The journey to Cayocan (Part 6)

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

Xochi stirred where she had been resting. Her body ached, but enough strength had returned for her to call on her healing ice. She pressed a palm to her back; frost spread across the wound in a soft glow, numbing the pain. Her spear was waiting in the dirt. She slung it across her back and pushed herself upright, following the path Izel had taken.

Rounding a corner, she froze. Bandits sprawled across the jungle floor, unconscious and broken, their groans swallowed by the stillness.

"She did all this?" she whispered.

A glint in the shadows caught her eye. Izel's satchel.

Xochi's pulse jumped. She remembered Renzo's voice, remembered what it held. The fruit. Her fingers hovered, hesitation coiling in her chest.

She looked once over her shoulder. The silence pressed harder.

Her hand closed fast around the strap. She hugged the satchel to her chest and bolted, boots crunching over the limp bodies as she ran.

Renzo was still sprawled on the ground where she left him, staring at the sky.

"Come on," she panted, kneeling beside him. "I've got the fruit."

He rolled his head toward her, eyes bleary. "Can't...move." His voice was all groan and melodrama. He let out a long, pitiful sigh. "Just bury me here. Tell Tezca I fought bravely."

Xochi's lips pressed thin. "Get up—we need to find him."

Renzo moaned louder, dragging it out before croaking, "Right..." He held out his hand like a dying man, making her do most of the work as she hauled him up.

"Hold still," she said, steadying him. Frost bloomed across his wound, sealing it with a pale blue glow.

His breath rasped as they moved, each inhale rattling his ribs. Xochi clutched the satchel tight against her chest, stumbling once when her bruised arm screamed with pain. She caught herself on the moss-slick stone wall, teeth gritted, then pushed forward.

At her side, Renzo limped, his shoulder caked in dried blood. "Keep going," he grunted, trying for tough but sagging under the weight. Then, with a crooked grin through his exhaustion, "Tezca's not far. I can feel it. Or maybe that's just me bleeding out."

"Then we don't stop," Xochi said, her voice trembling but resolute. Sweat traced lines down her dirt-streaked cheeks. Her grip on the satchel never loosened.

The ruins swallowed their footsteps as they pressed deeper. The air cooled with every yard, damp and heavy, carrying the stink of blood and old moss. Each echo sounded too loud in the stillness, as though the stone corridors themselves were listening.

And then—

A sound.

A broken hum, low and uneven, threading through the shadows ahead. It didn't belong. Not wind. Not stone settling. Something alive.

Renzo froze mid-step, his fist curling despite the sharp pain in his arms. Xochi slowly raised her gaze, the silence between them taut as wire.

From the dark passage, it emerged.

The beast's tall frame lurched forward on spindly legs, talons scraping stone with a shrill screech. Feathers clung in uneven patches, blackened and matted like rotting tar. Its thin neck twitched with jagged, unnatural motions. The cracked beak clicked once, spilling a wet, hollow note that echoed through the jungle.

Its pale eyes rolled in their sockets, cloudy, but fixed on them all the same.

The stench hit next — damp rot, iron tang, mold feeding on decay.

Xochi's grip tightened around the spear on her back. Renzo raised his hands, though blood still dripped steadily down his arm. Neither spoke. The air itself felt too heavy to risk words.

They had stumbled upon something worse than bandits.

And it had found them.

Xochi ripped the satchel from her shoulder and hurled it at Renzo. He caught it on instinct, breath catching from the weight.

"You need to rest," she barked. "I'll fight it."

She spun her spear once, sharp arcs cutting the air. Then she darted forward, striking the beast's neck twice. The blows clanged harmlessly against the spines bristling around it.

The beast kicked, a blur of talons. Xochi's chest caved with the impact, air ripping from her lungs as she flew backward. She slammed into the ground, dirt grinding into her back.

The creature charged, its beak yawning wide.

Renzo cursed under his breath, tossed the bag aside, and surged in. He rammed his shoulder into the beast's side, driving it into a tree with a splintering crash. But the force reopened his wound. Blood spilled hot down his arm, soaking his side. He staggered back, clutching his shoulder, chest heaving as he fought to stay upright.

"Don't help me!" Xochi blurted, scrambling to her feet, throwing an arm out.

