The journey to Cayocan (Part 4)

A current section of my story. Set in an ancient Mesoamerica world.

The path back to the city blurred. By the time Jaztayan's quarters came into view, its crooked roof and faded paint, the silence between them was absolute.

The corridor creaked with each step as they entered. Tezca's arm was clamped hard to his bloodied shoulder, each breath shallow. Xochi leaned to one side, her tunic torn open across the back where the fabric was stiff with dried blood. Renzo dragged his foot, every scrape of his sandal leaving a dark smear across the floorboards. None of them spoke. Their silence was heavier than their wounds.

Jaztayan sat at his desk, idly fiddling with a trinket Tavi had probably left. He was humming faintly to himself, lost in some absentminded rhythm, until the floor groaned under their weight. The sound broke his trance. The trinket slipped from his hand and clattered on the desk as his head snapped up.

He froze. For a moment, his breath caught. His chair scraped sharply against the floor as he half-rose, eyes fixed on the three figures standing before his desk. Motionless and battered, their shadows spilling long across the floor. Blood marked a trail behind them. Their eyes were low, their faces grim, their bodies carved with cuts and gashes.

Tezca took a step towards the desk. He reached into his pocket with stiff fingers and set the gem down without a glance upward. His hand lingered on it for a second, then withdrew. His voice was low, rough.

"Thanks for the gem... Sorry for wasting your time."

He turned sharply, shoulders tense, already angling for the door.

"Wait."

The word rang louder than Jaztayan intended. All three of them halted, glancing back. His jaw clenched, his knuckles white against the edge of the desk.

"You really tried, didn't you?" he said, softer now.

"Of course," Xochi muttered, not looking at him.

Jaz let out a short, huffing laugh. "Then you'll have it. The feather."

Renzo blinked, too tired to mask his shock. "What?"

Tezca's brow furrowed. "No... that's not how this works," his voice was low, but firm. "We failed your task. If we just take the feather now, it means nothing. We didn't earn it."

Xochi winced, swatting his arm. "Tezca, don't be stubborn—"

But Tezca didn't look at her. His eyes stayed locked on Jaztayan, suspicious, almost challenging. "I don't want a gift out of pity. If we're going to take it, I need to know why."

"Relax." Jaztayan spread his hands casually, though his voice carried a quiet edge. "I'm the one who set you against an impossible task. Call it the indulgence of an old man."

Tezca didn't answer immediately. His stare was sharp, weighing, mistrusting gifts that came without cost. Finally, his voice came out low. "If you're sure."

"What? You don't want it?" Jaz teased, lips quirking.

"No, we want it," Xochi cut in quickly, clapping Tezca's back with too much force. He winced but said nothing.

Jaz chuckled and pushed up from his chair with surprising energy. Throwing aside his light gown, he revealed a lean frame, torso and shoulder bound in crisscrossing bandages. "Follow me."

The next room was broader, cluttered with tools and relics. Three paintings of Quetzarix hung crookedly on the far wall—one red, one orange, one blue. Jaz moved behind a desk crowded with jars and strange implements, flicked open a drawer, and drew out a single feather. It glowed orange as it caught the lantern light.

He set it in a small grinding contraption, the kind built for ritual precision. As the stone rolled back and forth beneath his palm, the feather ground slowly to dust, each motion smooth, practiced. A few drops of water hissed as they touched the powder.

His eyes flicked up at them. "Looks like you met the crawlers."

Xochi was rummaging in the medical cabinet he'd nodded toward. Tezca, still pressing his shoulder, muttered, "They were strange. No Nahualli. Couldn't die."

"That's because they're not from this world," Jaztayan said sharply.

Tezca's head lifted, one brow arched. "What do you mean?"

"They're souls," Jaz said, his voice low, almost reverent. "Mictlan-born. Already dead. Killing them is a waste of strength."

Xochi nearly dropped the bandages in her hands. "From Mictlan!?" Her voice cracked. "How could they crawl out of the underworld?"

Jaz only kept grinding, the stone rasping steady. "The gods can't police every rift. Sometimes the veil splits. Things slip through. That's the problem with eternity." He spat out the last words with disdain. "Lousy gods."

