Jimena had sneaked off again to be alone.

  She moved swiftly, almost playfully, toward the larger shrine she had built for Kauyumari with Jaime and Marisol’s help. It was woven from some of Cimi’s feathers and living vines that bore delicate, fragrant flowers, their colors soft against the stone.

  She set out cornbread for the great blue deer.

  Then she curled in on herself and watched the lagoon.

  Fish darted beneath the surface, flashing silver and green, while frogs croaked loudly from the dark hollows of ceiba trees and from atop lily pads blooming in shades of yellow and pink. The sounds layered together into a living rhythm that soothed her in a way nothing else quite could.

  There were larger creatures in the water as well, though they were rare. When they did appear, they kept to the shadows, careful not to be seen. Jimena wasn’t sure what they hid from—but she was never there long enough to find out.

  …Perhaps they were hiding from her.

  The thought lingered longer than she liked.

  She had felt monstrous lately. Not in any way the villagers noticed—none of them looked at her with fear—but the feeling clung to her all the same. It never truly went away, no matter how softly Mictecacihuatl whispered lullabies into her dreams.

  She had dreamed of the goddess in the form of her mother.

  It was difficult to tell where one ended and the other began. The Lady of the Dead could wear any face she had ever taken, and seeing her mother again was bittersweet. Still, Jimena did not reject the comfort. She let the goddess cradle her grief gently, accepting the care without resistance.

  It felt as though her mother were still with her—watching her struggles, quietly cheering when she stumbled, never letting her fall alone.

  The moments she shared with the goddess felt as real as the lagoon before her. When Mictecacihuatl whispered words of love, Jimena believed them completely. In those dreams, she was a little girl again, crying for her mother—and finally being answered.

  It was strange, the way the goddess treated her.

  Jimena had seen how other gods treated their chosen. Most were like Jaime’s—distant, transactional. Power was given, guidance sometimes followed, and everything else was left to the chosen’s discretion.

  Rituals. Offerings. Methods of worship.

  All choices left in mortal hands.

  That had not changed for them either—except for the quiet, constant guidance Marisol and Jimena received. Even then, when Jimena tried to ask her goddess direct questions, the answers came back garbled and distorted, impossible to decipher no matter how hard she concentrated.

  So she stopped asking.

  She accepted things as they came, choosing not to peer too deeply into whatever future her goddess had planned for her. If Mictecacihuatl wished to treat her like a daughter, Jimena would not turn her away.

  She needed the comfort—no matter its source.

  The front she maintained for the villagers had been exhausting. Strength, reassurance, warmth—all carefully offered, day after day.

  But it was worth it.

  She smiled softly as she listened to the lagoon and thought of the village, of the laughter and easy conversations, of the wide smiles that had become so common lately.

  For those, she would gladly keep going.

  Jimena returned to the village later than usual.

  The sun had already begun its descent toward the horizon, bleeding the sky into layers of gold, crimson, and violet. The flame within her seemed to rejoice at the sight, stirring warmly in response to the dying light.

  Within her gem, the world of yarn and beads had slowly recovered. Its colors, once dulled and frayed, now glowed vividly again—whole, vibrant, and alive. Xolo watched over it quietly, no longer the furious executioner he had once become.

  She had enjoyed the slow walk back.

  Her thoughts wandered freely as she reflected on everything that had unfolded around her—events both small and monumental. She tried to think the way her brother did, turning ideas over carefully, tracing lines of cause and effect, searching for meaning beneath the surface.

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  She had stopped when the world around her began to twist.

  Her mind refused to work the way she demanded of it, thoughts tangling and slipping away no matter how tightly she tried to grasp them. So instead of forcing herself forward, she let go.

  She walked.

  Then she ran.

  She released her emotions into movement, into breath and burning muscle, savoring the simple certainty that she could outrun whatever it was that chased her—whether it was fear, doubt, or memory.

  At times, Xolo joined her, leaping beside her in the blazing chase, his presence fierce but playful. Other times, he merely watched from within the gem, observing her with quiet attentiveness as she frolicked on her own, exploring everything their land had to offer.

  For the first time in a long while, Jimena felt light.

  ---

  Sol watched the fire with his grandfather.

  The night had grown slightly chilly, enough that Sol offered him a blanket more than once. Each time, the old man refused with a stubborn wave of his hand, asking instead that Sol light a fire.

  The golden flames bloomed brightly, warm and steady. Their heat spread to every corner of the stone house, never overwhelming, even as they sat close enough for the flames to reach toward them.

  “Your fire has become more resplendent,” his grandfather said with a soft chuckle, leaning back into his fabric-laden chair. “I can almost feel the veil over my eyes melting away.”

  Sol had always thought his grandfather was mocking him when he spoke like that. Or joking, the way elders sometimes did when they wanted to encourage the young. Whenever he praised Sol’s fire, or claimed it helped him see, Sol had dismissed it.

  Wouldn’t fire only make him more blind?

  Tonight, he let the mysticism of the flame do as it wished. He allowed it to flare and dim at will, sinking his spirit into its warmth. Huehueteotl’s whispers curled through his thoughts as Sol let his mind drift deeper into the golden fire, learning its mysteries rather than commanding them.

  He realized he had never truly thought deeply about anything until now.

  Being forced to look at himself—to understand his power instead of shaping it into what he thought it should be—had changed something in him. He had spent so long trying to force himself into a role that was never meant for him.

  Like becoming a smith when he had never truly wanted to be one.

  His father’s death, followed soon after by his mother’s, had crushed a part of him. The little boy inside had tried to grow up too quickly, driven by pain. He had buried himself in responsibility, taking on burdens he was never meant to carry so young.

  At one point, becoming a chosen had felt inevitable. A kind of manifest destiny. After all that suffering, he had never allowed himself to slow down or ask what he wanted. He was always helping, always fixing, always working—anything to avoid facing the ache that gnawed at his heart day after day.

  Smithing had become an outlet for his rage rather than a path forward. He had forged to endure, not to heal. Hammering his pain into metal instead of melting it away in the fire.

  Sol exhaled slowly and pushed the flames outward.

  He released his fear of them, letting the fire expand until it engulfed everything—himself, the room, even his grandfather. The golden light swallowed the shadows whole.

  A tremor ran through him when he realized his eyes were closed.

  Fear clenched his chest as he imagined opening them—expecting charred bodies, the memory of his parents burned into the fire. His hands tightened at his sides.

  He shook his head.

  Then he opened his eyes.

  Clear blue eyes, bright as the open sky, stared back at him. Eyes filled with tender love, shining with tears—overwhelmed not by flame, but by the sight of how much Sol had grown.

  His grandfather surged forward with a strength Sol hadn’t felt in years, wrapping him in a fierce embrace. The air was squeezed from Sol’s lungs as he struggled to understand what he was seeing.

  His grandfather could see again.

  And for the first time in a long while, Sol let himself be held.