Javier wasn't sure what was happening with his daughter, but her breathing had calmed. Her chest rose and fell in a steady rhythm, and the gem set in her sternum pulsed in time with it. He took this as a good sign and finally turned toward the shaman who had been waiting patiently at the edge of the grove.
Loud rustling sounded behind him, but Javier ignored it, watching Jimena a moment longer.
His thoughts had only just begun to drift toward sweet memories of a small, mischievous girl when Jimena's eyelids tensed—then flew open. Her eyes flared with magenta light. She looked at Javier and then around her surroundings, yet her gaze seemed hollow, unfocused, as if she were seeing something far beyond them.
At that moment, the shaman stepped forward and pressed something green to her lips. Jimena accepted it and swallowed.
Javier stiffened, ready to protest, but the action had been so fluid, so practiced, that by the time he reacted it was already done.
He glared at the shaman—only for another piece of the same green substance to be pressed gently to his own lips.
Javier wasn't sure what compelled him to eat it. Hunger, foolishness, or perhaps the sudden singing that had begun—low at first, then swelling as the grove filled with voices joined in perfect harmony.
He chewed the bitter plant slowly. Its leathery texture was unpleasant, its taste sharp and acrid. He meant to spit it out, yet found himself continuing to chew until he swallowed.
Time began to warp.
Javier found himself seated beside his daughter. She lay on the woven fabric, awake—but not truly awake. Her eyes stared into nothingness, deep into a vast unseen space.
The image of Kauyumari woven beneath her stirred.
The blue deer pranced joyfully around her, alive with motion, before bursting apart into the many green circles that formed its body. Those circles rose into the canopy above, arranging themselves into a strange vision of the sky. Smoke drifted evenly between them, forming a vast black void.
Then the green circles bloomed.
Five blossoms of different colors opened within the darkness, glowing with radiant beauty.
Their pollen fell like beams of light, striking the ground at Javier's feet—only for him to realize the ground was gone.
He now sat beside an endless sea.
Light struck the water, forming clouds that gathered into a massive blanket of fog beneath the void and the five blossoms above.
The shaman's singing changed.
A figure appeared between the elders and Jimena, accompanied by a female black dog.
It resembled the shaman, yet his face shifted, becoming something older, something mythic. He began to dance—welcoming endless rain that fell without mercy. He did not curse it. He honored it.
And so the rain spared him.
The rain goddess came, granting him knowledge. He built a raft and escaped the sinking island with his loyal dog.
The song shifted again.
Upon reaching land, the black dog transformed into a woman.
She joined the shaman in his dance, entering the center of the grove on hands and feet before rising upright. They stood facing one another, bound by something ancient and sacred.
Then chaos erupted.
Smoke, fog, and five colored lights filled Javier's vision. When it cleared, he was surrounded by dancing bodies, their voices raised in joyous song. Boundless happiness filled him, mirroring the villagers' own growing elation.
But the joy faded.
The dancers fell, one by one, until only four rose again—fire, wind, earth, and water.
They set out across the land, which became a desert beneath their feet. Javier reached down, grasping what he thought was sand—only to clutch grass, soil, and decaying leaves.
The four encountered a blue deer and chased it across days and nights, until at last they believed it slain.
In its place lay a plant shaped like the deer.
The singing swelled into a magnificent choir. Emotion erupted in waves of color, and the song shifted once more.
A somber hush fell over the grove.
Smoke consumed everything, leaving only void.
From it emerged a man with golden hair and eyes the color of the sea. Power radiated from him as smoky figures gathered at his feet, crying out in worship.
Pain followed. Humiliation. The smoke trembled and dispersed as wails of men and women filled the space, their sorrow piercing Javier's heart, stirring wounds long buried within him.
Tears fell.
Then, slowly, a new song began—tentative, fragile.
A flickering golden seed appeared.
The blue deer carried it far and wide until it found a young girl.
She shone with the golden fire of the sun.
Her radiance cast a shadow over the golden-haired man. Her eyes burned with magenta light, blazing with the wrath of justice.
As the song ended, motes of light gathered above, flowing into the golden figure, filling her with faith.
The prone villagers around Javier stirred. One by one, they rose and knelt, kissing Jimena's hand.
At some point she had stood, now seated calmly as she received their worship. They brought offerings—stories of sorrow and joy. Yarn paintings filled the space between elders and Jimena, forming a bridge.