Renzo hissed when his fingers pressed against his gouged calf. "Then... how do they become monsters like that?"

"When a soul crosses the river of Aponohuaya, its Nahualli is sealed away. Stripped from it." He clicked his tongue, dust rising with each grind. "Left in the living world too long, they cling to anything, amalgamate flesh and claw. That's what a spirit beast is."

The room was silent for a moment, except for the rasp of stone and the faint hiss of bandage wrappings. Tezca tugged absently at his goatee, thoughtful.

One by one, they bound their wounds. Xochi knelt behind Tezca, wiping blood from his shoulder with damp cloth. He hissed when she pressed the cloth to the cut, teeth grinding, but didn't move away. Renzo cursed under his breath as he wrapped his calf, sweat beading at his temple.

Jaz's hand finally slowed. The feather had become a fine, shimmering orange powder. He wiped his brow, scooped it into a small clay cup, and handed it across to Tezca.

"This is it."

Tezca weighed the cup in his hands. "So... what do I do with it?"

"Rub it into the soles of your feet. And on the base of that vessel outside." Jaz pointed to the little boat visible through the window. "Not too much. Just enough for the wind to see you. The powder opens the way. After that—" He leaned closer, voice dropping. "—after that, it's only your will keeping you in the air. Many before you have used it. Many have failed."

Renzo gave a nervous grin. "That's... not terrifying at all."

"Ha! You'll live," Jaz said, though his eyes gleamed with something less certain.

"Very reassuring," Xochi muttered.

Tezca looked down at the powder. For once, a faint smile tugged at his lips. "Thank you. Truly."

"Go." Jaz waved, feigning impatience. "Before I change my mind."

They left with lighter steps than they'd entered, the cool air rushing against their wounds like balm. The little boat creaked as Renzo hefted it over his shoulder, and for the first time since the cave, they shared a glance that almost looked like triumph.

Back in the office, Jaz sank into his chair. For a long moment, he stared at the fallen trinket on the desk, then let out a soft chuckle.

"What a stubborn bunch of kids," he muttered, almost fond. A smile tugged on his lips. "Ha! They sure are your students, Locaris."


NAYAMPAK

They descended the mountain in silence, but the hush wasn't heavy like before—it was restless, as if each step pulled them farther from failure and closer to something new. The air thinned, sharp with pine and wind, tugging at their clothes.

Xochi strayed from the path, slipping through the trees until she reached the cliff's edge. The wind whipped her hair back as she leaned forward, toes flirting with the drop. She drew a quick breath at the sight sprawling beneath them: Cayocan's heart gleaming in the distance, its tall spires and celestial current glowing faintly beyond, while the lakes shimmered far below the floating islands.

"Hey!" she called, grinning. "Come look at this!"

Renzo groaned, dropping the canoe with a thud. "What is it now?"

Still, he and Tezca pushed through the brush to join her. Their eyes widened at once; even Tezca let out a soft chuckle.

"Whoa," Renzo muttered, shading his eyes. "Didn't realize we were this high up."

Xochi pointed toward the waters beneath the islands. "Look—if we head to the lakes, we can reach Nayampak and fly from there."

Tezca squinted, following her finger. "Makes sense." His voice was quiet, but there was a faint glint in his eyes—already measuring the path ahead.

They pressed on, weaving through quieter streets of Cayocan. The northern edge felt different than anywhere else they had walked. Houses rose on stilts with steep roofs, built from pale stone and timber instead of clay. Shadows from the floating islands draped the streets in constant twilight, and the air grew cool against their skin. Mushrooms, moss, and midnight flowers lined the ground, glowing faintly as if the earth itself had fireflies trapped inside it. Red lantern posts flickered like slow heartbeats, guiding them forward.

A wooden sign pointed deeper into the district: Southern Lake District — Lake N. They followed the path until a faint glow caught Xochi's eye.

A man wore a short-sleeved tunic with a long-sleeved undershirt, a belt holding his long bottoms and small pouches. He held the light up, it reflecting off his bronze skin.

"Oh look!" Xochi said, pointing with her chin. Ahead, a mother crouched beside her two children, lifting a small red gem in her palm. Its glow spilled over their faces, warm and steady, as if she were lighting a lantern just for them.

