Marisol sat quietly, gazing at the cuauhxicalli that had transformed over the past few days. Its once bare stone—that at some point had been clay—was now covered in colorful beads. The change had spread, partially affecting the two cuauhxicalli on either side as well.

  They had all felt it when the transformation began.

  Marisol had sensed a looming crisis then, but her grandmother had helped calm her fears. Her friend was not in danger.

  Her grandmother had remained here with the villagers, praying daily and watching the cuauhxicalli grow and change under the weight of their faith. The people could feel the effort the three chosen had poured into protecting them. Even the baths—rough as they were—spoke of that determination.

  The flame within the cuauhxicalli burned tall and strong. The magenta fire in Jimena’s bowl now seemed supported by another, unseen flame cloaking it. Its influence had expanded the village’s field of protection by nearly a mile. Marisol could feel its power flare within the star-shaped blessings carried by the villagers.

  The way it empowered them was subtle, yet profound.

  Everyone had been transformed to some degree by Jimena’s cuauhxicalli. The four-pointed star had changed—four new points blooming outward until it became an eight-pointed mark. Some villagers had even begun to wield strange magic.

  Fire, water, wind, and earth.

  Marisol had watched in quiet awe as villagers discovered they could manipulate these elements. The extent of their power depended on the four new points added to their blessing, recharging through divinity fed by the cuauhxicalli—guided by prayer, offerings, and intent.

  It was a fascinating, if slightly complex, system of flowing energies.

  Jaime had analyzed it with her during the long hours she’d spent seated before the cuauhxicalli, lost in thought to the point of concern.

  They both knew Jimena would be alright. The power radiating from the idol before them was proof enough—its output now nearly double that of the two beside it.

  Fire-wielders had become the most numerous among the villagers. This brought great joy—and, at times, considerable stress. Children in particular had embraced their newfound abilities with unrestrained enthusiasm.

  If Jaime hadn’t organized the clay-working gatherings—what he called “the advancement of their skills”—the parents wouldn’t have known what to do with the suddenly magical, endlessly energetic youth.

  Marisol chuckled softly at the thought.

  The arrival of the refugees had added another layer of strain once they settled in. The adults were accustomed to a different way of life—one where sharing wasn’t as natural as it was here. Disputes over grain distribution had arisen, born from fear of starvation. Mothers worried endlessly over how they would feed their children. Many of those who arrived were elders and young ones.

  The mothers themselves struggled to find a place in the village. Most had known only ore-breaking work, labor done alongside their husbands.

  Thankfully, Jaime had found inspiration and resolved much of the tension. He needed their help for a new project—one he seemed both eager and anxious to begin.

  Marisol sighed and stood.

  There was only so far worry could carry her. She needed to clear her mind, and she knew exactly where to go.

  Her mornings had changed since the children began roaming the village more freely, their safety mostly assured. She prayed with the early risers, ate with her grandmother if hunger struck, then headed toward the clay-working area near the baths.

  The children—now empowered by blessings—had entered a frenzy of play. Clay dolls of all shapes and sizes swarmed the mound, climbing atop one another and shoving rivals aside. Each doll carried faint quirks of its creator’s personality, mimicking the children’s own silly movements.

  Marisol laughed at their antics, stepping in whenever play turned rough. One particular group had taken to mischief the day before, their curiosity often outweighing caution.

  The youngest were especially prone to injury if left unsupervised.

  So she spent most of her day here, until evening drew everyone home. It had only been two days since she’d settled into this new rhythm—yet it was already easy to lose herself in the children’s boundless vitality.

  “Marisol.”

  Little Xalli shook the deeply thoughtful chosen from her reverie. Her small face was smudged with clay, and one tiny hand was completely coated in it—most of which now decorated Marisol’s arm.

  Marisol wrinkled her nose, then laughed softly and pulled the girl into a hug. “What’s the matter, Xalli?”

  Xalli giggled and hugged her back, flailing slightly when Marisol refused to let go even after the embrace had clearly gone on long enough.

  With a huff, she leaned back and fixed Marisol with a stern look, imitating her mother as she scolded priests about manners. Then, suddenly shy, she presented a large clay doll.

  “This is Bruno,” she said proudly. “I made him to keep you safe. Like you keep us safe. My mom said I should give you something so you could get stronger—much, much stronger. Dad said you’re like a tree. A big one. One that gives us food and keeps the sun off us.”

