As numerous people in the neutral-toned garments of palace servants dart past us with faces etched in panic, I know we’re racing toward the heart of the battle. Loud, piercing booms of collapsing structures resonate throughout the grounds. Flickers of flames extend high above the remains of the surrounding walls that once protected this palace, now beginning to crumble at the might of the enemy. There isn’t much time before the Eye in the Flame enter the palace, mere steps away from the seat of power.

Leading the charge, we rush over toward the main gate of the palace. The guards are taken by surprise at our presence, preparing to attack us as if we were invaders. It takes them a moment to notice our different colored outfits—nothing like the robes of the cultists that have launched an assault on their palace. A few of the generals shout to their warriors to let us through, then make their way to meet us.

“Qantua warriors, a Tuatiu and… an Ulxa warrior?” They’re perplexed by Mexqutli’s presence. My assumption, recalling Sianchu’s initial orders upon arriving in Iantana—and, admittedly, my first impression upon seeing Mexqutli—is that they’ve been told the Ulxa are attacking Tapeu. They haven’t been informed that, although the Eye in the Flame may be Ulxa in origin, they aren’t representative of the faction in its entirety. I’ll have to somehow convince them of this—and quickly, before Mexqutli says something ill-advised that will only confirm their suspicions.

“You could say we’re reinforcements,” I state, “sent by the council at Hilaqta. The Ulxa warrior is an ally. An Iqsuwa, in fact. Sent by the leader of his people, Tlexnín, to pursue a diplomatic resolution between the Tapeu and Ulxa, so that the real enemy, this Eye in the Flame, can be defeated by a united front.”

Unsurprisingly, the generals receive my news with bewildered expressions cloaking their faces. “I understand how confusing this may be,” I say in response to their obvious reactions. “I have just released a flood of contradictory information upon you at once, but we are here to defend Qapauma—of that, you can be certain.”

“She speaks true,” one of the Qantua officers shouts, approaching those of us gathered. Frankly, I’m taken aback by the support I receive from people who I felt were ready to abandon me, leaving me to an ill fate before the zealots. “We have seen much destruction at the hands of these monsters at your gates, and the Ulxa warrior has been the guiding light in slaying them.” Other Qantua warriors nod and vocalize their agreement.

One of the Tapeu generals grunts in dismay. “Their forces appear significantly smaller than ours, yet their might is great. They are cutting down our warriors with ease. What is the way you have been able to defeat them?”

I’m suddenly struck with panic. I realize, we haven’t actually defeated the Eye in the Flame; we’ve only forced them back and lived to fight them another day. Like cockroaches, they are resilient, reappearing when we’re most vulnerable. Can they formally be defeated?

Mexqutli responds, “They are sorcerers, using a bastardized version of the powers of the Tletlazotl of my people.”

“Guardians of the Flame,” I clarify. Maybe the Tapeu aren’t as thrown off by Ulxa words as I am, but I feel compelled to explain the term nonetheless.

“They appear to be a sect of the monastery, consumed by evil,” Mexqutli says. “They use fire, but like many aspects of life, it is what they worship that can defeat them.”

The generals appear confused by this enigmatic answer. “What I believe he is saying,” I step in to explain, “is that we’ve had success utilizing fire, particularly against the gray creatures they summon.”

“Gray creatures?” they say, confounded. It appears we’re unleashing an exorbitant amount of new information upon them, all at once.

“They use a drum, the…” I prepare myself for yet another confusing Ulxa word, “the Huetloia. It’s a ceremonial drum that allows them to raise the dead, similar to those we fought in the War of Liberation. Destroying the drum, burning them with fire, and slaying them with precise strikes at the throat has been the only way to stop these monster.”

The generals look overwhelmed. And who could blame them? Speaking all of this aloud reminds me of the tremendous undertaking with which we’re faced. In fact, perhaps the mission is too daunting. Yet there is no other way to face this challenge than staying the course and meeting it head-on.