"It's just like the gem Jaztayan gave us," Renzo muttered, squinting at the faint red pulse. "Guess we weren't carrying something all that rare."

"Maybe not rare," Tezca said, his eyes narrowing on the stone. "But important."

Xochi leaned a little closer as they passed, her voice softer. "It's like carrying a piece of fire without the burn. I'd use it every night too."

Renzo kept glancing back at the family with the gem, shaking his head. "Still feels like cheating. Back home, you had to work for fire. Here? They just pull it out of a pocket."

Tezca didn't answer right away. He thought of the times he struggled to light a fire.

But Renzo's big mouth just kept on yapping. "If you drop it in water, does it sizzle out? If you smash it, does it blow up? Or maybe it just—" he mimed an explosion with his hands, "—scatters sparks everywhere like a firework."

Xochi grinned at his rambling, then suddenly piped up, "Hey, if I ate one of those glowing mushrooms, like the big one we saw earlier. Do you think I'd start glowing too?"

Renzo barked out a laugh. "You? You'd probably blind us from the inside out. Imagine Xochi the human lantern."

"Not a lantern," Xochi corrected, puffing her cheeks with mock seriousness. "A star."

Tezca finally cracked a smile at their antics, muttering, "You can't be serious." But the corner of his mouth betrayed his amusement as they kept walking.

Their laughter lingered as they wandered through the winding streets of Cayocan's Lake District. It was alive with the muted glow of red light spilling from a wide, stone-built hall.

Tezca slowed his steps, curiosity tugging at him as he peered through the open arches. Inside, a massive contraption dominated the chamber: a great swing, its ropes straining as it carried an enormous sack filled with glittering red gems. Two workers stood high above on tall wooden stalls, bracing their weight as they pushed the swinging mass back and forth, feeding it momentum.

With every thunderous sway, the gems pulsed—absorbing the kinetic force until their glow deepened into a steady crimson. When one sack shone its brightest, the men hauled it aside and replaced it with a fresh load, the rhythm of labor keeping the city alive.

Renzo let out a low whistle at the sight, while Xochi leaned closer, fascinated by the strange mix of effort and enchantment. The air hummed faintly with the power being drawn, the glow painting their faces in shades of red as they watched.

Renzo leaned on the stone railing, watching the swing thunder back and forth. "All that muscle just to keep some rocks glowing... You'd think with sorcery they'd come up with something less backbreaking."

Xochi tilted her head, her eyes fixed on the pulsing gems. "It's not just rocks. Look how steady the light is. If they can keep it going like that, the whole district stays alive. That's... kind of brilliant."

Tezca's gaze flicked from the glowing sack to the faint red lanterns lining the street outside, their light beating like slow heartbeats. A thought slipped out, low and certain, "So that's how they charge them."

Renzo followed his eyes, letting out a small huff. "Huh. Makes sense now. Still feels like running an entire city off a swing set."

Xochi's lips curved slightly, though her tone was thoughtful. "Swing or not, it works. That's what matters."

They moved on, leaving the hum of the contraption behind. The glow of the lanterns thinned as the streets widened, giving way to the quiet pull of the lake.

The shore was made of smooth pebbles and dark stone, slick with spray from the lake. Xochi crouched near the edge. In the shallows, the water was so clear she could count every pebble, see moss curling soft and green between them. But just a little farther out, the lake turned black—not with dirt, but with the way light simply vanished beneath the surface.

Painted boats crowded the shallows, reds and pale blues chipped from years of use. A few huts leaned together along the bank, patched with reeds and planks, nets hanging heavy in the damp air. The smell of wet wood and old fish clung to the port nearby, where broad docks of darkened timber stretched into the black water. Lanterns trembled on their posts, their reflections shivering across the surface. Every groan of rope, every creak of the pylons seemed louder here, as though the lake swallowed all other sound.

Renzo dropped the canoe at last with a huff. "Phew! Finally. Thought my arm was about to fall off." He rubbed his shoulder.

"Xochi. Powder," Tezca said.

She shrugged off her bag, dug through the cloth wraps, and pulled free the clay cup. Tezca loosened the knot and the clay cup breathed out a faint earthy scent, sharp like crushed stone after rain. The powder shimmered faintly in the lantern light, not bright, but alive—like ash that refused to die.