"Like hell I won't—" Renzo shot back, but the moment he tried to step in, his shoulder buckled. He stumbled, clutching the wound, blood seeping hot between his fingers. His breath rasped, sweat dripping down his jaw, yet he forced himself to stay upright, eyes locked on the fight, torn between charging in and letting her stand alone.

The beast shrieked and lunged again. Xochi flicked her spear against the ground — a wall of jagged ice erupted before her, mist swirling in the sudden cold. The monster hovered over it, wings snapping open with a rotten crack. Its bulk blotted the sunlight, talons curled like knives as it descended.

Xochi rolled, barely escaping the strike, her foot scraping against moss-slick stone. She sprang up and hurled her spear with all her momentum. The weapon punched into its side with a sick squawk, but the beast only staggered, still surging forward.

Its beak snapped for her head. She iced her fist in a jagged sheath and slammed it into the skull. The blow staggered it — but then it stomped, talons driving straight through her foot.

A scream tore from her throat as blood sprayed, soaking her sandal, pooling beneath her heel. She roared through clenched teeth, trembling but refusing to collapse.

The beast hunched, its beak widening for the kill.

Xochi wrenched her spear free, planting it between them just as its jaws clamped down. The monster bit into the shaft, thrashing violently. Splinters cracked, sweat stung Xochi's eyes, her arms quivering as she held on. Panic flickered across her face, her muscles screaming, blood dripping from her torn foot.

Her grip loosened.

The spear slid free.

Her eyes widened as the beast's beak descended — fast, final, merciless.

A blur tore through the haze—smoke and fury wrapped in flesh.

Tezca's heel crashed into the beast's ribs with a crack that split the air. The impact rocked it sideways—but it didn't fall. Its torso twisted unnaturally, a talon whipping out and catching him midair.

The blow hurled him to the ground. Dirt and stone scraped his skin as he rolled, breath ripped from his chest. Blood flecked his lips. Still, he forced himself upright—dagger in hand, eyes burning.

Behind him, Xochi clutched her mangled foot, frost crawling over the wound to stanch the bleeding. Renzo sagged against a tree, one hand pressed tight to his shoulder, his face pale. Both could only watch.

Renzo sagged against a tree, one hand pressed tight to his shoulder, his face pale. For a moment he couldn't breathe. He'd seen how close the beak had come—how certain Xochi's demise had been. His stomach churned, the usual grin wiped from his face, replaced with something rawer. Relief tangled with fear.

The beast snapped its cracked beak, a wet croak bubbling out. Its cloudy eyes rolled, locking onto Tezca as it lurched closer. Talons scraped stone with every step. Around its neck, jagged spines jutted like armor, slick and black in the dim light.

Tezca moved first. Smoke burst outward in thick plumes, his form splitting and weaving among the roots. The beast shrieked and struck wildly—beak snapping through one figure, then another. For a heartbeat, he thought it was fooled.

Then it froze.

The pale eyes twitched, sniffing through the haze with rattling clicks. A shudder coursed through its body before it lunged—straight at him.

Tezca twisted aside, obsidian dagger flashing free. The beak slammed into the earth, stone erupting in shards where his skull had been. He slashed at its throat, but the blade screeched against the spines, sparks dancing uselessly.

"Darn it," he hissed, smoke curling off his shoulders.

The beast lunged again. Dagger met beak with a teeth-rattling shriek, the force driving him back until his spine cracked against a tree. The pressure bore down, arms trembling, as rancid breath poured over him.

With a snarl, he dissolved into smoke and slipped free. The beak punched deep into the trunk with a splintering crack. Tezca spun in, blade aimed into its neck. This time the cut bit. Dark blood sprayed the ground.

The monster shrieked, wrenching itself loose. Its wings flared, rotten feathers scattering as it went berserk. A talon clipped his ribs mid-dodge. Pain tore through him—hot blood spreading across his side. He dropped to one knee, clutching the wound, dagger still raised.

The creature's eyes rolled, foam bubbling at its beak. It barreled forward, faster, madder, neck hunched to guard the wound.