Exchanging wide-eyed glances with one another, the generals ultimately turn to us and nod succinctly. “If fire is what they worship, then fire is what we’ll give them. Men!” They now bark commands to the warriors close by. “Create fire pits along the parapets and watch towers. Order our archers to loose fire arrows at anything that is cloaked in robes or… gray-skinned.”

The other warriors’ confusion is expressly apparent, yet they salute and hurry into their positions. The generals nod in appreciation for our insight, then return to their men. Meanwhile, the Qantua, Mexqutli, and I stand at the ready, looking about to see where we can be of service.

A crashing resonance reverberates throughout the grounds, drawing our attention toward the south side of the area. Desperate yells and shrieks echo above the noises of destruction as chunks of the palace walls begins tumbling and crumbling apart. Otherworldly howls sends an icy shiver down my spine. The Eye in the Flame and their gray beasts are here.

“Do you still possess my dagger?” Mexqutli asks. Feeling the side of my hip, I touch the ornate handle, then nod to him to confirm it’s with me. To say I’m relieved is a tremendous understatement: I feared Sianchu may have taken the other blade, and it would be entirely useless in his hands, wherever he is at present.

“Then I shall see you when the battle is won!” he declares, punctuating the vow with a wink. In an instant, he unleashes a resounding war cry into the air, then beckons us on toward the tumult. While some of the more reserved Qantua warriors look on in bemusement, many lift their swords above their heads and surge into the fray. After experiencing a moment of incredulity from the spectacle, I give my head a dismissive shake and charge steadfastly alongside the remaining warriors.

Warriors clad in orange and red frantically scramble to mount a defense against the invading forces. The scene erupts into chaos as swarms of gray creatures flood the grounds, presenting the Tapeu warriors with a nightmare unseen since the War of Liberation. Yet unbeknown to them, these beasts dwarf any foe we’ve vanquished for our freedom, as their thunderous steps and monstrous forms casting long, ominous shadows across the battlefield underscore the monumental challenge that lay before us.

Shouts of “with fire!” ring out throughout the grounds, a hopeful reminder to their men and women of the tactic to deploy which could possibly rescue the palace. The hulking gray monstrosities barge through the stone barrier, hurling debris everywhere. Warriors atop the wall tumble as it collapses. Gazing up at the humungous beasts, the Tapeu men and women stand frozen in terror, unable to comprehend the sight that is before them.

With an obsidian dagger raised in the air, Mexqutli charges at the creatures, leading a pack of warriors that blur past in the Qantua black and gold. Their bravery is on full display: without hesitation, they rush in with torches and swords, prepared for the grueling battle that awaits. Mexqutli narrowly avoids a swooping claw, sliding on the dirt and slashing the obsidian dagger up at the loose, gray flesh. The moment the blackened blade cuts through the sagging skin, the enraged monster bellows before disappearing into a puff of ash.

The sight inspires the others, valiantly bringing the fight to the monsters. Torches force back the flailing beasts, terrified of a fiery fate. Though many of the gray beasts are held back, one, in a furious frenzy, lifts a giant bolder above its head and hurtles it toward a group of unsuspecting warriors. They’re crushed by the toppling stone that moves with a lethal velocity toward the foundation of the palace, though mercifully stopping short of colliding with it.

I kneel down low and retrieve Sachia’s bow. Upon collecting an arrow from my quiver, I quickly wrap it with a strip of some spare cloth dangling from my hemp belt. The monster reaches over to the shattered wall and, with a menacing roar, picks up another large stone. Setting the wrapped cloth alight with a nearby torch, I aim carefully at the rampaging monster, waiting for the right time to loose an arrow without the chance of the bolder accidentally harming the others.

The gigantic rock is raised over its head—now’s my chance. I release the taut string. The fiery arrow arcs through the air. It hits where the creature’s ribs should be, engulfing it in a brilliant burst of flame. The creature’s howl turns to agony, then its cries are silenced as the massive boulder crashes down, sealing its fate with a thunderous, self-inflicted end.

