Jimena floated in an oily abyss, the substance clinging to her skin, seeping into her lungs, smothering her in its darkness. It was neither hot nor cold—just heavy. The weight of it made her bones ache.
From time to time, images flickered through the blackness—shards of light that came and went before she could grasp them. She curled into herself, small as she could make herself, trying to stay warm.
Her thoughts drifted back to a time long past—
to when rain was warm, not cold.
To the fire her mother always kept just right.
To her father humming softly as he cooked, the smell of the meal wrapping their home in comfort.
Tears slipped from her closed eyes without her knowing. Somewhere deep inside her, a scar pulsed, wide and jagged, leaking more of that oily substance. Each drop rippled through the abyss.
From the dark came the wail of a young girl, high and trembling.
It took her a moment to realize it was her own.
But there was no one here to answer.
No one but her.
The loneliness pressed down until she thought she might split apart. It made her think of her brother.
Jaime.
He must be disappointed in her.
He always was, wasn't he?
She always cried. Always got sick.
Every time they played outside and she couldn't keep up. Every time they fought and she lost.
Why did he always look so sad, even when he smiled at her?
They were twins—born together, bound together. But he was always the stronger one. Always the one who moved forward while she lagged behind.
Then—Mother.
After she was gone, everything fell apart. Jaime stopped coming to her room. He started shouting instead. Mocking her for crying. Snapping when she tried to help. The brother she loved—gone, replaced by something colder. Something that hurt to look at.
And Father… Father's meals began to taste bitter. His hands shook when he thought she wasn't watching. The bottle clinked louder each night.
She could feel them all breaking, the whole family falling to pieces—and she was powerless to stop it.
All she could do was cry.
The tears mixed with the oil, and she began to sink deeper. Down, down, into the endless black.
And then—she saw it.
A hand.
Small, delicate, reaching out through the dark.
The hand of a little girl, her grin wide and missing a few teeth.
"Marisol…" Jimena whispered.
She reached toward it, but the oil clung to her limbs, holding her back. She strained, thrashed, screamed—but the abyss only swallowed the sound.
Then came another hand. Larger.
A boy's face appeared, laughing—a teasing grin plastered across his muddy face.
"Jaime," she breathed, the name breaking her heart open.
Her laughter joined his, bright and breathless. The warmth of it spread through her chest, and suddenly the oil around her began to ignite.
A spark.
Then a blaze.
The inferno spread in all directions, chasing the shadows away. The oily dark sizzled, retreating from the heat. Fire bloomed from within her, consuming the pain, the fear, the doubt.
It didn't hurt. It was warm—comforting. Like a hearth newly lit after a storm.
And just when the flames began to blaze too bright, threatening to swallow everything—
a familiar bark echoed through the inferno.
Xolo bounded toward her, tail wagging furiously, tongue lolling. His bright eyes glimmered like molten gold, filled with gentle mischief.
He stopped before her, tilting his head with that same curious look she'd seen so many times before.
"Why are you still asleep?" he asked.
Jimena opened her eyes to a warm, slimy feeling pressed against her cheek. A soft breath brushed her skin—hot and comforting, like the air beside a hearth.
Her thoughts drifted sluggishly at first, then began to settle into focus. Her body ached everywhere, each small motion sparking a dull fire in her chest.
Xolo whined and nudged her, his wet nose insistent until she managed to push herself upright. The world tilted once, then steadied. Jaime's face was the first thing she saw—his golden eyes searching hers, close enough that their noses touched. Then, without a word, he bumped his forehead against hers.
The small shock of it jolted her fully awake.
"Hey," she muttered, rubbing the tiny bump that formed. "Why are you being so mean?" Her voice cracked, a faint whine laced with the remnants of her nightmare.
Jaime flinched, guilt flickering across his face before a relieved smile replaced it. He scratched the back of his head where Cimi, the owl, perched. The creature's amber eyes studied her with quiet intelligence before it gave a low, gentle hoot.
A greeting, perhaps. Or a blessing.
Then Marisol's arms wrapped around her, pulling her into a tight embrace that grounded her completely. The warmth of the other girl's touch steadied her heart, reminding her she was safe.
When they separated, the memory of her nightmare was replaced by awe.
Before them loomed a giant jaguar, its fur shimmering with a faint golden aura that seemed to bend the air itself. Its eyes were twin suns—terrible and divine. Between its massive paws rested a cuauhxicalli, brimming with boiling ichor that hissed and shimmered like liquid fire.
"Come, child."
The voice shook her to the core—ancient, commanding, echoing from everywhere at once. Those golden eyes pierced straight through her, seeing the weight she still carried.
She could feel it too—the hunger behind that divine gaze.
But with Jaime and Marisol beside her, she felt no fear. The fire within her chest flickered weakly, trying to burn through the darkness that clung to her core.
Yet something cold held it down. A pitch-black tar suffocating her flame.
A tremor ran through her body. Her breath hitched. The ache in her chest returned—sharp, suffocating—until even standing became difficult.
Marisol and Jaime each took an arm, guiding her forward step by step. The closer she drew to the cuauhxicalli, the lighter she felt. A radiant warmth rolled off the stone bowl, melting the fear inside her. Still, the jaguar's eyes never wavered—weighing her heart, testing every thought, every scar.
Xolo barked once, the sound ringing through the air like a bell.
Jimena exhaled shakily.
Instinct took over.
She brought her hands together before her chest, closing her eyes.
In that silence, she offered her heart—its pain, its sorrow, its love—to the goddess.
When she opened her palms, thick tar pooled between them, bubbling, too heavy to hold. It pulsed like something alive, desperate to escape. But Jaime's and Marisol's hands closed around hers, steadying her.
Together, they guided the weight forward.
An obsidian heart, slick with black tar, slipped from her grasp and fell into the boiling ichor.
The cuauhxicalli roared—a deep, thunderous sound—as molten veins of gold streaked through the stone beneath their feet. The ichor turned brilliant, the blackness burned away by sacred flame.
The jaguar god lowered its head, shrinking to drink from the golden bowl. With every swallow, its bloodlust dimmed, and its aura grew serene, radiant. The altar itself trembled in joy—its ancient hunger finally stilled.
When silence returned, a golden light spread across the platform.
The once-barren desert ahead opened into a shining road, cutting through the mountain's heart. The path shimmered like sunlight on still water.