"He said to rub it into our soles—and the hull." He pointed. "Flip it."

Renzo, with Xochi pretending to help, rolled the canoe onto its back. When he poured it onto the canoe's hull and rubbed it in with the heel of his palm, the wood almost seemed to drink it. A low vibration hummed through his hand, and faint threads of light traced the grain like veins awakening under skin.

Then they slipped off their sandals, dusting their own feet one by one.

"Feels... weird," Renzo muttered, covering it over his soles. It was cool at first, then tingled like pins and needles until it seeped deeper, buzzing in his bones. Xochi grinned at the sensation, wiggling her toes.

Tezca stayed quiet, but the fine dust on his feet pulsed faintly in rhythm with his heartbeat.

When they climbed in, it was a tight squeeze. "Cozy," Xochi announced with a grin, wedging herself at the front like a pirate ready to plunder. Tezca claimed the middle spot, pressed close between the other two. Renzo stretched into the back, the boat groaning under his weight.

Renzo clutched the rim. "Wait—before we go, I just want to say... I love you both."

Xochi rolled her eyes. "We're not going to die, idiot. Right, Tezca?"

Tezca smirked. "Hopefully. Worst case, the water breaks our fall. Might only be a few broken bones."

Renzo's voice cracked. "A few?!"

"Relax," Xochi said cheerfully. "This'll be fun."

They braced themselves. The wind teased their hair. Nothing happened.

Renzo squinted. "So... now what?"

Tezca shrugged. "Don't know."

A skiff drifted nearby, two young men paddling slow circles. They spotted the trio crammed together and burst out laughing.

"Hey, what are you doing so far on shore?" one called.

"Yeah," the other said, pointing down. "Boats are for the water."

Xochi tilted her chin up. "We're not headed for the lake." She pointed skyward. "We're headed for the island."

The men doubled over, laughing so hard their skiff nearly tipped. Xochi growled, half rising, but Tezca caught her wrist. "It's not worth it," he muttered.

Renzo groaned. "Maybe it needs a word? Like... 'fly!'"

"That's not how enchantments work," Tezca said flatly.

"Still. Could help."

"Arriba!" Xochi barked, throwing her hands up.

The canoe didn't budge.

"Enough," Tezca said, voice low. "Let your Nahuli flow into it. Trust it."

They closed their eyes, silent but tense. For a long breath, nothing happened but the lap of water against the shore. The hecklers snorted, whispering about "crazy kids."

Then, the canoe lurched. Slowly, impossibly, it lifted from the pebbled bank.

The laughter died like a cut string. Both men froze, mouths open. One nearly dropped his paddle into the lake.

"—What the hell—?!" he blurted, voice cracking.

The other scrambled to his feet, rocking the boat so hard it almost capsized. "It's flying! It's actually flying!"

Xochi leaned over the rim, curls whipping in the breeze. "Bye-bye." She waved sweetly.

Renzo stuck his tongue out, while Tezca's grin was small but sharp as the boat rose higher.

The stunned pair turned to each other, eyes wide with panic and awe. "Th-that makes three ships today! Three! What's happening to this place?!"

The canoe rose, weightless, and Tezca's stomach lurched as the pebbled shore dropped away. For a split second, panic gripped him—then the rush hit. The wind tore at his hair, sharp and alive, and he couldn't stop the grin tugging at his mouth.

It felt like smoke rising: effortless, inevitable, untouchable. The same way his element slipped through grasping hands, the world itself slid beneath them, powerless to hold them down.

Below, the lake stretched black as polished obsidian, reflecting the shimmer of the islands above. The canoe creaked and swayed as the wind caught its hull, carrying them west toward the looming shadow. Overhead, birds cut wild circles, their cries scattering across the sky.

Xochi whooped at the wind in her face. Renzo clamped both hands on the rim, knuckles straining, eyes wide. Tezca only sat still, steady as always, but inside, his chest thrummed with something rare—pure exhilaration.

For a heartbeat, none of them spoke. Even Xochi's grin softened as awe crept into her eyes.

Renzo clasped Tezca's shoulders. "We're quite high up now."

