It was a place filled with cold… and, at the same time, heat.
Flames stretched along the sides like living walls, while at the center a path of ice rose, built from small crystalline layers that cracked under every step. It looked fragile. Too fragile. As if at any moment it could break and let you fall straight into the fire.
That contradiction kept me completely alert.
In the distance, a great door stood open. In front of it, a man in an elegant robe held a hammer with which he passed judgment on the spirits that arrived.
Each strike echoed.
Dry.Final.
At that moment, I was on top of Iztli, in his winged jaguar form. His body was firm, warm, contrasting with the environment. Beside me, Mictlantecuhtli moved calmly, giving quick instructions to several souls carrying letters and strange spheres… probably part of the recording equipment.
—Izel, how do you feel? —Iztli asked, his tone slightly nervous as he noticed my discomfort.