More clouds of ash arise as Mexqutli hacks through the scores of gray creatures like pruning jungle vines, arms wildly slicing at any inhuman beast in sight. The Tapeu now confidently join in the fight, grabbing ahold of torches and aiding our Qantua warriors by staving off attacks by the cult’s monsters. The beasts try their best to put up resistance to the flames, but ultimately succumb to a fiery demise as they’re overwhelmed by the city’s defenses and renewed vigor.

I loose a fire arrow, then another, then another in rapid succession, striking anything with the melting gray skin and rotting exposed muscles. The creatures are felled one by one, illuminated in an ethereal orange glow as they’re set alight. A swell of triumph lifts my spirits as the success of our defense is apparent. This is the most victorious we’ve been against these creatures, and I’m starting to believe we can actually succeed.

Amidst the swirl of conflict and the cries of the embattled, a figure stands out, commanding and radiant like a beacon against the turmoil. His helmet and armor are imposing, forged from bronze that gleams ominously under the sun, and they are embossed with intricate motifs of the sun and mountains. From his back emerge short feathers of red and yellow that fan out to frame his silhouette. Being worn by him, the orange and red colors of the Tapeu act like a prideful symbol of his fervor and blood spilled in defense of his people. Around his waist is a sash, made of the same vibrant turquoise as his hip cloth, both woven with geometric patterns in gold.

He moves with a practiced grace, as years of training are fully displayed in his well-rehearsed maneuvers. His gaze is focused solely on the enemy before him with an intensity that could melt stone. The leader rallies his warriors, directing them with the bronze spear wielded in his hand. They heed his calls unhesitatingly, positioning themselves wherever the tip of his weapon points. Around his forearms are bronze bracers that cover a small portion of the scars marring his skin that speak of the numerous battles in which he’s fought.

From my periphery, a warrior in red and black moves into a position beside a mass of crumbled wall. Shielded by the barrier, he peeks around it, looking onto the battle. In the near distance, the figure in bronze, orange, and red has his back to this warrior. This person before me appears to handle something at his side, clutching a long cylinder made from bamboo or reed. Then, he slides a slender object, feathered lightly at one end, into the hollow of the tube. The actions remind me of readying a blowgun, an item I haven’t seen since departing the Tuatiu jungles.

Black and red… black and red… Those are the colors of the Ulxa. Is it–

The warrior looks up again, then inspects the scene around him. It’s the Iqsuwa, Mexqutli. I can confirm it now. What is he planning to do with a blowgun when the obsidian dagger has been successful against the enemy? More importantly, why does he have a blowgun in the first place?

A harrowing noise catches my attention. Just inside the palace walls, a group of people clad in neutral-toned garments, servants of the palace, are cornered by a large number of individuals with faces shrouded in blood red cloth. They swell around their targets, raising ritual tumi knives and shouting a vitriolic-sounding chant. An ethereal blue glow surrounds their hands and weapons, ominously growing bigger and brighter.

Mexqutli crouches low. The leader in orange and red fights off one cultist, then another, valiantly slashing and slaying the enemies with ease. Mexqutli takes aim with the blowgun. Is it directed at a scarlet-robed sorcerer? A gray creature? No, it’s being aimed at… the Tapeu leader! Is he possessed? Does he plan to poison the warrior?

More shrieks. The zealots encircle the helpless servants. Through their dark magic, the sorcerer’s hands are as bright as torches. The chanting grows louder and louder. A thunderous rumble shakes the ground beneath my feet. What are their plans for these victims?

A deluge of voices scream inside my head.

Rescue the servants!

Stop whatever sinister act Mexqutli is planning!

The innocents must be saved!

The Tapeu hero must be saved!