"Yeah, but we still have a long way to go," Tezca replied.

The canoe drifted higher. Once, it wobbled hard enough that Renzo squealed, nearly fainting.

"What the hell was that?!" he shouted.

"You're probably losing focus. Remember—our will takes us there. Calm down and let your Nahualli flow," Tezca said.

"Scaredy-cat," Xochi teased.

They neared the floating island—Nayampak, colossal and wild. Vines and moss draped its stone body, dark gems glinting where sunlight touched. As the sky brightened again, the yellow haze gave way to clear air. They floated past a drifting pink cloud, which Xochi leaned toward with a grin, stretching her fingers as if to catch it.

The canoe crested the edge of the island. Renzo, too eager, tried to leap out—only to tip them sideways. They crashed in a heap, the canoe clattering beside them.

For a moment, no one spoke. Dust rose around them, and the only sound was the wind brushing through the canopy. Xochi sat up, ready to snap at Renzo—but the words froze in her throat.

The air here was different. Alive.

Their eyes lifted—and the jungle revealed itself.

The canopy glowed faintly, its broad leaves traced with veins of light, as though sunlight had been caught and woven into their skin. Emerald vines coiled down from the branches, beaded with dew that shimmered like tiny stars. Towering leaves, broad as sails, fanned out from the trunks, and giant flowers bloomed in shades of violet and gold, their petals wide enough to catch the mist like basins.

Between the roots, jagged red gemstones jutted from the soil in clustered columns, glowing dully like the embers of a buried fire.

Scattered among the undergrowth were stones laced with turquoise and jade, their surfaces glinting like shards of the sky fallen to earth. The whole place gleamed, every detail alive with a strange, hushed brilliance.

Then movement stirred—little round figures peeked from mud nests tucked into tree hollows and earthen mounds. They were no bigger than rabbits, with stubby arms, stumpy legs, and wide, gleaming eyes that blinked with innocent curiosity. Their skin shimmered faintly, as if dusted with green light, and when they waddled from their homes, they gave off the impression of spirits that were both adorable and sacred, like living embers of the jungle itself.

The air vibrated with life: birds wheeling overhead, monkeys howling in the distance, insects buzzing in bright chords. Yet beneath the noise there was a deeper hum, a pulse that seemed to come from the land itself.

For a heartbeat, none of them spoke. It was not just a jungle—it was a sanctuary, a place where the boundary between earth and spirit blurred, as though the gods themselves had carved it into being.

Tezca pushed himself up from the dirt, still catching his breath, and froze. His eyes followed the glow threading through the leaves, then dropped to the little red crystal spires jutting from the ground beside him. The air seemed to hum against his skin.

"...This place is alive," he murmured, almost to himself.

Xochi had already bounced to her feet. "Alive? It's perfect!" She darted toward a cluster of roots, where a round little figure peeked from its earthen nest. Its big eyes blinked once, twice, then it waddled out, stubby arms swaying as it tottered toward her sandal.

Her grin split wide. "Oh my gods—Tezca, Renzo, LOOK at it!"

The spirit tilted its head, squeaking faintly, like pebbles clicking together. A few more popped from the roots around it, blinking curiously at the strangers.

Renzo crouched low, eyes wide. "...They're everywhere." He stuck out a finger, hesitating. "Are we sure these aren't... demon babies or something? Like those spirit beasts from before?"

The nearest spirit waddled right up and patted his foot with its tiny hand.

Renzo yelped, stumbling back on his ass. "Nope! Nope, not normal, don't like it!"

Xochi burst into laughter, scooping up one of the little beings before it could wobble away. Its glow shimmered faintly against her arms. She held it up like a treasure, eyes sparkling. "Don't you dare call it creepy. Look at this face! It's adorable!"

Tezca scoffed out a chuckle. He knelt, letting one of the spirits poke his palm with its tiny hand. Its glow brushed warm against his skin. "No these aren't spirit beasts—you can feel their Nahualli."

Renzo leaned closer again, still wary. "...So we're really standing in a jungle where the ground sprouts gems. The trees glow. And the squirrels are lanterns with legs."

Xochi hugged the spirit tighter. "Exactly. And I never want to leave."

