The mountains groaned, colliding like titans in the distance. Their peaks shredded clouds as they slammed together, stone grinding on stone. Avalanches of boulders tumbled down their flanks, crashing into the plains below with thunder that rattled the air. The smaller hills beneath the children's feet bucked and shifted, carried along on unseen currents, drawn toward the monstrous peaks like prey toward predators.
Xolo's ridiculous dance slowed, his ears flat now, body rigid with alarm.
Marisol swallowed hard, her jaw clenched. "We'll aim for the most open space," she said, pointing. "Avoid the trees."
She grabbed Jimena's hand, squeezing it tight, pulling her into a quick hug that was both reassurance and command. A steadying pat on the shoulder, then she pointed again—this time to a cluster of pines that bristled against the sheer cliff. "Maldición… Fine. Aim for the middle. That's the only ground wide enough."
Jimena's breath hitched. Her arms prickled with goosebumps as she nodded. Jaime's gaze twitched toward the target, his body taut, movements rigid as though his limbs were guided by another's will.
"Jump!" Marisol cried, dragging Jimena forward before hesitation could sink its claws into her.
The girls leapt, Xolo bounding after them, his sleek body twisting gracefully midair. Jaime followed, his form powerful but wrong—like a puppet yanked by a master whose hands shook with age.
They landed in a tangle, the ground soft beneath them, fragrant with pine. For a heartbeat they breathed relief.
Then Xolo whined.
The earth shifted.
The ground beneath them unraveled like cloth ripped from a loom, trees toppling as cracks spidered wide. Marisol lunged, reaching for Jimena. Their hands brushed, fingertips grazing—then the mountain peeled away, tearing them apart.
Jimena froze, paralyzed as the world tilted and dropped beneath her.
Jaime's hand stretched toward her, his jaw clenched. But his body locked. The god inside him snarled at the instinct of brotherhood, resisted it, leaving his movements jagged and late.
It was Xolo who acted. The dog darted forward, jaws snapping onto the hem of Jimena's huipil. He braced with all his wiry strength, claws digging furrows into the rock as Jimena slid screaming down the collapsing slope. The weight nearly tore him loose, but somehow, dragging and scrambling, he pulled her onto a ledge halfway down the mountainside.
Jimena gasped, choking on air as she clung to the dog, tears streaming. Her body trembled, but she was alive.
Then she looked up—and her breath caught.
The nearest mountain was moving toward them, filling the sky, its cliffs looming like a wall of death.
"Jump down!" Marisol shouted from a higher ledge, her voice raw with urgency.
"Stop hesitating!" Jaime barked from another path, his words flat, the god's weight behind them. He dropped down to firmer stone, bounding downward without pause.
Xolo tugged Jimena's sleeve, whining sharply. His dark eyes gleamed, urging her forward.
Her heart thundered. She forced herself to stand, guilt crushing her chest heavier than the looming mountains. This is my fault. They could have crossed clean, but I faltered. Because of me, we'll be crushed.
She began to descend, slower, clumsier than the others, every step scraping her nerves raw. Above her, Marisol moved like the tide—steady, relentless. Below, Jaime moved like a shadow—rigid, but unstoppable.
And Jimena, caught between them, stumbled forward, heart pounding with fear.
The mountains roared as they closed in.
At first, every step felt heavy, like her sandals were filled with stone. The mountain shuddered beneath her, cliffs breaking away in showers of rubble, and her lungs scraped raw from shallow breaths.
But Xolo barked, sharp and quick, the sound slicing through her panic like a drumbeat. The dog darted back and forth along the ledge ahead, ears flat, tongue lolling, never once looking back in doubt.
"Come on!" Marisol's voice carried from above, firm and certain as the tide itself. She moved with purpose, never hesitating, as though she already believed Jimena would follow.
Even Jaime—possessed, hollow-eyed, his movements too precise—did not stop. He leapt downward without faltering, and though his voice was the god's, not his own, his path still cleared the way for her.
