Jaime waved at the returning Marisol as she stepped off the green road with four children in tow. The smallest and the tallest clung to her hands, while two boys trailed behind her.
She paused to scold them briefly, then released them. The children scattered at once. Marisol waved back at Jaime before heading off in the same direction they ran.
If he remembered correctly, that was the direction of the farms and the farmers' public toilets. Farther north lay Marisol's river sanctuary she had spoken of. Beyond that stretched the mountains and the lush jungle—the same wilderness he had once dragged them all out of. It felt like a lifetime ago.
In truth, it hadn't even been a month.
Jaime shook his head, earning a faint hum of displeasure from Cimi, and returned his attention to the work before him.
Red clay was being mixed with water in careful, uneven ratios—each person shaping it to their own preference. Everyone had brought a small jug from the pools, which was why the worksite had been set up nearby, close to the clay pits at the edge of the village, just beside the green road.
He noticed new huts rising beyond the work area, built by unfamiliar hands. Some of the elders had remarked on it, but no one truly seemed bothered. If anything, the villagers welcomed the newcomers. More faces meant more life.
Jaime hadn't minded either. Food was plentiful, but willing hands were not. Projects piled up faster than they could be finished. The children had hands, yes—but those were reserved for play and exploration, as they should be.
Any extra help was a blessing.
People would settle in time. They always did. Even the village elder cared little for where people came from or where they chose to sleep, fretting more over wandering animals than strangers. His father's account of his journey with Chia had already become a favorite story among the twins.
It had been a productive week—both for his family and for his work as one of the chosen.
The skills learned at Chantico had passed easily to the older generation. A few already knew the basics of pottery, though most of what they produced was oddly shaped and riddled with fine cracks. Many vessels leaked, some barely holding water at all.
That flaw had gnawed at Jaime. It made him look more closely at every clay containers in the village. What began as a casual observation turned into a thorough inspection—and from that inspection came this gathering of elders and youths alike, hands sunk into clay, learning together.
He found himself wondering how the simple pit they used for relief might be improved. Jimena had suggested many things—most of them involving Marisol's help. Jaime preferred to avoid that unless absolutely necessary.
He had been quietly observing how their cuauhxicalli worked, how they altered and empowered their surroundings. The villagers' star blessings had yet to fully form. None of them shone as brightly or steadily as they should. Jaime wondered what it would take to push them toward fullness—to ignite a complete and radiant star.
He kneaded the clay in his hands absentmindedly as he watched the villagers work. Too many thoughts crowded his mind, tangling together until focusing on any single one became nearly impossible.
Forges came to mind—he wanted more of them, better ones. But perhaps turning inward would be a better use of his energy. Improving himself might widen his capabilities, make every act of power more efficient.
The thoughts tightened around him until he felt coiled inward, mind wound into itself, unable to rest.
A small shape entered his vision.
A thin girl stood before him, holding out her finished doll just as the other children had done. She offered it to him with shy pride. Jaime smiled, accepted it, and placed it gently beside the others. Each doll bore a vague resemblance to a person—thick-bodied, without hands or feet, simple forms shaped by earnest effort.
He was about to sink back into his circling thoughts when something caught his attention.
A shimmer.
The newest doll looked no different at first glance—except for a slightly more complete face. Yet something inside it pulsed faintly.
Jaime and Cimi both froze.
Their gazes sharpened as they scrutinized the doll, examining every imperfection. Jaime lifted it carefully, shutting out the surrounding voices as he focused on the energy within.
Pressure built behind his eyes.
For a moment he thought he had overreached—that he had strained himself. He closed his eyes, but the sensation only intensified, pushing outward, demanding release.
Cimi hooted sharply beside him, her voice cutting through the rising discomfort.
"Let it free," she urged. "Release the idea from your mind. Let it embody itself."
So Jaime did the only thing he could think to do.
He relaxed completely.
The release was dreadful and strange. A cloud of dark smoke seeped from his forehead, curling into the air. Light glittered within it—golden rays piercing the darkness, illuminating the worksite with a sudden brilliance.
He felt the skull on his brow—tongue out, grinning—laughing in approval at its own creation.
Jaime thought that would be the end of it. He expected the cloud to thin and fade, to disperse harmlessly into the air.
Instead, it drifted.
Drawn toward the glimmer within the doll in his hand, the smoke moved like a bee to a flower. It coiled around the faint light, shaping itself into the doll's silhouette. Within the shadow, the intense glow fused with the faint light and condensed into a single radiant core—then split.
Three streams of light emerged.
Yellow sank into its eyes, kindling awareness.
Red flowed into its center, granting life.
Cool blue threaded through its limbs, gifting motion.
The doll solidified.
Blue veins spread across its clay body like roots through soil, branching in intricate, almost mythic patterns along its rounded form. Its eyes shone yellow as they gazed upon the world for the first time.
Jaime placed it down, allowing it to take a step—wobbly, yet certain. As if it knew its birth was something meant to be witnessed.
A red heart pulsed within, thrumming with power. It gave the doll motion, emotion—expression. Its gaze sharpened, its face gaining definition as the clay hardened further.
The doll pushed its round belly forward, blue lines circling it in slow, deliberate patterns. Its oddly sculpted face lifted skyward, chin raised. One stubby limb extended outward in what could only be a proclamation.
With its appendage raised, it declared loudly—
Something utterly unintelligible.
It lacked a true mouth, yet that did nothing to stop it from humming and vocalizing whatever thought it seemed determined to express.
The children and elders erupted into applause regardless.
The diminutive doll became instantly beloved.
Only Jaime stood there, confused.
Yet even that confusion began to smooth itself out as he relaxed, his thoughts flowing freely once more. Understanding crept in—not fully formed, but close enough to grasp.
He waited for the doll to finish whatever speech it believed it was giving. Then, before the many eager hands could reach it, he snatched it up.
He held the doll up toward the sun, running his fingers along the carved veins etched into its body. It wriggled in his hands, animated and energetic, while children clustered around his legs—some bold enough to climb him.
Their elders finally shook free of their awe, pulling the children back and scolding them gently, though their eyes never fully left the living doll.
Jaime turned toward the frail-looking girl who had shaped the doll, then let his gaze drift over the other clay figures scattered nearby. There was something within them as well—faint echoes, half-formed intentions—but none carried the same weight as the one the girl had given form.
He wondered at it, then decided not to interfere. The children should continue as they were.
"What's your name?" he asked, directing his voice toward the girl who lingered at the back of the group.
She had been the only one who restrained herself, the only child who hadn't rushed forward to grab the doll. Yet Jaime could tell she wanted it. The shy glances she kept casting his way betrayed her longing, softening any thought he had of keeping the creation to himself.
Perhaps, he thought, the children could replicate what she had done—if allowed to play freely.
He was half certain he could force that same animated state onto the other dolls. The death mark on his forehead throbbed, instinct whispering that he could. That it would be easy.
But easy did not always mean right. Or that it would came free of price.
After a moment's thought, he beckoned the girl forward again.
"Do you not have a name?" he asked gently. "If you tell me your name, I'll give you this doll to play with."
Jaime wiggled the flailing doll in front of her. Its blue veins pulsed as it squirmed, clearly eager.
The girl's eyes lit up instantly.
"Notōcā Xalli," she whispered, barely audible.
She reached out without hesitation.
The doll did the same—stretching toward her, eager to escape Jaime's grasp and return to the hands that had first imagined it.