They stared in awe, beaming despite themselves. Xochi stumbled forward—and froze at a familiar presence.

"A Vireoco!" she squealed.

The others turned to see a small monkey, its fur pale blue with a white belly. It sat still, allowing Xochi a quick scratch behind the ear before scampering up a tree.

"They seem shyer than the other ones," Tezca murmured.

"Okay!" Xochi declared, eyes burning with determination—fists on hips. "Let's find this fruit!"

"And treasure," Renzo added.

Tezca smirked, shaking his head.


On the other side of the island. Mist clung low to the moss-covered stones, curling between the roots of towering trees.

Two young figures moved through the overgrowth — one carefully, the other at a pace so unhurried it was almost agonizing.

Izel adjusted her glasses, eyes darting between a strange, jellyfish-like creature, and the pages of a worn sketchbook in her hand. She wore a cream tunic tucked into her shorts, a curved blade mantled on her back and scuffed leather boots. A small silver necklace glinted at her collarbone as she adjusted the strap of her satchel. Her long, dark-purple hair was tied loosely behind her, strands falling forward as she leaned in close to inspect something only she seemed to find fascinating.

A few paces behind her, Tzai followed, carrying his deep green tunic dusted with pollen and earth. She was slightly taller than him, herself being 5'6, he was just about an inch shorter. His black hair hung just above his brows, and his loose brown trousers swayed with every unhurried step. His skin glowed like bronze, vastly contrasting Izel's pale skin. He casually rested a hand on the hilt of his crescent scythe, slung across his shoulder, like a stick you would find on the floor.

Every few steps she would pause, crouch, and scribble a diagram or trace a weathered carving, her attention completely absorbed by the jungle. The ground beneath them was uneven, humming faintly with energy, as if the island itself was alive.

Tzai let out a slow sigh, rubbing his temples. "How much longer?"

Izel, crouched in front of an ancient-looking tree, didn't even glance at him. "I don't know."

Tzai squinted at her. "You don't know, or you're just ignoring the question?"

Izel pushed her glasses up her nose, examining the tree's bark. "Both."

Tzai stared at her for a long moment before turning away. He wasn't even surprised. He should've known this would happen.

He leaned against a nearby rock, arms crossed. "You know, when you said you needed a favor, I assumed it was something quick. Not an entire expedition."

Izel hummed, too focused on sketching in her notebook to respond.

Tzai exhaled. "Right. Of course."

Silence settled between them, broken only by the distant chittering of unseen creatures. Tzai watched as Izel shifted, carefully running her fingers over the tree's bark. Her face was full of quiet fascination, like she was trying to decipher some ancient secret only she could see.

Then she spoke, still not looking at him. "You can go back if you want."

Tzai narrowed his eyes. "You dragged me here."

"I asked."

"You nagged."

Izel finally looked up, blinking at him innocently. "Semantics."

Tzai closed his eyes, inhaled, then exhaled. This is fine. This is my life now.

Then, without warning, he snapped his fingers.

Izel flinched. "Hey!"

"You were slipping into your weird zone again."

"I was focusing," she corrected, scowling as she stood and dusted herself off. "You don't have to keep doing that."

"I do."

"No, you don't."

"You'd still be staring at that tree if I didn't."

Izel crossed her arms. "You're incredibly annoying."

Tzai yawned. "And yet, here I am."

She huffed, closing her notebook with a dramatic snap. "Come on, let's go further in."

He wiped the water in his eyes. "What are we looking for again?"

"The ruins."


Back with the group, Tezca, Xochi, and Renzo slowed to a halt.

Before them rose a cluster of ruined stone buildings, their walls broken and sagging under centuries of weight. Moss and strangling vines spilled from the cracks, climbing all the way to where shattered roofs once stood. Faded carvings peeked through the greenery—jaguar heads, sun discs, spirals half-swallowed by roots. A cobblestone path wound between them, its stones uneven, split, and nearly lost beneath soil and fallen leaves. Scattered statues leaned in the brush, their faces eroded into blank stares.

The ruins didn't look impressive, yet there was something unsettlingly familiar about them—like only scraps of a far grander city remained.

"People really lived up here?" Renzo muttered, shading his eyes.

