Jimena felt herself flare—again. The chosen's calm, matter-of-fact expression only fed the indignation twisting inside her. What did he know? What right did he have to decide whether she could—or couldn't—break free of whatever "mold" she was supposed to belong to? She hadn't even decided that for herself. Who was he to judge her?
Her fury pulsed out of her in a small rolling wave of magenta fire that rippled across the ground.
Marisol stepped over it without hesitation, unfazed by the heat Jimena was beginning to radiate. She caught Jimena's arm gently, grounding her, helping to cool her down. Jimena's flames had changed lately—they burned colder now, despite their vivid color—but Marisol kept the observation to herself. Jimena was too sensitive lately, and Marisol didn't want to add fuel to whatever turmoil already simmered in her.
Jimena had been unstable in a way that reminded her of Jaime. Maybe she needed Xolo nearby to help balance her flame. Marisol had no such difficulty—at least none she could sense—so she wasn't sure how best to guide her friend. All she could do was be present… and hope that was enough.
What puzzled Marisol most was the chosen's behavior. He had acted perfectly respectful during dinner, even warm at times. And yet the moment they were alone again, that sharp, dismissive edge returned. She still couldn't understand why the two fire chosen bristled at each other so intensely.
When Jimena finally let her temper melt away, the two headed inside. The mud-and-stone structure felt sturdy and cool, and the woven fabrics covering the beds looked soft enough to swallow them whole. After such a long, draining day, even the sight of them felt like relief.
That morning, the golden fire chosen came for them. Breakfast had already been prepared, laid out in the village center.
Marisol stuck close to Jimena the entire walk, gently nudging her away from flaring every time the chosen drifted into view. At this point, Marisol half-expected Jimena to shoot fire from her eyes—the way she glared at the man made the thought feel almost reasonable.
The chosen, in contrast, moved through the morning with a flat, unreadable expression. He addressed only Marisol when necessary, and even then, his attention rarely lingered on her. Instead, his gaze often drifted to the rising sun behind her. Each time he looked at it, the golden light reflecting in his eyes softened his features—just for a heartbeat. Those fleeting moments were the only times Marisol saw anything in him beyond anger and quiet disdain.
It struck her then. We don't even know his name.
"What is your name, chosen?" she asked as they followed him. Realizing she'd never thought to ask made her feel oddly impolite.
At that moment, he had paused again, staring directly into the sunrise. He did this often, drifting ahead of them with a pace that bordered on rude. Marisol tried not to take offense. She told herself he simply had obligations to attend to.
His answer, however, was anything but polite.
"You'll know when the time comes," he said, his voice curt and dismissive. He didn't bother acknowledging her confusion, much less her frown. He simply turned away and continued toward the same wide plaza that had hosted the festivities the night before.
The plaza looked nothing like it had the night before. The forges that had burned with fierce light were now dark and cold. No smiths shouted or hammered outside, though faint metallic clanks and murmured work drifted from inside nearby houses.
Jimena tried peeking through one of the open doorways, curiosity pulling her like a tether—but the golden-eyed chosen stepped abruptly in front of her, blocking her view. He lifted an arm, expression unreadable, and pointed toward the path she was meant to follow.
Marisol was already steering her in that direction, toward the elder who waved them over with a gentle smile. Jimena didn't even have time to snap back at the chosen; the smell of cooked meat drifting through the plaza stealing her attention away. With her stomach growling she found that, curiosity could wait.
They joined many of the same villagers who had shared supper with them the night before. Even a few children they recognized sat crowded around the stone table, grinning wide—some with toothless gaps that made their smiles all the brighter.
Everyone seemed to be waiting with deliberate patience as clay plates were carried in. A rich brown sauce—thick, glossy, and fragrant with herbs and last night's fire-like spice—was poured generously over slices of what Marisol assumed was meat.
The hunters from Bahía Oscura arrived moments later, shuffling over to sit on either side of Jimena and Marisol. Most looked worse for wear after the previous night's drinking, heads heavy and eyes swollen.
But as soon as the scent of the food hit them, every one of them sat up straighter.
Jimena and Marisol giggled at the way the hunters reacted, their exaggerated eagerness for food making the girls' mood even lighter. Large clay jugs followed the plates, filled with a sweet-smelling drink that sloshed warmly with every pour.
Everything seemed meticulously arranged, almost ceremonial, by the time the elder appeared—his arm looped through that of the golden-eyed chosen. The elder's milky gaze, fixed directly on Jimena as he approached, the intensity of it unsettling both girls.
He did not wear the gentle smile he'd had the night before. A solemnity clung to him now, every slow step measured. If not for the tremor in his limbs and the unfocused quality of his clouded eyes, Marisol might have believed he carried the full weight of divine power within him.
The chosen guided him to stand before the jaguar-shaped cuauhxicalli, its bowl still cupping that steady golden flame. As the first beam of sunlight pierced through the distant treeline, the elder lifted his face toward it.
"Praise the sun," he intoned.
Everyone in the plaza echoed the words in near-unison—everyone except the people from Bahía Oscura, who glanced around in uncertainty before slowly joining in the chant a moment later.
Once the elder settled himself, the chosen stepped forward to address everyone, explaining the meaning behind that day's celebration. Only at the end of his speech did he finally turn toward Marisol and Jimena to give them his name. After that, the atmosphere relaxed again, and the crowd returned to the delicious mole that had been prepared. The tortillas seemed endless as they all feasted.
The rest of the morning included a ceremonial offering to the cuauhxicalli. The ritual resembled what they had witnessed in Mictlan and in their own village—the burned offerings releasing divinity into the air, feeding the cuauhxicalli's flame until it glowed with renewed strength.
For the girls, everything was deeply enjoyable. They could feel some of the divinity brushing against them, slipping into their chests like a warm embrace—an eternal flame greeting them with familiarity.
Soon, it was time to return. They said goodbye to the villagers, and to several children who ran up to wrap them in sudden, enthusiastic hugs.
Jimena seemed the most eager to head out, though Marisol could still sense her lingering thoughts. The forges weighed on her mind—questions she hadn't been able to ask in the short time they'd been here. Everyone had been far more interested in celebrating than in giving Jimena the long, focused conversations she clearly wanted.
The Bahia Oscura group gathered at the village entrance, a few of the hunters joining them. The hunters would escort them halfway home, leaving them near the green road they had established. For now, everyone had agreed not to extend the green path all the way to the village—at least not yet.
The elder approached with Sol—the golden-eyed chosen who had introduced himself earlier—walking at his side. Guiding the elder, who lifted a hand, reaching out in Jimena's direction. Waving her closer to him.
"We welcome you to return, child," he said softly. "There are things we could teach you. Lessons that would let you temper your flame. You have a great future. Do not let that flame die." His expression warmed with a grandfather's gentle pride.
Jimena felt as if the old man had given her the answer she didn't know she'd been searching for. He was right. She only needed to continue forward—just like the eternal flame above them, like every sacred fire she had seen since her return. She would remain lit. She would not be extinguished.
With a bright smile, she stepped in and hugged the elder carefully. The gesture startled him, but he let out a surprised, cheerful chuckle.
Sol shifted as if to intervene, but Marisol moved smoothly in front of him, blocking his path. "Sometimes our temper can temper us," she said, "or we can temper it."
Sol hesitated, then nodded slightly, allowing the moment to pass.