Tezca darted aside, slashing again and again. Flashes flared as the blade rang off bone and spine. He circled, smoke trailing like shadows, forcing it to twist and snap at ghosts. He pressed, testing the split he'd carved—wearing it down.

Then—there.

The crack bled freely, armor split wide. He roared and surged forward, smoke bursting from his back to launch him up its shoulders. Talons raked his arms and thighs, shallow cuts burning, but he clung tight.

"Fall already!"

The obsidian blade plunged deep into the wound. The monster convulsed, slamming into trees and stone in a frenzy to throw him loose. Every impact blurred his vision, rattled his bones—but he held on. He sawed through tendon and muscle until the neck gave way.

The collapse was sudden. Its body spasmed, then toppled, crashing into the earth with a bone-shaking thud. Tezca tore the dagger free and leapt clear, landing hard on his knees.

For a long moment, silence.

Tezca staggered back from the corpse, dagger slipping from his hand. His chest rose and fell in ragged bursts, smoke still curling faintly from his arms as if reluctant to leave him. For a long moment, he just stood there, dripping with blood, staring at the ruin of the creature.

Then he dropped to one knee.

His palm pressed against the earth, his head bowed. Under his breath, too soft for the others to catch every word, he spoke in Nahuatl—the prayer he'd been taught as a child. A call for the beast's spirit to find rest. An apology for the violence. A vow that its death would not be forgotten.

The silence of the jungle seemed to deepen, as though even the ruins paused to listen.

Xochi watched in silence, her foot still bleeding through the frost, but her expression calm. She knew this part of him well. It wasn't surprise that touched her face, but a steady recognition, almost relief, as though his prayer proved he was still Tezca despite everything.

Renzo, leaning heavy against the tree, didn't share that history. His eyes narrowed, studying Tezca with a flicker of respect that cut through the pain.

Tezca finished, pressing two fingers to his forehead, then to the ground. Only then did he rise again, unsteady but resolute, his gaze hard.

Tezca exhaled, chest still heaving as he looked over at them.

Xochi's face lit up, her relief unguarded. "You're back!"

She half-limped, half-ran toward him and threw her arms around his shoulders. The squeeze was fierce, almost desperate, her weight leaning into him despite the blood soaking her foot. Tezca let out a small laugh and wrapped his arms around her in return, holding her steady.

"Where'd you get that blade?" she chirped once she pulled back, though her voice wavered with exhaustion.

A smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. "It was just laying on the ground."

Renzo coughed into his hand, leaning against the tree. "Hate to ruin the reunion, but—uh—you two realize that thing doesn't stay dead, right?"

Tezca's grin tilted sharper. "Yeah. I've got something for that." His gaze flicked past Renzo. He raised his voice. "Tzai—now!"

Xochi's brow lifted. "Who's Tzai?"

"Student I met earlier."

Renzo turned just in time to see Tzai strolling into view, calm as if he'd missed nothing.

"Glad to know you were making friends while we were fighting for our lives," Renzo muttered under his breath.

"I came as soon as I could," Tezca shot back. He waved him closer. "The bottle!"

Tzai stopped a few steps from Renzo. His hand slipped slowly into his sash, rummaging with deliberate care. Then he drew out the gourd, holding it by its cord as if presenting some priceless treasure.

His pace didn't quicken.

Xochi and Renzo exchanged looks of disbelief, while Tezca fought the urge to groan. Was he doing this on purpose?

At last, with a lazy flick, Tzai tossed it to him.

Tezca caught it and turned toward the twitching remains of the beast. The carcass shivered—then began to unravel.

Light bled from its wounds, threads of silver and blue peeling away from the flesh. The air grew colder, heavy, as its body collapsed into nothing but radiance.

The glow condensed into a shimmering soul that pulsed like a living ember.

The gourd drew it in with a low hum. The light stretched, writhing, before snapping inside with a final flash. The vessel throbbed once in Tezca's grip before falling still.

He sealed the lid with a twist and—grinning—gave it a little shake. "Sealed."

"Woah..." Xochi breathed, leaning closer to peer at it, awe breaking through her exhaustion.

Without ceremony, Tezca handed the gourd back to Tzai, who turned and ambled off as if the entire ordeal had been nothing more than a stroll.