"Maybe they still do," Xochi said lightly, twirling a strand of her hair.

Renzo snorted. "If they do, they're terrible housekeepers."

Tezca let out an amused breath through his nose, which only made Renzo's grin widen.

"I have an idea."

"Oh no," Tezca muttered immediately.

"Let's race," Renzo declared, eyes flashing with that competitive edge beneath his joking tone. "First one to find the fruit keeps it."

Before Tezca could object, Renzo had already bolted down the path, Xochi hot on his heels. Their laughter and taunts bounced between the ruins as if the crumbling stones themselves were egging them on.

Tezca shook his head but couldn't hide his own grin. "I'm getting that fruit," he said under his breath, veering right toward a shadowed side path, hoping his luck lay elsewhere.


In the south part of the island, a group of presences emerged.

Five men, equipped with weapons and adequate gear, had been searching the island. They stumbled upon a similar set of ancient ruins, carelessly pulling it apart.

A man among them adjusted his red bandana, wiping some sweat off his brow. He pried a stone tile from the wall, tossing it aside with a loud clack.

Beside him, another man leaned lazily against a broken column, chewing on a reed as his eyes wandered the tree line.

"How's it looking?" he asked, voice low.

"Nothing," came the sigh. "Treasure's supposed to be in here somewhere... all I see is dust and bugs."

"You're wasting your time."

The first man turned, frowning. "Chief said to search thoroughly."

"If anything valuable was here, it's long gone. And this place—" he gestured at the crumbling stones "—it feels wrong. Like we're digging through scraps while the real prize is somewhere else."

The man on the floor brushed dirt from his tunic. "So what's your plan, then?"

The reed-chewer smirked, finally pushing off the column. "The boss says the fruit's worth more than gold. Let's find it before some jungle rat does."

The cautious one stiffened. "The chief's orders—"

"He'll thank us if we get it first."

"You're joking. You've seen him lose his temper. He'll kill us for wandering off."

"Or he'll praise us for initiative." The smirk widened. "We don't wait for permission. That's what makes us bandits, isn't it?"

———

Tezca paused, stretching slightly. His injury still tugged at him—each movement a reminder he wasn't yet at full strength. He leaned against a tree, catching his breath, when a new sound threaded through the jungle's endless hum.

A voice. Unfamiliar.

His brow furrowed, as a whisper left his lips. "I thought we were the only ones here?"

He crouched low, careful not to stir a leaf, and crawled across damp earth until he pressed into the cover of a bush. The foliage slicked with dew masked him perfectly. From the green shadows, he peered out.

The voice came again, but louder. It was heading his way. Two silhouettes moved between the trees. His eyes narrowed as they appeared out of the corner.

"You're staring at rocks again," Tzai drawled, half-smile tugging at his lips.

"They're not just rocks," came the quick reply. Izel didn't even glance up, her pencil danced across the page.

Her voice quickened as though her thoughts might outrun her hand. "They're clues that could explain the culture, geological, maybe even the... metaphysics of this island. Possibly of the whole dimension."

Tezca's brow arched. She sounded like no one he'd ever met.

Tzai blinked slowly, then sighed. "...Right. Sure." A sly grin crept in. "How about you tell me all about it—while we pick up the pace?"

"You shouldn't be the one complaining about pace, sloth." She shot back, finally glancing up from her sketch.

From the bushes, Tezca huffed a short laugh, shaking his head.

Tzai lifted both hands. "Hey, I'm conserving energy. You're wasting it."

Her glare could've cut stone.

He coughed, tone softening. "...Kidding. If you enjoy it, it's not a waste."

Izel sighed, tapping her pencil once against the page. "Then look around you."

Tzai's gaze lifted reluctantly, dragging from the jeweled leaves shimmering with unnatural color, to the yellow horizon, to the pink-tinged clouds drifting high over the northern sky.

"Everything here is alive with Nahualli," she murmured. "Every stream, every leaf, every grain of soil. It's like the island itself has a soul. That's why the north is so strange... why it floats. This place is the anchor. A living enchantment."

Tzai scratched his head. "So that means the rumors are true?"

She adjusted her glasses. "Yes, this was created by a sorcerer."

