Jaime walked with Chia and several of the elders who had helped build huts for the refugees. He had tested different construction methods with their guidance, taking into account the many complaints they’d voiced about their own homes.

  Clay had been hauled over using roughly made wheelbarrows—something the farmers agreed to lend so long as he helped make more. Jaime was more than glad to do so, especially after seeing the poor condition most of them were in.

  Maize stover and clay had been packed around the bases of the huts, hopefully to keep smaller critters from crawling inside. If they managed to completely cover the wooden frames, it might also help cool the huts during the intense heat of the coming summer.

  Jaime had many plans forming in his head, though he knew he’d need to consider them further with the villagers of Chantico to be sure he wasn’t wasting effort.

  “Let’s call Marisol to discuss what I mentioned to you before,” Chia said, gesturing to Jaime as she walked into the large hut that housed the cuauhxicalli and the few rooms she shared with her granddaughter.

  It had been the building to change the most over the past month. It was the first to be coated in a thin layer of clay—done less for ceremony and more to make the structure a permanent part of the village.

  With a quick glance, Jaime noticed several new large stones nearby. He wasn’t sure how they’d be incorporated, but it was the community building. He figured it was fine to let them do as they wished. Chia had true authority over the structure, after all.

  Some of the elders veered with him toward the clay mound. They were the more skilled clay workers in the village. Their grandchildren had been left with Marisol—or at least it was assumed she’d be there.

  As they walked, Jaime remained silent, Cimi perched on his head. He continued planning the village’s next improvements. The world of Mictlan hadn’t only inspired Jimena with its toilets.

  For now, bricks were reserved for forges and ovens inside the huts, sealed with clay to keep heat at bay. Most villagers lived contentedly in the simple shelters they’d built. They barely felt like homes to Jaime, but pushing people to change when they were comfortable didn’t feel right—at least, not yet.

  When they neared the clay mound, Marisol could already be seen running around with the children, giggling as they chased a few large clay dolls. They all resembled the smaller ones Jaime had seen before. He was glad he wasn’t the only one capable of animating them—the kids’ pestering had nearly driven Cimi mad just the day before.

  Still, he chuckled at the differences. One of the dolls was clearly better made. Its even gait stood in sharp contrast to the waddling, oddly proportioned limbs of the other two.

  He smiled and waved as he approached. Cimi hooted in greeting before settling back into her rest, golden feathers sparkling with the hues of the evening sky.

  “Your grandma has a few things to talk to us about,” Jaime said. “Something about Chantico and why they haven’t been coming around as much.” He looked down at the children climbing him and patted their heads. “I also have some things I’ll need your help with afterward, since you can animate these little guys too.”

  Jaime’s eyes flashed gold as his mind analyzed the better-made doll.

  Seeing her creation appraised, the small girl pushed it toward Jaime, ignoring its fearful flailing and the protests of the children she shoved aside. Continuous praise had lit something inside her.

  “If we could make these bigger,” Jaime mused aloud.

  “That’s not going to work,” Marisol said, shaking her head. “The kids can’t make anything bigger than Xalli’s doll. Those two are the only attempts that survived. I’m not sure why—except that it happens when we empower the clay. Maybe if the elders made something, it could work.”

  Jaime nodded, waving away the swarm of ideas forming in his mind. “Let’s cancel the meeting afterward until we have a clear way to make more. They could help with many things around the village.”

  Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  He looked deeply into Bruno’s green eyes—the name the girl kept calling it as she fussed over the doll like a mother. There was a hint of divinity there. Jaime wanted to see the extent of its mind.

  The children, dolls captured in hand, walked off with their grandparents, waving enthusiastically at the two Chosen. Xalli, Tlalli, and a few others stayed behind with the largest dolls, hugging the priests goodbye.

  Marisol and Jaime watched them go—separate, yet united in longing, hope, and resolve.

  For a better future.

  For the people who looked to them for guidance.

  ---

  Sol listened as the elder hunters spoke with his grandfather. Strange things had begun happening in the direction of the village of Tepe. Hunters reported seeing diseased animals more frequently—creatures that reeked of death even before being brought down. Anxiety gripped everyone at the signs, and many begged his grandfather to ask the Chosen Jimena to come and protect them.

  Sol no longer let the villagers’ behavior bother him. He would simply show them his ability and ensure their safety. The matter of the sick animals would have to be addressed personally. He sighed at the delay this would cause his own project, but his resolve hardened.

  If anything lurked out there that could harm the villagers, Sol would shine a bright light upon it.

  The meeting ended after his grandfather listened patiently to their fears, finally settling into his chair in quiet contemplation.

  “What do you think of what’s happening?” his grandfather asked.

  “I think you already know what’s happening,” Sol replied. “Just tell me what I have to do—without the dancing around, please.”

  “Why are you so short-fused?” his grandfather chuckled, patting the chair beside him—the one always kept for Sol. “Come, sit and talk with me.”

  “I’m going to need you to coordinate and cooperate with the Chosen of Bahía Oscura.” The old man smiled, clearly amused by his grandson’s attempt to hide his emotions. Sight was unnecessary to hear the frustration in Sol’s voice.

  “I can do whatever has to be done myself, Grandfather,” Sol snapped. “I don’t see what some children could help with. You and the villagers place too much trust in some barely perceived goddess’s lingering image.”

  Sol waved dismissively at his blind grandfather and left the house to clear his head.

  He would do as his grandfather wished. He wasn’t a child incapable of putting the greater good above his own feelings. His people needed him, and he wouldn’t betray that trust—no matter how deeply it cut to hear those words.

  He walked until the fires of the houses and the hammering of the forges faded behind him. The darkening sky, a domain of fear and shadows for most, was the only time Sol felt he could truly shine.

  Golden light slowly cloaked him as he surged forward, letting his body relax and move on instinct. He felt the boundary protecting his village and stopped only after passing beyond it, nearing the outskirts of Tepe.

  There, a strange miasma lingered in the air. The usual cacophony of insects had vanished, replaced by a suffocating stillness that pressed on the soul and mind.

  Sol snorted, letting his fire build within him. He fed it his frustration, poured his anxiety into it, compressed every emotion he had bottled up. His body strained to contain what felt like the hottest, brightest flame he had ever created.

  Release came when it burst from his chest—a small, pulsing sun, an imitation that shone with glorious light.

  A cold, malicious gaze locked onto him as the miasma was purified with every radiant pulse. Swaths of shadowed forest ignited, the land bathed in golden flame that did not consume. Like a blessing, the light cloaked everything it touched, halting the corruption before it could creep closer to Chantico.

  Sol wheezed, drained by the strain of releasing so much bottled emotion. Yet as he stood there—finally understanding something about himself—he smiled.

  For the first time, he felt satisfied with both himself and his power, reveling in the anger he caused in whatever lingered in the obscure.