Tezca's smirk faded as he finally looked back at his friends—Xochi hunched and limping, Renzo pale and clutching his shoulder. The fight was over, but its weight still pressed on all of them.

"What happened while I was gone?" he asked.

Renzo launched into the wildest hand gestures, flailing like he was telling the story of his life. Xochi, in between short breaths, added that some nerdy-looking girl had beaten down the bandits too.

Tezca stroked his goatee, eyebrows lifting with every detail.

Then the bushes behind them rustled.

Izel stepped out.

Renzo froze, then ducked behind Tezca's back in mock terror. He pointed a trembling finger. "That's her. She's the one who made me look like a fool."

Izel adjusted her glasses with a sharp push, her tone flat but edged. "Give me my bag."

Xochi turned toward the tree where it had been set. She raised a finger. "It's right—"

Her voice caught. The spot was empty. Her blood ran cold. "Oh... It's gone."

Renzo leaned around Tezca's shoulder. "Gone? What do you mean, gone?"

Izel's eyes narrowed, impatience slipping into her voice. "Who else could've taken it?"

Xochi shrugged, a little sheepish. "I only wanted the fruit."

Tezca sighed and glanced toward the brush. "Maybe Tzai has it."

Izel blinked, her expression tightening with puzzlement. "Tzai's here?"

Tezca nodded and pointed in the direction he'd gone.


Hidden deep in the jungle foliage, Thatch clutched the satchel tight to his chest. He tugged it open and pulled the fruit free, its glow catching in his greedy eyes.

"Those idiots were too busy with that monster," he muttered, grinning. "The chief's down, and now the reward's all mine. Easier than I thought."

He pushed out of the brush—only to freeze. Someone was already standing there.

Tzai.

The boy's gaze narrowed. "Hey."

Thatch blinked, clutching the fruit tighter. "...Hey."

"Does that satchel belong to you?"

A bead of sweat slid down Thatch's temple. "Well... of course it does."

"Liar."

Thatch spun on his heel to bolt.

"Slowpoke," Tzai muttered.

Mid-stride, Thatch locked up. His arms, his legs—stone-stiff, unmoving. Panic flickered in his eyes as his body refused him.

Tzai strolled forward, plucked the satchel from his frozen arms, and slung it over his shoulder.

"Get lost," he said flatly.


Not far away, the others pressed through the jungle.

Izel walked a few paces ahead, muttering under her breath, "How am I supposed to study the temple without my sketchbook..."

Her complaint barely carried over the rustle of leaves.

Tezca caught just enough to hear. His gaze lingered on her a moment longer than he meant to before shifting back to the path.

After a while, they crossed paths with Tzai. He held out the satchel without ceremony. "Thought you'd want this back."

"My satchel!" Izel exclaimed, rushing forward.

"My fruit!" Xochi echoed, mimicking her tone.

Tzai passed it off, and Izel clutched it protectively to her chest. She peeked inside, relief flashing as the fruit's soft glow spilled out.

But before she could take it out, a hand shot toward her.

"Give me my fruit," Xochi demanded, palm open, fingers wiggling expectantly.

Izel's eyes narrowed behind her glasses. "Your fruit?"

"Yes." Xochi leaned forward, messy hair slipping into her face, her tone full of certainty. "My fruit."

"I carried it. It was in my satchel," Izel countered, hugging the bag tighter.

Xochi jutted her chin. "But I found it first." She reached without asking, hands clamping the satchel.

"Let go," Izel snapped, pulling back.

They tugged the bag between them, neither willing to budge.

Renzo, smirking, leaned lazily on Tezca. "You two sound like siblings."

Tezca stepped in and pried them apart with a sigh. "How about we share the fruit equally? It's big enough for everyone."

Xochi huffed and flicked her head aside like a pampered princess. "Fine. Whatever."

Izel mirrored her, though primmer, pushing her glasses up. "I'm fine with that."

Tezca shook his head, a quiet laugh slipping out. His smile widened when Izel finally placed the fruit in his hands.

He wiped his dagger on his shirt, the blade catching a glint of light, and sliced into the glowing flesh.

Its spiny shell pulsed a deep purple, bright veins pulsing beneath the rind. But when Tezca split it open, a sweet perfume filled the air.

