Jimena rode Kauyumari through the long night, resting only in fragments before whatever task awaited her. Sleep brought no dreams—only whispers. Endless, unrelenting murmurs filled her mind, pouring indecipherable knowledge into her consciousness. The tattoos etched into her skin burned as they activated one by one, forcing her to learn through both body and soul.

  Words that barely translated were driven into her skull, exhausting her thoughts beneath her goddess’s strict guidance. Divine intent pressed down on her like a crushing weight, threatening to flatten her beneath its immensity.

  Paragraphs and murals unfolded within her mind—emotions, thoughts, and half-formed ideas describing abilities the chosen could one day wield. Miracles fueled not only by their own faith, but by every fragment of belief gathered within them.

  The world inside their gems was revealed to her as a magnificent well—vast, boundless, capable of endless growth.

  Jimena understood more easily than she expected.

  The pictograms and ancient language, though vague, mirrored what she had already seen within her gem. The emotions radiating from them were familiar, resonant. They felt like echoes of herself.

  She learned to guide the flow of faith around her, drawing it inward and letting it pass through Xolo. The guide filtered lingering thoughts and emotions, allowing only those ideas that sparked curiosity to remain—concepts she could picture but not yet fully grasp.

  Seeds.

  Seeds that would shape her transformation.

  Keys to understanding who she was becoming.

  She yawned as dawn crept in, stretching atop Kauyumari’s broad back. Only then did she notice the people who had gathered around them.

  They knelt in unison, hands cupped in supplication to the Mother of Fire.

  The Wixárika had heard.

  Those who had traveled to their sacred lands seeking more Hikuri—the medicine that allowed communion with their gods—had returned with wondrous news. They spoke of spirits stirred, of justice delivered.

  The Mother of Fire had answered.

  Her fury had been brought down upon the wretched invaders. For the first time in far too long, the people could breathe freely. They could stand without fear.

  Jimena dismounted amid wails of joy and crushing embraces. She returned each hug awkwardly, overwhelmed by the gratitude pouring into her. Faith flowed thick and warm, settling into her gem like a living thing.

  After the greetings finally quieted, she found herself walking once more toward the familiar grove—the same sacred place she had visited before.

  But now, she did not come as a frightened girl seeking answers.

  She came as the chosen who had begun to understand what it meant to be worshiped.

  The young chosen felt herself growing overwhelmed by the sheer volume of faith pouring into her. Her inner world swelled as strange new creatures of beads and string took form. Xolo expanded—higher, wider—his once-burning eyes slowly transforming into true celestial bodies. From them flowed divinity, feeding the many new citizens of her strange inner realm.

  The hugs and kisses from the people had unleashed a final surge. Pure emotion flooded her, splashing her world with color. Their worship became a river of gold, nourishing her soul until it brimmed.

  This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

  Her body responded instinctively.

  She began to glow.

  The tattoos her goddess had etched upon her skin flared into visibility, much to Jimena’s surprise. She had felt them before, vaguely—like scars beneath the skin—but seeing them now was something else entirely.

  Pictograms covered her body in careful symmetry. Most were circular, unfilled outlines—bases that mirrored her gem’s ability to receive and contain faith. Each joint glowed faintly as emotion was drawn inward, filling the concepts inscribed within her. Mictecacihuatl continued her teachings without pause, guiding her growth with absolute focus, indifferent to the pressure crushing her chosen beneath it.

  The refugees rejoiced at the sight of her transformation. Hands stretched toward her as obsidian armor slowly crawled over her body. Jimena felt her inner flames rising dangerously, so she summoned the sacred obsidian fully—using it to contain the immense power building within her.

  The Wixárika gathered around her like a living mass, moving in unison as ants followed their queen. Fear flickered in Jimena’s chest. One lapse in judgment, one uncontrolled surge, and she could cause devastation she would never forgive herself for.

  So she leaned on Xolo.

  And through him, she leaned on Mictecacihuatl.

  She called upon her goddess to steady her as she accepted the overwhelming love being offered. Every step she took was met with reverence. Every glance drew wails of praise. Jimena suspected many of them still walked in communion with their spirits—minds open wide to the divine presence surrounding her.

  Her goddess offered no further instruction.

  Only direction.

  So Jimena decided for herself.

  She would accept them.

  They would become part of Bahía Oscura.

  The question of how they would travel back remained unanswered, but the hope shining in the worn, joyful faces around her left no room for doubt. She needed to do something for them—something lasting.

  Fire alone would not suffice.

  Fire could warm… but it could also destroy in an instant. The scent of burned flesh still haunted her, memories vivid even when they felt borrowed from another’s eyes.

  The answer came in a whisper.

  A new cuauhxicalli.

  She felt it immediately—the ease with which she could divide a fragment of Xolo, shaping it without harm. Filling it with both her own divinity and Mictecacihuatl’s.

  The elders, finally clearing their minds of lingering visions, directed the people aside as Jimena gathered power. Hidden tattoos burned hot beneath her armor, energy coursing through them as the necessary pictograms activated.

  Hands folded over her chest, obsidian armor sealing her completely, Jimena transformed what should have been an eruption of flame into deliberate creation.

  Magenta divinity shaped clay from nothing.

  Slowly, a cuauhxicalli formed—bearing her likeness in full obsidian armor. The Xolo helm upon the statue’s head appeared to judge the chromatic flame burning within the bowl it held, eternal and watchful.