With fury, my fist pounds the ground. I pick myself up and sprint over to Mexqutli. Whatever his motives are, they must be of ill intent, I can feel it. The muscles in my legs burn as I race toward him. He patiently waits for his moment, eyes fixed upon the Tapeu leader. Every breath is a fiery dagger in my chest as I hurl myself across the battlefield. The ground beneath me and the scene around me all blur into nothingness. Doubt and fear claw at the edges of my mind, but the dire urgency of the moment fuels my resolve.

Unaware of my approach, Mexqutli remains singularly focused on his prey, the Tapeu leader’s unsuspecting form growing ever nearer in his sights. The world narrows to a tunnel, and my entire being converges on the space between us, every step a race against fate itself. My limbs scream in protest as I pour all my strength into stopping this madness.

With deliberate steadiness, Mexqutli rests the smooth bamboo tube lightly against his lips. My arms extend outward, desperately reaching to disrupt him. There’s a moment of calm focus, a breath held in anticipation, as he aims down the length of the tube, poised to unleash the deadly dart.

He coils back, moments away from loosing the projectile.

I thrust myself forward, my feet leaving the ground as I leap at him.

With a calamitous thump, I collide with Mexqutli, the assassin, tackling him to the ground. We both look up, look on to see that… Yes, the dart is soaring toward the Tapeu leader. Everything moves slowly as if underwater. There is no sound. Nothing else is in sight except the dart as it flies through the air. My eyes grow wide with panic and severity, willing it to stray from its path. Yet it continues on to its doomed target.

But fate or the Eleven intervene. At the last possible moment, the Tapeu leader thrusts his spear forward, piercing a gray-robed zealot through their stomach. The motion moves him a whisker away from the trajectory of the poisoned dart. It soars, traveling mindlessly onward, with the warrior none the wiser.

“What on Pachil are you doing?” I say, incensed.

“I can demand the same of you!” he snarls, stunning me with his response. “You allow an evil man to live!”

“Are you with the Eye in the Flame?” I ask ferociously. If Mexqutli has been betraying me this entire time, I will spill his blood onto this ground in an instant.

He looks at me in bewilderment. “Are you suffering from insanity, Inuxeq? Of course, I am not! They are just as evil as the Arbiter.”

The Arbiter? Is that the Tapeu leader who Mexqutli attempted to assassinate? The realization leaves me speechless. Why on Pachil is Mexqutli trying to kill the Tapeu ruler? Is this the darkness he spoke of confronting, back when we had left the ruins of Xaqelatun? Is he, not the Sunfire nor Xaqilpa, the snake Mexqutli desires to behead?

A whirlwind of black smoke and debris twirls above the courtyard, like a cyclone. But how is it appearing? There is no storm on the horizon. The black clouds whip up violent winds that slice through the Tapeu and Qantua warriors. When the winds reach me, debris like tiny blades rip through my skin. Dust and rust-colored dirt reduce the visibility, turning everyone into mere silhouettes. I cover my face as my forearms continue to be struck by some sharp object. Yet no object is in view; only the looming dark clouds that swirl around us.

Spotting a fallen Tapeu warrior on the ground near me, I crawl low to him, ducking beneath the treacherous storm. I reach for his shield, constructed from the wood of the queña tree, and retrieve it, using it to cover myself. Through squinted eyes, I see a lone figure with wispy, silver hair emerge from the steps of the palace, unimpeded by the swirling storm.

With arms raised, he manipulates and maneuvers the dark clouds as if controlling them with his hands. As the storm shifts away, I get a better look at the culprit. He strides into the courtyard, pointed nose lifted upward and paired with a look of defiance. His long, white robe contains orange and red patterns on the sleeves and at the hem by his feet, and down the front of his garment is the long, unmistakable scarlet stain of blood.

“Xaqilpa!” Mexqutli scowls. Without any delay, he charges at the robed man. Before he can get within a dozen steps of the man, he’s violently flung backward. I slide back a few steps as an overpowering gust of air knocks me off balance. This man, this Xaqilpa, seems to be controlling the wind—a daunting thought.