The flesh inside was a pale, gleaming blue, almost translucent, with a few swollen seeds glistening like polished stones.

Xochi leaned in, eyes wide. "Isn't this just a soursop?"

"Yeah," Tezca said, tilting his head, "but... different."

He cut it carefully into five even slices and passed them around. The group settled in a loose circle, the fruit shimmered faintly in their hands.

Behind them, jagged red gemstones glowed dully between the roots, their light washing the air in a soft ember hue.

A little farther off, a cluster of giant flowers swayed, their golden petals wide and still, catching the mist like shallow bowls.

Xochi licked her lips and took a big bite, juice running down her chin. "Mmm—so good!"

Her eyes watered from the rush of flavor.

Renzo tore into his with loud crunches. "That's the stuff."

Tezca didn't bother with restraint, already halfway through his. "Perfect."

Izel pinched off a tiny corner, nibbling like a guinea pig. Her face lit up. "I've never tasted anything this pure."

Tzai squinted at all of them as if expecting some trick. But when he finally bit in, his eyes widened, sparkling. "...Okay," he admitted, "that's really good."

Tezca's gaze drifted to the ground, where a lone worker ant hurried along the dirt. He pinched off a sliver of his slice and set it beside the insect.

The ant paused, tested it with its feelers, then hoisted the piece and marched away like it had won a treasure.

The others kept eating and chatting—until Izel's brow furrowed.

She blinked rapidly, then leaned forward. "Um... are you three seeing this?"

Tezca, Xochi, and Renzo sat with eyes closed, savoring the fruit. Their skin was faintly glowing, a gentle pulse of light beneath the surface.

"Tezca," Xochi whispered.

"Hm?" He opened one eye lazily.

"You're glowing."

Tezca looked down at his arm. Purple light rippled through his skin like liquid fire. His head snapped to Xochi. "You're glowing too!"

Xochi yelped, glancing at her hands. "Aaaah! I am!"

Renzo shot up, nearly dropping his slice. "Look!" He jabbed a finger at his shoulder, eyes wide. "My wound—it's closing!"

Izel was already scribbling furiously into her sketchbook, her eyes huge with fascination.

Tezca spun Xochi around—her back was smooth, the cuts completely vanished.

She touched the spot, stunned. "They're gone..."

Renzo couldn't contain himself. He whooped, leaping into an exaggerated dance. "This fruit is miraculous!"

He shuffled backward with exaggerated steps, almost falling on his rear. "I feel unstoppable!"

Xochi burst into laughter, wiping juice from her chin.

Izel tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear, smiling faintly. "Soursops are said to have healing properties against cancer... so, if this one is enchanted, maybe it just... heals everything."

Tezca's grin spread across his face. "That's amazing."

Izel's pencil slowed. She glanced at him, her voice soft, shy but curious. "So... do you always end up this injured?"

Tezca scratched the back of his head, chuckling. "More often than not."

That made her laugh quietly, shoulders shaking, before she went back to her notes.

Tezca turned to Tzai, a sly edge in his tone. "You don't exactly keep your spirit animal a secret, do you?"

Tzai stared back blankly. "Who said I'm trying to hide it?"

That alone was enough to make Xochi and Renzo perk up, their attention snapping toward him.

Tzai leaned back, a crooked grin tugging at his mouth. "Let me guess—you've all been told the same thing: keep your spirit animal hidden, use it like a trump card, right?"

He flicked his fingers dismissively. "Beginner stuff. Rookies love that game. They think if they figure out their opponent's animal, they've already won."

He lifted a hand, ticking off fingers one by one. "Hawk? They'll come from above. Serpent? Fast strike, bad stamina. Wolf? Pack tactics, steady pressure."

Renzo nodded along, eyes widening. "That's... actually what I thought."

"Of course it is," Tzai said dryly. "And look, that kind of knowledge does matter when you're starting out. It can save your life."

His grin slipped into something sharper. "But here's the truth: the higher you climb, the less the animal matters. The so-called Encyclopedia? It only shows the common paths—the tricks everyone expects. Some people twist their spirits into things nobody's ever seen. Some break the rules entirely."

His eyes narrowed, voice dropping. "And the gods? They make all of it look like a child's guessing game."