The small palm-sized boards told the collective history of a betrayed people.
The elders bowed their heads to the yarn paintings, releasing fear, grief, and pain in a final unified chorus.
"Tatei Niwetsika Tatewari."
-
Jimena felt as though she had traveled through history itself. A myriad of images drifted through her mind, slowly being digested, slowly being understood. A strange fury welled within her. Xolo—who had grown vast enough to become the sky itself, his eyes now her sun and moon within the gem—radiated anger as well, manifested as a spectral flame.
It writhed with life, less like fire and more like living tendrils, reaching outward in curious exploration. She tried to coax them toward her, but they refused to leave Xolo's boundless form. Instead, they waved in greeting before returning to their wandering, exploring the edges of her realm.
Nothing existed here except a shrine and an endless black expanse, its sheen reminiscent of obsidian. She had always struggled to visualize the interior of her gem, but this time felt different—perhaps because she had swallowed that strange green plant that had been offered to her without restraint.
She sat up and looked toward her father, who remained entranced in the floating story unfolding around them. The song was gentle and beautiful to her ears. Her heart and gem beat in unison, and she turned her gaze inward, closing her eyes to feel and see with her mind's eye. The chorus surrounding her allowed her focus to deepen.
The realm she perceived sent goosebumps across her skin.
Xolo filled the sky completely, his celestial eyes gazing far beyond her comprehension. Fear and anticipation rippled through her as the weight of the unfolding story pressed in. Her heart thundered, then steadied.
Thoughts of an entire realm being lodged within her chest faded. Worrying over something that had never truly caused her physical pain now seemed pointless.
Obsidian could cover her body like a second skin. After the initial itch and ache, there had only been a strange comfort—like an extra heart beating alongside her own. A heart meant to hold a world.
Her thoughts drifted into strange, half-formed concepts.
Until her gaze fell upon the kneeling elders before her.
Wrath radiated from her in waves as understanding took root. She finally knew why these people had suffered so deeply, why they cried out in supplication. They sought guidance from her fire—its warmth, its protection, its judgment upon the one who had wronged them.
Her mind cleared.
Ghostly fire bloomed around her, silent and colorless. It scorched the air itself, making it wail, yet left the ground beneath untouched.
Tendrils reached out, accepting each offering. Their touch annihilated the yarn paintings instantly—yet the images remained, drifting gently toward her. A swarm of color enveloped her and flowed into her gem, filling the once-empty obsidian expanse with vibrant woven threads.
More offerings followed.
Necklaces. Bracelets. Small bead-covered sculptures.
Her flame accepted them eagerly, consuming faith, memory, and color alike. What remained was power—and story.
Her inner world transformed into something richly strange. The spectral tendrils retreated back into the gem, dispersing throughout the growing realm, inhabiting yarn and bead alike.
She startled as her father's hand closed around her shoulder.
Time surged back all at once.
He looked pale, shaken by the hours that had passed. Her own thoughts spun as the world settled into its proper rhythm again.
Chanting and weeping had transformed into celebration.
Fires crackled. Fish and meat roasted over open flames. Corn charred lightly, its scent filling the night air.
She smiled and took her father's hand so they could steady one another. Her legs protested after sitting so long—the mat woven with Kauyumari's image was thick, but hardly comfortable.
The sun had nearly set. Firelight was now the only source of warmth and illumination.
They joined the villagers in their cathartic feast. Some hummed softly as they ate, relief and happiness evident in every movement. Many met Jimena's gaze openly, reverently.
The shaman smiled as he spoke animatedly with the elders. Though the words were foreign, their meaning sometimes slipped through to her unbidden—yet vanished whenever she tried to grasp them fully.
She chose instead to eat.
A villager handed her a poorly made clay bowl, filled to the brim with meat, a few vegetables, and two full ears of corn. She smiled in thanks, then hesitated as she noticed how little everyone else had.
She accepted it anyway when she saw the man's crestfallen expression at her pause.
A lump formed in her throat.
They were sharing what little they had.
She remembered the squat, golden-haired man. What he had done. What he had taken. Pain—not her own—throbbed in her chest, yet she accepted it fully, as though it belonged there.
She squeezed her father's hand.
"Dad," she said softly, firmly.
"We're not going home."