Tezca's eyes widened and flickered in thought. Hidden in the brush, he stayed utterly still, listening. For a moment, only the wind through gemmed leaves and the low hum of Nahualli filled the air—alive, constant, almost breathing with them.

Then the rhythm broke.

Tzai's steps halted. His eyes narrowed. "Do you sense that?"

"How could I not?" Izel shut her sketchbook in a snap, sliding it into her satchel. Her hand slipped toward the hilt of her curved sword. "Spirit beast."

It stepped from the shadows.

The clearing shivered with its arrival. Nearly seven feet tall, the creature lurched forward on sinewy legs, talons scraping grooves in the earth.

Its torso hunched beneath ragged patches of oily feathers, gray skin glistening between bare gaps. Along its neck, short, jagged bone-like spikes jutted out unevenly, clustered densely like a crown of thorns. Longer, cruel spikes arced down the back, casting harsh shadows over its shoulders.

Tezca's breath hitched.

Its head twitched in jagged motions, neck craning with each snap. The beak—long, serrated, cracked—dark blood, both fresh and dried into flakes, splattered across its face. Its eyelids hung heavy and drooped low, hiding eyes that seemed too pale and too clouded to belong to a living thing. When it blinked, brief flashes of milky white shone from deep within, like the gaze of something half-dead.

A low, broken hum rattled from its throat, punctuated by sharp clicks of the beak. The air grew thick, cold, every hair along Tezca's arms standing on end.

He tightened his jaw. Another spirit beast? Should I help them?

Izel's features cooled into focus, fingers curling lightly over the hilt of her blade, ready but unhurried.

"Don't bother," Tzai said quietly, stepping forward.

The creature's snarls filled the clearing, yet Tzai's stance remained loose, almost lazy. He didn't bother raising his scythe. It remained balanced on his shoulder, weightless.

The beast's spindly legs tore at the soil as it lurched forward, jaws snapping wetly in its blood-smeared frenzy. Tzai stood his ground, watching it with the patient stillness of a hunter who already knew the end.

With a low, deliberate gesture, he pressed his palm to the ground. The ground buckled, vines surging upward, writhing like snakes. They coiled around the beast's legs, wrenching it sideways. The creature stumbled hard, claws carving furrows in the dirt as it tried to regain balance.

Before it could right itself, Tzai's hand sliced through the air—Wall of Thorns erupted before the beast, jagged and barbed, its scent sharp and living. The spirit beast snarled and slammed into it, thorns raking across its hide. For a moment it thrashed in place... then, with a furious heave, it tore through, splinters of thorn scattering across the clearing.

It lunged for him, jaws wide, the stench of its breath hot and metallic. Tzai's body shifted just enough—a sidestep smooth as drifting mist—letting the beast's claws slice only air.

His voice dropped to a whisper.

"Slowpoke."

The word carried weight, Nahualli pulsing outward in a faint ripple. A bubble-like sphere had enveloped the beast; its charge faltered mid-stride. Its limbs moved sluggishly... slower... until the great predator hung in the air like a sculpture of muscle and rage, every twitch dragging like it was underwater.

Tezca was watching the whole thing play out. He saw the way Tzai moved and fought. There's no doubting it... he has the sloth spirit.

Tzai didn't rush. He walked toward it in measured steps, the head of his scythe glinting in the muted light. Standing just at its side, he tilted the blade back.

His voice was soft—more like confession than declaration.

"...Reaping Claw."

In one fluid motion, the scythe flashed. A clean arc split the stillness.

Blood fountained as the head hit the ground with a dull thud, eyes still frozen mid-snarl. The body followed a heartbeat later, collapsing in a heap of lifeless weight.

The spray hit Tzai's face. He didn't flinch—just dragged a palm over his skin in a single motion, wiping it away.

He exhaled, the vines and thorns fading back into the earth. The clearing was silent. He reached into the sash around his stomach, pulling something out.

From his hiding place, Tezca strained to see, but the restless leaves left him with scraps of sight. He caught only flickers—shadows, faint sounds, a shimmer around Tzai and the beast.

He brushed a branch aside—

The body was gone.

No blood. No feathers. No trace.

Tezca's brows knit tight. It couldn't have vanished on its own.