Jaime had gotten no rest.

  The whispers from his god drove him relentlessly toward the cuauhxicalli. He had assumed his tasks would begin tomorrow, once the day’s work was finished—but Mictlantecuhtli pressed upon him without mercy. Vast divinity crushed down, suffocating him beneath its weight.

  Cimi flared her feathers, intercepting nearly half the force. She drew the excess into herself, diffusing only a thin, focused thread into Jaime’s mind. Both chosen and spirit ignited with brilliant golden light, illuminating the entire road as he moved toward the shrine.

  Villagers emerged from their homes, startled by the glow. Light spilled through every crack and crevice, awakening the blessings etched upon their foreheads. Most bore only an eight-pointed star—a neutral mark that quietly strengthened their natural abilities. Those with rarer sigils felt nothing; their blessings remained dormant, watching.

  Anyone who saw Jaime felt compelled to follow.

  The light did not blind, no matter how long they stared. Instead, it drew the eye—inviting, irresistible. It tempted them to witness what unfolded, to glimpse the true face of divinity.

  Jaime entered a trance as he stepped into the large hut housing the cuauhxicalli.

  Cimi’s statue had turned completely gold, its form absorbing everything Mictlantecuhtli poured forth. Jaime knelt, allowing Cimi to thicken the flow of divinity entering his mind. The mark of death on his forehead shrieked with ecstasy as communion deepened.

  Visions flooded him—guidance for mind and body alike.

  Pictograms bloomed across his skin: circular tattoos infused with power. They hummed as divinity circulated through them, their outlines filling rapidly, singing against his flesh before obsidian encased it. Symbols etched themselves into the armor’s surface, amplifying the flow within. The armor became a deep reservoir, drawing in everything Mictlantecuhtli and Cimi unleashed.

  The owl fused with him moments later, lifting yet another crushing weight from his soul.

  Even so, the concentrated focus of his god was too much. No matter how deeply Mictlantecuhtli wished his chosen to understand, the pictograms and ancient language held layers of meaning impossible to grasp all at once.

  Jaime wanted to learn.

  He wanted to understand everything his god offered.

  So he allowed the divinity to flow unchecked into his soul, trusting Mictlantecuhtli to reveal the limits of his body. Cimikora sent sharp pulses of anxiety through their bond, berating him for his recklessness.

  The gem embedded in his sternum began to beat in an unfamiliar rhythm. Each pulse matched the circuit of divinity—outward to the pictograms, back into the gem. The hum grew louder, deeper, with every passing second.

  He felt the void within the gem expand endlessly, even as a blinding light bloomed at its center. Cimi rested there, bathing in the raw divinity Mictlantecuhtli forced into him. She absorbed it without discrimination, digesting the power for his use.

  With every thump of the gem came a burn—followed by cool, aching relief.

  And still, the flow did not stop.

  Rings of light erupted around the hut.

  Villagers shouted in shock as several were momentarily swallowed by a newly formed, solid wall of radiance—there and gone in the same breath. Death and sun pictograms overlapped within the light, superimposed and rotating, their union calling something vast into being.

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  From that convergence rose the spectral form of Mictlantecuhtli.

  Raw divinity surged outward from him.

  An immense black cloud spread across the village, swallowing sky and earth alike. It shifted and flowed like a living thing, a domain made manifest. Within it, intent could not be hidden—every soul’s weight and purpose laid bare the moment one stepped inside. Any who died beneath its shroud would pass directly into his underworld upon closing their eyes.

  The domain of eternal night settled protectively over them, a ward against the coming plight.

  Jaime opened his eyes.

  Brilliant light reflected within them as rotating rings of radiance formed around his body, accelerating as they prepared the next miracle. The worship of those present fed the working—hope, fear, awe, and devotion intertwining with divine intent.

  An orb of concentrated light ignited between his hands.

  Its first flicker blinded all who witnessed it. With each heartbeat it grew, swelling in intensity and scale. The air screamed as power condensed further.

  Mictlantecuhtli extended his hands, commanding the orb to rise.

  It ascended into the sky, a blazing counterpoint to the domain of night—a singular star suspended beneath an ocean of darkness, poised between creation and annihilation.

  Jaime could feel his mind, soul, and body beginning to slip.

  The obsidian armor encasing him was no longer enough to sustain the supreme power pouring through his being. Maintaining the sun alone demanded everything he had—every breath, every thought, every fragile thread holding him together.

  His body trembled under the strain. Bones creaked beneath an invisible pressure, joints screaming as if he were physically bearing the weight of the massive orb. It felt real—agonizingly so—as though his spine were braced beneath a celestial burden, his will the only thing keeping it aloft.

  He was grateful the domain of darkness required little of him beyond channeling his god’s divinity. Even so, the mark upon his forehead had begun to fail. The skeletal sigil split at its edges, oozing thin trails of blood that ran down his face, glowing faintly before evaporating into the air.

  Jaime couldn’t tell how large the orb had grown.

  It filled his entire field of view now, an impossible presence suspended above the village. Its sheer magnitude felt as unreal as the endless black clouds swallowing the sky—a sun born beneath night.

  Mictlantecuhtli did not relent.

  The god raised his skeletal hands, directing the opposing forces with deliberate finality. Sun and death twisted into vast pictograms, overlapping and interlocking as his ascending power poured through a chosen who was barely holding together.

  The sigils spread outward, imprinting themselves across a wide stretch of the village—etched into earth, air, and soul alike.

  It was Mictlantecuhtli’s final act.

  With that, the god dissolved into drifting motes of light, leaving behind silence, a divided sky, and a chosen standing at the very edge of his limits.