The forgotten blade
A week had passed since Pachama's mother had died.
A light drizzle fell outside. Pachama stood by the doorway, silently watching the rain, sorrow weighing heavily on her heart.
Cheran stepped behind her. Without a word, he gently placed a pair of earrings into her ears—ones he had crafted himself from jade-green gemstones.
Pachama turned toward him and smiled faintly.
Holding her hand, Cheran guided her to sit on the bed. He then reached up and brought down a wooden box, placing it beside her.
He opened it.
Inside were sheets made from cured deer hide.
Pachama's eyes widened in curiosity. She carefully lifted the leather scrolls and unrolled them. Written across them were poems—poems Cheran had written just for her.
As she read them, a shiver ran through her body.
She had never imagined that a man who was always surrounded by spears and knives could possess such a deep, tender sense of love.
Rebecca ran her fingers along the carved glyphs etched into the walls of the Mayan ball court. Beside her, Beulah held an ancient Mayan sacred text—the Popol Vuh.
The origin story of the sacred ball game was written within it.
According to Mayan belief, there once lived a First Father, the very first of their kind. He had a brother.
They were twins.
Whenever they found time, the brothers played the ball game with unmatched passion.
The First Father struck the ball with his hip, sending it through the stone ring where it bounced and fell. His brother leapt and struck the returning ball with his knee, slamming it once more against the ring.
The echoing sound disturbed the eternal silence of Shibalba, the realm of the Death God.
Angered, the Death God appeared instantly on the field where the twins were playing.
At the sight of him, the brothers were struck speechless.
The Death God spoke coldly,
"You both seem to play this game very well. Come… play with me."
His commanding tone left them trembling. With no other way to save their lives, the twins agreed.
With a snap of his fingers, the three of them were transported to the void of space—where a dark cosmic pit formed the ring.
The First Father struck the ball with his knee. As it flew toward the dark ring, it suddenly curved toward the Death God's knee.
The Death God didn't even move.
The ball entered the ring on its own.
The ball returned toward them. As the First Father tried to strike it with his hip, his head involuntarily slammed into the ball. It flew toward his brother, who stretched out his knee—only for it to bend unnaturally, causing the ball to crash into his leg.
The Death God smiled.
"You have both lost the game."
As they tried to speak, the Death God beheaded them in the very next moment—and devoured them.
Beulah turned the page, believing the story had ended.
But it continued.
The First Father had two sons.
Like their father, they too excelled at the sacred ball game.
Once again, the Death God's rage was awakened. Determined to repeat the same fate, he appeared before them.
The elder son, Heen, became alert the instant he saw him.
"Honorable Death God," Heen said calmly,
"We know why you've come. If we are to play with you, our god Kukulkan must stand with us."
As he spoke, Heen placed his hand over a serpent-shaped amulet hanging from his neck.
The Death God refused.
With another snap of his fingers, they were transported back to the cosmic arena.
But this time, as the Death God looked at the dark ring, he froze.
Inside it, coiled around himself, was Kukulkan.
Seeing this, Heen and his younger brother smiled and prepared for the game.
As the ball came toward them, Heen struck it cleanly with his knee—straight through the ring. His brother followed, striking the ball with his hip, displaying his skill.
The Death God's fury erupted.
He watched as the next ball struck the ring and dropped.
Using the courage drawn from Kukulkan's presence, Heen struck the ball again—not toward the ring—
—but straight at the Death God's face.
The impact sent the Death God reeling.
Seizing the moment, the twins scored goal after goal, winning the game.
Still, twenty-six years later, the Death God carried out what he had long planned for them.
Beulah closed the book and climbed the layered steps of the massive Mayan ball court.
David spoke quietly,
"We came here to research a group that actually believed this story was real."
Vincent snapped back,
"Don't look at their myths. Look at the architecture. That's an archaeologist's perspective."
With that, Vincent shut David up and walked inside.
Meanwhile, Cheran walked home through a shortcut from Pachama's house.
In his haste, he had left behind not only the wooden box—
—but also his knife.
He did not know then that without it, they would not survive even a single minute in the days to come.