Jimena's chest ached. She stumbled, caught herself, and felt her throat tighten. For so long she had been the one slowing them down, the weak link. Fear had frozen her while the others carried on. But here they were—all of them, in their own way—still pulling her forward. Still trusting her.
Something inside her shifted.
Her breath evened out. The guilt that had been gnawing at her belly burned, melted down into something sharper, stronger. An ember of determination kindled in her chest, small but bright.
"Why not me?" she whispered to herself, legs pumping harder as the ground tilted beneath her. "Why can't I do this?"
No answer came from the sky or the stone, but Xolo barked again, tail whipping, as if he heard her.
She shook her head fiercely, strands of hair sticking to her damp cheeks. It doesn't matter. Not the fear. Not the doubt.
What mattered was the trial. What mattered was the goddess who waited.
Her blood burned. Faith surged through her veins like fire, carrying her forward. With every leap downward, her footing steadied. With every breath, her chest grew lighter.
Jimena's lips pulled into a grin—wild, desperate, but real. "I'll do it. I'll be your priest. Your avatar. Whatever it takes."
For the first time since the mountains began to move, she wasn't just following.
She was running toward something.
Jimena's sandals slapped against stone as she descended, faster now, more sure. The mountain still shook and bled rock from its sides, but her eyes caught the dangers before they reached her—cracks in the ground, loose shale ready to give way, boulders breaking free above.
Her body reacted without thought. A quick sidestep, a sharp crouch, a burst of speed at just the right moment. She wasn't just surviving anymore—she was predicting.
Once, twice, she darted ahead of Xolo, dodging debris before the dog even barked. When she glanced back at him, his tongue lolled and his dark eyes gleamed, as though proud of her.
A laugh burst from her throat, startled and wild. It sounded strange at first—until she recognized it. Like Jaime's laugh, from before. Before the shadows, before the god had rooted in his chest.
By the time she reached the base of the mountain, her lungs were burning, but her spirit soared. The plain stretched wide and flat before her, scored with gouges where titanic peaks had dragged their weight across the earth.
"Good," Jaime said when he landed beside her, his voice rough. For once the god inside him did not overpower the boy completely; his eyes, though dark, gleamed with something almost human. He nodded, solemn approval given.
Then Marisol collided with her, arms wrapping tight around her shoulders. Jimena stiffened, surprised. They hadn't touched like this since they were small—before grief, before exile had driven their families apart. The warmth of it pressed against the cold pit of fear that had lived in her for so long.
"I forgot," Jimena whispered, almost to herself. "How close we were."
Marisol only squeezed her tighter.
A sharp bark broke the moment.
Xolo was already ahead, paws kicking up black sand as he bounded forward, tail high, voice bright. The sound was not just a warning—it was cheer, command, promise.
The three followed without hesitation. The dog's path cut through the gloom like a torchlight, every bark scattering some of the dread that hung heavy on the plains.
They ran until the earth itself funneled them into a trap.
A canyon opened before them, narrow but deep, ten meters wide and stretching into mist. On either side loomed the sheer faces of two dormant mountains, the plain squeezed thin between them. The space vibrated with a low rumble, and stone dust rained down in drifts.
The only way forward was through.
The mist pooled thick, hiding whatever lay ahead. One wrong step in that blind path and the mountains' slow, grinding weight would crush them like insects.
Marisol froze, scanning the fog. Jaime flexed his hands, jaw tight.
Then Jimena's breath caught—she saw it.
"There!" she shouted, pointing upward. The canyon wall curved into a wider shelf, just barely within reach. "Climb—now!"
Without waiting, she scrambled upward, Xolo bounding beside her. Jaime and Marisol followed close, the earth rumbling louder with every heartbeat.
They pulled themselves onto the wider ledge just as the two mountains ground against each other. The canyon floor below vanished, crushed into rubble.
Mist billowed around them, curling cold and damp across their skin.
But they were alive—because Jimena had led.