adorned with intricate carvings that seem to move in the flickering light. We arrive at a grand chamber, its sheer scale and opulence taking my breath away. There is the heavy scent of burning copal everywhere, a sacred resin with its pungent, smoky perfume. Bright, colorful tapestries hang from the walls, depicting scenes of conquest and communion with the divine. They’re seemingly brought to life under the soft glow of torches mounted on gold and turquoise fixtures. Laid in patterns, the floor is made into a mosaic of polished stones with more detailed etchings upon their faces, like that outside the grand entrance. At the chamber’s center stands an imposing throne, carved from a single block of polished obsidian, glinting in the low light. The ceiling soars high above, painted to mimic the night sky of Pachil, complete with what I recognize to be constellations that have guided our people for generations.
Tlexnín regally lowers herself onto the throne, then stares at Paxilche and me expectantly. After an awkward pause, I take one step forward and, to her amusement, curtsey before addressing her.
“Your grace,” I state, “we have traveled far from our respective homelands to aid your people in the fight against this evil, those calling themselves the Eye in the Flame. We–“
She interrupts, waving her hand dismissively at me. “Yes, these are troublesome dissenters to the throne, led by delusional fools. The only aspect that I find amusing is that their leaders are misguided in different ways, yet misguided nonetheless. With the ritual completed, the enemy at our gates will be crushed by Wiqamasqa.”
Out of sight, the distant sounds of the assault carry on. Explosions and howls and yelling and chest-thumping booms and cries of agony continue to ring out in the background. Through all of this, Tlexnín remains inexpressive. Is she serious in her inaction? Does she truly believe the matter to be settled?
I cannot allow this to stand as is. “I understand the significance of your rituals and respect your devotion to your beliefs,” I say, “but the sounds of battle still rage outside these walls. While it may certainly sway the tide, Wiqamasqa’s intervention cannot be the only action upon which we rely.”
“Wiqamasqa has heard our prayers,” she declares with unwavering confidence. “The offering of the enemy’s own has sealed their fate. They dare defile our lands, yet now they serve as the key to their undoing. Wiqamasqa’s wrath shall be unyielding. The skies themselves will crush our enemies at the gates.”
“Your grace,” I respond, “our enemies are many, and their resolve is strong. We must stand and fight, not wait for divine retribution to save us. We need a strategy that complements your faith with action. Can we not prepare our warriors, set defenses, or find a way to outmaneuver them on the battlefield? The ritual may have weakened them, but it is by our hands that we must secure Analoixan's safety.”
Tlexnín appears to consider my words, her lips pursed and her severe eyes narrowing. She pauses, as a flicker of perplexity crosses her features. “You speak of action alongside faith,” she finally says with bewilderment. “Such a notion strikes me as strange, for have we not already sought the favor of Wiqamasqa through prayer and ritual? Have we not done enough?”
I’m about to respond, but I see her wrestling with this concept internally. Her thoughtful gaze lingers on me for a moment, and then, slowly, a resolve forms. “Yet, the presence of one not from Ulxa, advocating with such fervor for the survival of our people, cannot be overlooked. Perhaps it is indeed wise to wield both faith and action as our weapons.”
The look of resolution washes over her. “Though you refuse the mantle of divinity, Sanqo princess, the counsel you offer shines with the clarity of the gods themselves,” she says. “Your reluctance to embrace the sole guidance of Wiqamasqa, paired with a strategy that marries the celestial with the corporeal, reveals a divine prudence. Hence, even if you walk among us as flesh and blood, the gods speak through you. Let us blend our approaches in preparation for battle against the darkness at the walls of our city.”
I believe the matter to be settled, exhaling a sigh of relief. But then Tlexnín adds, “I will marshal our warriors to reinforce our defenses, but I entrust you and your allies to spearhead this effort. The enemy’s aggression demands a response in kind. Once victory is ours, we shall offer the blood of the conquered as a final homage to Wiqamasqa. Their spirits will fuel our lands, ensuring prosperity and warding off future threats.”
Her statement chills me to the core. The memory of the ritual I’d witnessed and the bloodlust in the crowd’s cheers haunt me. I hesitate, and I find my resolve wavering. Can I, in good conscience, lead a charge knowing it culminates in such barbarity?
Tlexnín notices my discomfort, and her expression immediately softens. “I see my words have troubled you, Sanqo princess. Understand, the rituals of Ulxa are steeped in tradition, in a belief that the strength of our enemies can fortify our warriors. It is true, the rituals of Ulxa are woven into our heritage, revered for their power to connect us with the gods. Yet,” she continues, her voice lowering, “there are those among us who cling to these traditions out of a fear of change. A fear that by evolving, we might somehow diminish our strength or anger the gods.”
She leans closer, her voice almost a conspiratorial whisper. “But I dare to dream of a different Ulxa. One where our might is not measured by the blood we spill in ritual. I recognize this belief has made me… unpopular with the traditionalists within our ranks. They see this as a betrayal, a departure from the path laid by our ancestors.”
Straightening up, her expression hardens as she raises her voice, which finally attracts Paxilche’s attention. “Yet your presence here, along with your perspective, gives me hope that we are on the cusp of a new era. An era where Ulxa can find strength in unity, in alliances with the factions of Pachil. Perhaps, together, we can show that progress need not be feared, and tradition can evolve without losing its essence and power.”
Her admission offers a glimmer of hope, a possibility that my involvement could lead to more than just a temporary alliance against a common enemy. It could spark a transformation within Ulxa itself, steering them away from their more brutal traditions.
With renewed determination, I nod. “Let us focus on the immediate threat. We will defend Analoixan, and in doing so, we will find a new path forward for Ulxa.”
Loud, thunderous booms cause the ground around us to tremble. Our attention returns to the present, recognizing that the threat still looms over Analoixan. Tlexnín nods with a newfound respect evident in her eyes. “Indeed, Sanqo princess. Let us proceed with our preparations. The battle awaits us, as does the future of Ulxa.”
Tlexnín stands up and makes a proclamation using her native tongue. Warriors hand her an ornate helmet made of bronze and decorated with numerous colorful feathers, an elaborate obsidian-tipped spear that is two heads taller than her proud stance, and a bronze breast plate. She exchanges these for what she wore to the ritual, then fiercely thumps her chest with her spear.
As I trail behind her, a tremendous fear surges through me, something I try to fight with what may perhaps be naïve reasoning. While I find the rituals and customs of Ulxa abhorrent, they are a proud and earnest people. They don’t deserve the fate the Eye in the Flame wish to thrust upon them. There is good in these people—that, I am most confident; I can see it in my exchange with Tlexnín. It’s been foretold that I am the uniter, and I intend to adhere to that prophecy. Perhaps I’m the one who will reform the Ulxa. Perhaps I’ve been sent to lay the foundation for a more peaceful, cooperative Pachil. Perhaps this is just the next step in my destiny realized.