Xaqilpa laughs sinisterly. “I did not expect to find an Ulxa warrior present at the sacking of Qapauma,” he says disdainfully. “Has Tlexnín sent you? That undeserving wench. I wish I could see Analoixan fall. Alas, I am needed here, to finally dispose of refuse like you and the Tapeu.”

Mexqutli recovers, slowly lifting himself up to his feet. He unsheathes his obsidian dagger, clutching it at his side. “Do not speak of my queen in such a way! Tlexnín should have never allowed you to depart the ritual site, you traitorous scum!”

He darts toward Xaqilpa once more, but once more, he’s beaten by a surge of wind that plants him onto his back. Xaqilpa chuckles mirthlessly with a sardonic curl of his lips. “The Ulxa are so weak under her rule. Pitiful. All glory to Eztletiqa, who will return us to our rightful place in Pachil.”

The only good to come from Mexqutli’s engagement with Xaqilpa is that the sorcerer is too distracted to maintain the dangerous, dark cloud. The robed man walks casually on the battlefield, oblivious to—or unconcerned with—the fighting happening around him. He approaches the downed Mexqutli, grabs his throat, and, with an uncanny strength befitting a man of his age, lifts the Iqsuwa warrior up off his feet. A maniacal laugh leaves Xaqilpa’s lips as he chokes the life out of his victim.

There’s a voice that speaks inside of me, wanting me to let Xaqilpa kill Mexqutli. Allow him to kill the one attempting to assassinate Achutli. In an indirect way, the fates seek to punish him for what he attempted to accomplish, his terrible, treasonous thoughts and acts. I can let the Arbiter’s assailant meet justice, ridding the world of one more deceitful, misguided fool.

I fight away the disgusting thought. Though Mexqutli’s actions were treacherous, this is not an end that he deserves. No, he must face his consequences, and justice should be dealt at the hands of the Arbiter, not this maniac.

I hurriedly retrieve an arrow, nock it, and release, sending it soaring at Xaqilpa. With one fluid motion, he sidesteps the hurtling projectile and slams Mexqutli to the ground with a bonebreaking thud. He turns, his pitying gaze falling upon me.

“Oh, you ignorant child,” he says condescendingly. “Green and black? You are a far cry from Tuatiu, little girl. You should have remained under the canopy of your jungle, where your simplicity could be mistaken for innocence.”

From one of his palms, a flame as dark as void ignites. Yet, instead of searing brilliance, this black fire casts a cloak of night over us, swallowing the midday sun whole. My eyes squint, not from the glare, but as if the very light around us is being devoured, plunging the palace grounds into an unnatural darkness.

My focus darts about the scene, searching desperately for this dark sorcerer. From the edges of my vision, a gray blur peeks through. There’s an edge to this darkness, I discover. I quickly rush toward it, letting the light wash over me. The sun’s rays sting my sight, leaving me briefly blinded.

Emerging from the blackness, Xaqilpa’s eyes train on me, seeking the next target upon which to prey. His twisted hand conjures another black flame. Terror courses through me at the sight, plunging me into panic. I must avoid being struck by the fire, I repeat to myself. I must stop him before the fire reaches me!

How did I do it before? How did I supposedly vanish? When we fought the gray creatures just outside these walls, Sianchu and Mexqutli noted I had apparently disappeared. The gray creatures never saw me, allowing me to strike. But what caused that to happen? Did it actually happen?

I steel myself, running full speed at Xaqilpa. His sinister smile relishes the thought of taking me out with that black flame. I won’t give him the pleasure. I’m going to vanish. I’m going to vanish. I’m going to vanish.

A ball of black flame hurtles toward me, absorbing all the light around me. Then, in a flash, everything goes black. No sound. No sight. Just emptiness. As though I entered an abyss. Is this from the black flame? Did I die?

In a blink, I suddenly find myself at his throat, clasping his windpipe in my hands. Through strained breath, Xaqilpa mutters, “Nice trick, girl.” Did I do it? Was I successful? Did I vanish?