A silence hung for a moment before he leaned forward, elbows on his knees. "At the lower levels, yeah—study the beast, exploit the weakness, get your edge. But stare too long at the animal, and you'll forget the fighter behind it. The strong ones erase their weaknesses. Worse, they'll use your expectations against you. By the time you realize you weren't fighting the animal, but the person... you're already done."

He flicked a pebble into the brush, the sound sharp in the quiet. "So don't depend on the book. Use it, sure—it's a weapon. But lean on it too hard, and one day, someone stronger will turn your 'knowledge' into your coffin."

Xochi raised her brows, then scoffed softly, her grin tugging wide. "So basically... don't be an idiot who relies on a book."

She leaned back on her elbows, looking smug, like she'd solved the riddle herself.

Tezca smirked faintly, his eyes narrowing in thought. He didn't say much, but the flicker in his gaze told its own story—a hard-earned recognition. He gave Tzai a sharp nod, a silent acknowledgment.

Renzo couldn't stand the weight of the moment. He threw his hands skyward. "See? This is exactly why I don't study. I'm just naturally prepared for greatness."

He puffed out his chest like a champion, drawing a bark of laughter from Xochi.

Izel only pushed her glasses up, the faintest smile tugging at her lips. She'd known this truth already, but it amused her to watch the others hearing it for the first time. Her gaze lingered on Tezca, quietly curious at how seriously he'd taken the words.

Tezca's grin widened. "So you don't mind if I guess your animal?"

"Sure, go ahead," Tzai said.

Tezca delivered it like a sacred revelation. "It's a sloth, isn't it?"

"Yep."

Renzo let out an amused huff. "Oh, that's perfect. Explains so much."

Xochi leaned in, eyes gleaming. "So do you, like... hang on trees and eat leaves all day?"

Tezca groaned, dragging a hand down his face. "Xochi, you can't just say that," he muttered, though a smile tugged at his mouth.

Tzai met her with a deadpan stare. "Yeah. All the time."

Renzo burst out laughing. "Oh man, I can see it."

Izel adjusted her glasses, a teasing smile breaking through. "Technically, sloths don't eat just any leaves... but yes. The image is accurate enough."

Tzai pinched the bridge of his nose. "You guys are ridiculous."

Their laughter lingered in the clearing, soft and easy, the weight of Tzai's earlier words folding into the warmth of their banter.

As it ebbed, Izel shifted, her voice gentle but firm. "Tezca. Come with me."

He glanced at her, then shrugged with a grin. "Sure."

They both got up and walked away from the group. Izel walked by his side, clutching her satchel to her chest.

Izel glanced sideways at him, pushing her glasses up. "...So... are you a native here?"

Tezca smirked, cocking his head. "Do I look like I'm from here?"

He expected her to hesitate, maybe get flustered. Instead, she answered almost too quickly. "No."

It wasn't the most convincing no, but it was certain enough to make him pause. He raised a brow. "...That a lucky guess?"

Izel shook her head lightly, her tone matter-of-fact. "Not really. You're... a little different from the others I've seen at the academy. Your hair's curlier, tighter than most. And you've got that—"

She gestured vaguely at his chin.

"What, the goatee?" Tezca asked, half-grinning.

She nodded. "Yeah. Not many of the students have facial hair. You stand out."

Tezca blinked at her, genuinely caught off guard. "...Huh. You're very observant."

Izel shrugged, a little shy, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. "I like noticing things."

He gave her a long look, still amused but a little impressed. "...Didn't think a foreigner would pick up on the difference so quick."

Izel smiled faintly, eyes glinting behind her glasses. "Well, I've been here for around two years now."

"Two years? How old are you?"

She pinched her chin, thoughtful. "I'm nineteen... I think."

"You think?!" He questioned, totally bamboozled.

She nodded. "Where I'm from, the calendar is very different, so it's hard to tell." Her eyes widened as she looked at Tezca. "Don't get it wrong, I could calculate it but... there's been so many fascinating things to learn..."

"I guess that makes sense. So you're two years older than me and a student..."

She let out an agreeing hum.

"You know I'm entering the tournament tomorrow, right? The entry thing for the academy."