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  Xalli enthusiastically gestured toward the doll, which stood a few feet away near the large mound of clay.

  Marisol could feel the effort poured into it. The doll had a strangely human face, a clear sign of the girl’s growing affinity with earth. It was far larger than the other children’s creations—easily several times their size. Thankfully, it didn’t seem to move on its own just yet. Xalli already struggled just lifting one of its thick arms.

  Instead, she left it standing and began to demonstrate its supposed abilities.

  “It can get really, really big,” Xalli chattered. “Its punches are super strong, and it’s really tough—like super hard rock!”

  Other children began to gather, drawn by the excitement.

  Jaime was usually the one who helped animate the clay dolls. Marisol wasn’t sure how she would manage it herself, and Jaime hadn’t arrived yet—likely busy with whatever new idea had seized him. It was becoming harder to tell where Jaime ended and Cimi began, though perhaps it didn’t matter. The spirit only ever helped, serving as a guide.

  The children’s intense stares pulled her back to the moment.

  Marisol took a deep breath, calming her endlessly worrying heart. She didn’t need to be Jaime, endlessly analyzing everything. She only needed to be here—for her village. The heart that kept them safe.

  Energy pooled within her gem. She let it flow freely, guided by Axochi into a concentrated form. No longer the familiar pink mist she used to heal, an almost gem-like pink droplet formed instead. Its amorphous shape shifted constantly within Axochi’s hands.

  The axolotl’s jade eyes flashed gold—then green once more.

  Three pictograms embedded themselves into the glowing drop. Marisol sensed the difference immediately. It wasn’t the same method Jaime used to animate dolls, but she didn’t question Axochi.

  She sighed as the power left her body. Axochi emerged from her gem, half-materialized, and pressed the shining pink gem into the doll’s chest.

  The children oohed and aahed, their faces lit with wonder. Their imaginations ran wild, eyes wide and entranced.

  When the doll finally moved, they squealed with delight, swarming it immediately—pulling it left and right, arguing over who would play with it first.

  Xalli stood off to the side, hands planted firmly on her hips, her small face scrunched in anger.

  “That’s not yours!” she shouted, stomping over. “It’s for Marisol! You can’t play with it!”

  “Why not?” asked Tlalli—the muddiest and one of the smallest children—as the others struggled with a confused Bruno.

  The doll looked toward Marisol, glowing green eyes pleading to be saved.

  Marisol only watched with a gentle smile.

  “Because it’s not yours,” Xalli insisted.

  “Why not?” Tlalli repeated, one hand shoved into his mouth.

  The child liked the taste of earth—something Marisol chose to ignore. If forbidden, he’d only sneak away to eat it anyway.

  “Alright, everyone,” Marisol called gently. “How about we let Bruno choose who to play with?”

  She chuckled at the doll’s exaggerated sigh. Though larger than the others, it was still only half the children’s height. Heavy, yes—but not enough to stop their persistent tugging.

  Bruno seized the brief pause she’d given him, scrambling quickly to Marisol’s side, clearly frightened by the children’s eager gazes.

  And then it happened.

  Tlalli leaned forward and took a small nibble out of the doll’s shoulder.

  The smooth brown surface glowed faintly with gentle pink light, somehow drawing the child’s strange fixation even more strongly.

  Marisol froze.

  Bruno stared in horror as the child smacked his lips appreciatively—clearly enjoying the taste—and began leaning in for another bite.

  The blessing on his forehead flared brightly, and Tlalli’s already filthy skin began to collect even more earth. A thin layer of dirt crept over him, making him look strangely similar to the bewildered Bruno at his side.

  The other children noticed immediately.

  They stared at Bruno with renewed hunger, their curiosity spilling over to the dolls in their own hands. One by one, clay limbs were shoved into mouths as the dolls flailed in silent horror.

  Marisol honestly wasn’t sure how she was supposed to stop them.

  The children listened—mostly when they felt like it. The constant nagging from their mothers should have been enough for them to understand that putting strange objects in their mouths was a bad idea.

  And yet… here they were.

  Munching happily on the poor clay dolls.

  Marisol sighed and sat down, then found herself laughing as the dolls scattered in panic. Some managed to escape entirely, slipping unnoticed into nearby bushes. Others hid in plain sight, collapsing into harmless-looking mounds of clay.

  Bruno, at least, fared better than most.

  He stayed close to Xalli, hiding behind her small form as the other children tried—and failed—to pinch chunks of clay from the much larger doll.