It was already late afternoon when the entire village gathered around the grave, where the missionary's body lay wrapped in a woven mat. The soldiers of the Spanish detachment stood in discreet guard, muskets on their shoulders, while the villagers watched with their hats in hand and solemn faces. The air smelled of freshly turned soil and the smoke of copal resin, which an old woman had lit as a sign of respect.
Hans von Lübeck, his cassock covered in dust, raised his voice with solemn gravity.
"Requiem aeternam dona ei, Domine..."
"Et lux perpetua luceat ei," the soldiers replied, following the Latin formula.
All crossed themselves as they began to throw handfuls of earth upon the grave. Then came the deep sound of a conch shell, and the villagers began circling the pit, chanting. The tunkul drum echoed in slow, deliberate beats, like the pulse of the jungle. Two women shook calabash rattles in rhythm, while the conch's moan rose toward the clouded sky. From among the trees, a reed flute trembled in the wind, and the villagers' voices—low and monotonous—sustained the chant:
Itzamná K'ujul, ku páajtal le pixano'obo',
Ix Chel nojoch k'iin, a kanant u beel.
(Sacred Itzamná, protect the souls;
Great Lady Ix Chel, guard their path.)
The soldiers glanced at each other, puzzled by this strange ritual. One leaned toward another and muttered under his breath:
"Man, what's next? Are they going to sacrifice someone?"
Hans, however, followed the ceremony in respectful silence. When the chanting ended, he made the sign of the cross, and the people began to disperse. Like the others, Hans returned toward the village. As they neared the central square, they saw a column of men emerging from the forest path— the captain, his officers, and several soldiers, followed by Rafael, Derek, Brian, and other pirates under guard. All the prisoners walked with their heads bowed, even Rafael. The column entered the square, passing before the silent townsfolk. When Rafael crossed in front of Hans, he looked at him reproachfully before being led away with the others toward a nearby granary—the only building that had survived the explosion—where the soldiers locked them in.
"Where have they been?" Hans asked.
"At the mine inside the cenote. The pirates were taken there to explain the extraction process," Magdalena said.
"I suppose they wanted to know if there was any other exploitation—gold, silver—beyond the Azure Ore," Hans remarked.
"That's exactly what the captain kept asking," she replied.
They both stood watching the column disappear. The Jesuit turned toward the horizon, where the sun still gleamed over the treetops.
"I'd like to see the cenote… is it far?" he asked.
"If we hurry, we can return before nightfall," Magdalena answered.
They followed a narrow path that wound into the thicket until it opened into a wide depression surrounded by towering ceibas and dense foliage. Inside the hollow stood an entire complex of rotted scaffolds, pulleys, and ramps descending toward a pool of still water.
"This is the Cenote K'áaxil Ch'uumuk Ka'an," Magdalena explained, "which means The Well at the Center of the Sky. It was once a sacred place, before the Franciscan missionaries came and defiled it—throwing refuse and worse into its depths."
"And then came the pirates, and began to exploit it," Hans added, leaning over the edge.
The silence was absolute. Only the whisper of the wind moved the dried ropes and planks that hung over the abyss. At the bottom, the water shimmered with a faint, otherworldly glow. Hans descended a few steps carefully. He saw abandoned wheelbarrows and tools. The layout of the site revealed the hands of skilled miners—sluices for washing ore, and even water-lifting mechanisms to feed them.
He bent down and picked up a fragment. It was light, cold to the touch, and emitted a dim radiance, visible even in the fading light.
"Azure Ore," he murmured. "The fire of heaven… an element spoken of by the alchemists."
"What is it used for?" Magdalena asked with curiosity.
Hans pressed his lips together, thinking.
"I don't know," he said. "But tell me—why would a Jesuit be interested in a vein of this mythical mineral, whose use is nothing but a chimera?"
"Perhaps he knew of its value to pirates and smugglers," she suggested.
"That would make sense… But are you certain this was all they extracted?"
She shrugged.
"That's what they focused on," she said.
The shadows lengthened around them, and the voices of the jungle awakened.
"It would be best to return before a Kisin appears," Magdalena whispered.
"Kisin?… I've heard that name before," said Hans.
"They are nocturnal predators, demon servants of Lord K'isin. According to the old tales, on moonless nights the Kisin roam the jungle, searching for what once belonged to them—the fire of the sky, to preserve their power."
"The same fire they extracted from this cenote," murmured Hans, almost to himself. Then he cleared his throat and regained his usual Jesuit composure. "I fear jaguars more than demons."
"The Kisin can take the shape of a jaguar…" Magdalena replied quietly.
A shiver ran down Hans's spine as memories of his past encounters stirred.
"Let's hurry back to the village," he said.
They were about to leave the cenote when two bright points of light appeared above them. Startled, they froze—it was a pair of soldiers carrying lanterns, muskets in hand.
"Hey, you two!" one shouted. "What are you doing down there?"
"This area is off limits by order of Captain Sepúlveda y Costilla," said the other.
"I'm sorry," Hans replied. "I only wished to see the place."
"Then you should've asked permission," the soldier said curtly, motioning for them to climb out.
Hans and Magdalena ascended the ladder to the surface, where the soldiers regarded them sternly and, with a gesture of the musket, ordered them away. They hurried down the trail in silence, the jungle darkening around them.
"Do you think the nightmare is over?" Magdalena asked.
Hans walked pensively, trying to see the path as the dusk swallowed it.
"I have faith that it is," he said—though a chill of foreboding lingered in his chest.
"Your faith worries me," was all Magdalena replied.