Izel adjusted her glasses, eyeing him with that sharp, unreadable look. "Of course. Everyone who comes here knows about it—especially sorcerers like you."

"Yeahh..." He scratched at his jaw, smirking faintly. "So... what should I expect? You've been through it."

She tapped her sketchbook against her leg, thinking. "It's chaos. Loud. Everyone's watching, waiting for someone to trip. Most don't even make it past the first round."

"Comforting."

"It should be." She gave him a sidelong glance, voice soft but pointed. "It's not about showing off. It's about proving you can think, adapt, and not break under pressure. Everyone wants to fight like it's their last stand, but the ones who move on... usually don't fight like that."

Tezca's smirk rose into something sly. "Don't worry about me. I'll qualify—and you'll just have to get used to me as your new classmate."

Izel blinked. "Confident. Or reckless. Hard to tell with you."

"Perhaps..." he said in a teasing tone, "both." He grinned fully.

She stared at him intensely, "Can I sketch you?"

He froze for a beat at her sudden remark. His brow rose, "Why?"

Her eyes didn't leave his face. "I came to this island to capture everything I found interesting..."

Her words lingered between them, soft but heavy, and Tezca found himself caught in that sharp, curious gaze of hers. He tried to scoff, to brush it off, but instead he felt his chest tighten.

"...And you're one of them," she finished, her tone calm but certain.

Tezca blinked, caught off guard by how directly she said it. He opened his mouth to respond, but before he could, she was already rummaging through the satchel at her side. A sketchbook appeared in her hands as naturally as a sword might in someone else's—smudged with graphite and ink stains. She flipped it open with a practiced motion, a faint smile tugging at her lips as she settled down in front of him.

Tezca sat on the soft earth. Izel sat cross-legged on a raised stone platform, pencil in hand, her glasses sliding down her nose as she furiously worked on a drawing. The soft scratch of charcoal against paper filled the silence between them, a sound Tezca had become oddly familiar with since meeting her.

She had been studying him for the past half-hour. Not just in the way people usually did—glancing at his scars, his posture, the way his eyes burned with a constant readiness for a fight—but with an intense, almost scientific curiosity. Her large eyes flicked between his face and her paper, occasionally tilting her head at unnatural angles, her messy dark hair shifting as she got lost in her work.

Tezca exhaled sharply. "You done yet?"

Izel didn't respond immediately, her lips pursed in concentration. She was leaning in too close now, close enough that Tezca could feel the warmth of her presence, smell the faint scent of old parchment and ink that always seemed to cling to her.

Then, without warning, she reached forward. Her hands, soft but cool from the evening air, grasped his face. Tezca flinched, caught completely off guard as she tilted his head up, her thumbs pressing into his cheeks. "Open your mouth," she murmured absently.

"What?" Tezca pulled back slightly, blinking at her in disbelief.

She didn't even acknowledge his confusion. "Your teeth. I need to see them."

He stared at her. "Izel, what the hell—"

But before he could finish, she reached up again, fingers prying at his lips. Tezca made a noise of protest, but she was shockingly strong for her frame, and before he knew it, his mouth was slightly open, her eyes intensely studying the shape of his fangs.

"Predator-like," she mused. "Your canines are slightly longer than normal. And sharper."

Tezca tried to speak, but it just came out as a muffled, garbled mess thanks to her hands still pressing his lips apart.

Izel blinked, then let go suddenly, pushing her glasses up with a finger. "Ah. Right. That was probably weird."

Tezca slowly closed his mouth, giving her a flat look. "Probably?"

She tilted her head again, clearly unbothered. "I needed a close-up for accuracy. If I'm going to sketch you properly, I have to capture everything."

Tezca exhaled, rubbing his jaw. "You could've just asked, you know."

Izel hummed thoughtfully, glancing back down at her sketchbook. "Would you have said yes?"

"...No."

"Exactly." She smiled softly, flipping the page in her notebook. "Now hold still again. I need to capture the way your eyes glow in low light."

Tezca groaned, but there was no real irritation behind it. He let himself relax again, watching as Izel's fingers worked quickly, her strokes confident yet careful. It was strange—he was used to people studying him for different reasons. Studying his stance, his strength, trying to analyze how he fought. But Izel? She was studying him in an entirely different way, as if he were some kind of puzzle she was determined to understand.

