Marisol walked alongside Sol and several of the hunters, following a winding trail through the trees. They planned to scout the surrounding forest—searching for game, new growth, or anything useful they could harvest.
The day they'd arrived, the village had thrown another celebration. Blessings had swept through Chantico the moment the chosen neared the cuauhxicalli. Their gems had resonated together—humming a melody of power that rose with yet another prayer.
They had decided to remain in the village longer this time. With the threat of Tomas finally gone, Marisol could focus on expanding the green road while gaining experience with her power. The prayer-born blessing had taught them all another nuance of being chosen—subtle, but unmistakable.
This outing with the hunters would, she hoped, help her choose which direction her abilities should grow next. The sanctuary she had created near the village had flourished. Its protective influence allowed smaller creatures to live safely within its woven wooden walls. Bushberries and heavy fruits fed the mammals and birds that nested there.
She could feel the growing faith that clung to the region. Life energy seeped into her whenever she passed near the sanctuary. She hadn't understood it at first, but after the star-blessing, the meaning had become clear. She finally knew which way she needed to head—
even if she didn't yet know where it would lead.
The trek through the forest remained mostly quiet. The hunters led the way, signaling when the path ahead was clear. Marisol didn't feel such precautions were necessary, but they insisted on keeping her safe. Their tall, broad forms were ready to shield her from anything.
Sol said little throughout the day. He watched their surroundings with sharp focus, silent and still as carved stone. They passed shimmering rivers that caught the sunlight like silver threads. Deer and their fawns appeared at one point, and Marisol let out a delighted squeal—earning amused stares from the hunters and flushing her cheeks when she realized Sol hadn't reacted at all.
The scouting concluded near sunset. When the golden light of the sun began bleeding through tree branches and a long shadow spread beneath them.
On their way back to Chantico, she made note of every riverbank and watering hole they crossed. She eagerly questioned the hunters about each animal they spotted. They were more than happy to explain—sharing stories of predator encounters and the rhythms of the land.
She had assumed Sol would remain silent until evening, but as they approached the village gates, he finally spoke. His deep voice and bright golden eyes drew her attention instantly.
"Did you find what you needed?" he asked, studying her expression.
The question felt slightly strange, but she answered anyway.
"I think so. The forest has great places for animals to gather, but…" Her eyes drifted to the dark-red soil beneath her feet. "I understand now why you don't farm like we do. The ground around here is full of clay and stones. Even near the rivers, the plants struggle."
She was about to continue—already forming plans on what she might change—when Sol cut her off.
"Good. We leave for the neighboring village tomorrow," he said. "If you want to come, be ready at dawn."
He walked away before she could respond.
Jaime noticed Marisol approaching, her expression distant and thoughtful—likely still processing whatever she'd discussed with the chosen Sol. Jaime hadn't interacted much with the older chosen himself. Sol's cold, unreadable personality irritated him more than he liked to admit. He wasn't sure if it was Sol's overall demeanor…
or the way he seemed to treat his sister.
Not that Jaime could judge too harshly. Jimena had changed as well. His once-timid sister now leaned toward fiery, aggressive solutions. The timid girl from before being chosen had all but vanished under the blaze of her god.
The changes didn't seem strange to the others. To them, their new personalities were natural extensions of who they were meant to become. Jaime suspected the gods' influence. Jimena and Marisol—whose power had only made her more fully herself—had transitioned easily.
He, however, knew Cimi was the anchor keeping him balanced. His mind was clearest only when their bond was strong.
His time with Jimena earlier in the day, during their unexpectedly long visit to the baths, had given him new insight into that truth. It also reminded him of his inexperience—of how little he understood compared to the others. Marisol could shape life itself. His sister could bend fire to her will. He wasn't jealous… not really.
But their strength left him feeling small at times.
The forge at the village's edge had been crowded earlier—every villager apparently following the same schedule. Left not long before the hunters arrived. It explained why the smiths had asked the chosen to leave together come sunset. The village would hold another banquet for them.
Jimena, however, had insisted on waiting for Marisol before they left. She wanted to finish hammering the small iron plate she held on the anvil—a gift from the smiths. Jaime didn't feel jealous of the attention Jimena received, but he was cautious of what it implied… where it might lead.
"Hi!" Marisol called as she jogged the last few meters toward them.
Jimena stopped hammering immediately. The two embraced, then slipped into animated chatter about their day—leaving Jaime standing slightly off to the side, forgotten.
He didn't mind.
His gaze drifted to the horizon. The sunset burned warm and soft over Chantico, the sky shifting from gold to deep red—just as beautiful as the sunsets back home.
---
Jorge set down the blood-stained sack holding the turkey he'd caught that afternoon. Before he could call out, two small children burst from the back of the hut, their delighted shrieks announcing his return. His wife followed a moment later, taking the sack from him and kissing his cheek in greeting. Her smile—warm, familiar, grounding—softened the stiffness in his shoulders. He scooped up both children easily, one in each arm, as his wife ushered him inside.
The long day of farming, followed by a brief but satisfying hunt, slowly melted from his body. The humid air inside the hut smelled of herbs, warm corn, and wood smoke—his hunger stirred at once. His wife busied herself preparing a meal, humming under her breath while the children chattered loudly around his legs. Every so often she scolded them gently, only for them to ignore her with toothy grins.
It had been a long time since their home felt this peaceful.
Jimena and Marisol had done something beyond words—something no one had seen but everyone felt. Jorge had heard that Jaime returned late in the night, wounded. That Chia had healed them all. That, come morning, the old woman had mustered the strength to tell the village what had happened.
She'd looked exhausted—hollow, almost—enough to worry everyone that she might collapse right there in the plaza. Many had feared the worst. But the old healer was stronger than people gave her credit for. Strong enough to survive isolation, accusations of witchcraft, and the weight of knowledge only she carried. The things she'd done with Javier alone were reason enough for the villagers to be grateful.
With the chosen having dealt with the root of their troubles, the entire village finally felt like life could move forward.
Not just survive—but grow.
Jaime had spoken openly about his ideas. The new baths were already a source of excitement; some of the elders recalled—faintly—bathing freely in their youth, though memories of the village's past had blurred into dust and crooked wooden huts. They didn't need much to be happy… but it would be nice to build something lasting. Something better.
Jorge ruffled his sons' hair as his baby daughter slept heavily in the crook of his arm. His wife finished plucking the turkey and salted the meat after they had eaten that evening. Humming a tune he didn't recognize, but liked anyway.
"How was your day?" he asked, placing the children on their bed where they had recently made a habit of sleeping.
"It was good," she said, and began recounting the day's small moments. They laughed together about the children's mischief, about a chicken that escaped three times, about the neighbor who insisted he'd seen a fish with a human face.
Then, as sunset with full stomachs and the world finally quiet, they lay down with their two warm, sleeping children between them—peaceful at last.