For a while, silence settled between them again. The sky darkened further, and the first stars of the evening flickered into view. The air had cooled, but it wasn't unpleasant.

After a moment, Izel suddenly spoke. "You're interesting, Tezca."

He raised an eyebrow. "Because of my fangs?"

She shook her head, still sketching. "No. Because you're full of contradictions."

Tezca tilted his head slightly. "Contradictions?"

"You act casual, but your body is always tense. Like you're waiting for something to go wrong." She glanced up at him briefly, her sharp eyes catching his in a way that made him feel oddly exposed. "You're reckless in fights, but only because you've already calculated the risks. You act like you don't care what people think, but I can tell you do. At least, when it's the people you care about."

Tezca blinked. He wasn't sure what to say to that.

Izel returned to her drawing, as if she hadn't just stripped him bare with a few simple words.

The silence stretched on. Tezca shifted slightly, feeling the weight of her words settle over him. No one had ever really described him like that before. And yet... she was right. Finally, a quiet laugh escaped him. "You're weird, Izel."

She smiled softly, her glasses catching the faint light of the sun. "I know."

The air between them held a subtle tension, unspoken things lingering just out of reach. "So," Tezca said at last, his tone light but steady, "you wanna visit the temple?"

Izel blinked, caught off guard for the first time in a while. "How did you figure that out?"

His smile tugged faintly, almost sly. "You're not the only one who pays attention."

Izel tilted her head, narrowing her eyes just slightly, though the corner of her lips betrayed a hint of a smile.

The jungle quieted around them, the shrill cries of birds fading into softer sounds as the sun dipped lower. Tezca walked beside her, still wiping faint smudges of dirt from his hands. She hadn't said much since their little "experiment," but her gaze, always sharp, flicked between him and the trail.

"You're quieter than usual," Tezca muttered, trying to break the silence.

"I'm thinking," she replied simply, clutching her sketchbook closer.

"About what?"

Izel adjusted her glasses, her expression unreadable. "About you. The way you... talk to your friends. The way you fight, too. There's... a bond. Something you all lean on."

Tezca raised a brow, half amused. "You mean Renzo making jokes when he shouldn't, and Xochi yelling at me when I don't listen?"

Her lips twitched, almost a smile. "No. I mean the way you trust them. Like it's second nature. Like you'd rather fall than let go of that trust." Her voice softened, almost wistful. "It's... rare."

Tezca slowed his steps, studying her for a moment. Then, casually, he asked, "What about you? Tzai your friend?"

Izel blinked, the question landing heavier than he meant it to. "...No," she said finally. "He's just... a classmate."

Tezca furrowed his brow. Those were the exact words Tzai had used earlier when Tezca asked about her. "...Huh," he muttered half to himself.

Izel glanced at him, puzzled. "What?"

"Nothing," he said quickly, though his tone betrayed thoughtfulness.

They walked in silence again. Then, almost too quietly to hear, Izel murmured, "...I don't really have friends."

Tezca stopped dead in his tracks. The honesty—so blunt, so bare—caught him off guard. He huffed a laugh, but there was no humor in it. It was sharp, like air leaving a wound. "Guess I know how that feels," he said at last. His gaze drifted toward the treeline, where Renzo's laughter carried faintly through the leaves. "...Xochi, Renzo, and Locaris, that's all I've got. Just them." He tilted his head to the side, almost shielding his vulnerability, eyes glassy. "Everything else..." he muttered. "...Got burned away..."

Memories pressed against him, and his eyes watered. Izel tilted her head, taken aback by the sudden emotion. She stayed silent as he wiped the tears swiftly away.

For a long moment, neither spoke. Izel clutched her sketchbook tighter, as if it were the only thing anchoring her. Tezca finally shoved his hands into his pockets and nodded toward the path ahead. "Come on. They're waiting."

When they broke through the brush, the rest of the group came into view. Renzo spotted them first and waved lazily, his grin sharp. Xochi crossed her arms, clearly ready to say something biting, but before she could, Tezca strode past with no comment. "Keep up," he called back over his shoulder. "We've got a temple to see."

The group fell into step.



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