Distracted by considering what happened, I’m thrown like a stone from a sling. I glide in the air, a momentary weightlessness. Time stretches, and every detail sharpens, until I’m pulled back to the unforgiving ground. I land with a jarring thump. Pain radiates through my war-weary bones like wildfire, and I struggle to catch the breath that was knocked out of me.

A yelp sounds behind me. I lift myself up and turn to see the black beginning to lift, revealing Mexqutli writhing in pain on the ground, much to Xaqilpa’s sick amusement. Cast all around him, a black flame engulfs the Iqsuwa warrior. He flails and rolls about, attempting to extinguish the flames, yet receives no relief. The demented man in white unleashes a relentless stream of black fire from his hands, tormenting his victim with no desire for mercy.

I must find a way to strike this sorcerer without alerting him. I take a deep breath, steadying myself and focusing all my energy on avoiding getting Xaqilpa’s attention. I tiptoe around to his back, unsheathing Mexqutli’s obsidian dagger from the harness at my hip. With as much stealth as I can muster, I sneak to the rear of the sorcerer, noticing the orange and red coyote stitched into the back of his robe. I raise the dagger aloft and swiftly bring it down overhead.

Somehow, he avoids the brunt of my strike, catching the blade on his loose robe. The dagger does hit him… yet it deflects off of him, as though he was made of stone? Can he not be pierced? I’m stunned at the realization of this, stuck in place. Seizing the opportunity when I’ve let my guard down, he backhands me, smacking me hard across my face. His blow is shockingly like being hit with a sack of stones, and I stumble onto my back.

Mexqutli rolls onto his stomach. Splotches of gray mark his skin, as though the color—or the life—has been drained from it. He takes large, heaving breaths, shaking his head as he tries to regain his awareness.

Xaqilpa picks something up from the ground, then approaches me, swinging his sandal to kick me in my side. I’m just able to barely avoid the blow, spinning the shield around to absorb most of the impact. I’m still jostled backward, however, my arm stinging from the surprisingly hard strike.

What did he retrieve from the ground? I look over to Xaqilpa, watching as he makes his way to Mexqutli. In one of his hands is a ceremonial dagger, a ritual tumi knife like those held by the other cultists. Yet this one appears to be different: though there’s an eerie glow radiating from it as well, a gemstone appears embedded into its hilt. Is this the source of his powers? Could that be why he can’t be struck with a blade? Is that why the black flames ceased when I attempted to strike him?

Xaqilpa lords over Mexqutli, slamming his foot into the downed warrior’s side for good measure. “What lies did Tlexnín tell about me, hmm?” he snarls. “Does she say that only she, not I, can hear the voices of the Itztecatl? They speak to only one spirit, the trueruler of Ulxa. They speak to me!”

“You claim to be the one true ruler of Ulxa,” Mexqutli says with a cough, “yet you serve another, this ‘Sunfire’? You make no sense, you fool.”

This earns Mexqutli another blow to his stomach. Xaqilpa leans closer, his voice low and tinged with a fanatic’s zeal, and I can barely make out what’s being spoken. “You misunderstand, ignorant dog,” he says as each word drips with contempt and conviction. “I do not serve the Sunfire as a mere vassal serves his lord. No, our pact is of equals, united in a grand vision. The Sunfire wields the power to reshape this world, to undo the shackles placed by the Eleven and their ilk. And through the Itztecatl, the ancient spirits of our land speak of destiny, of a ruler strong enough to embrace the darkness and light alike. They speak of me, as the harbinger of a new age for Ulxa.”

He straightens, his gaze now far off, as if envisioning this future. “The Sunfire seeks to dominate, yes. But under my rule, Ulxa will rise, transcending its past glories. This alliance is merely a step towards that end. Once the Eye in the Flame has purged the weakness from this land, the Sunfire and I will guide Ulxa to its rightful place—at the pinnacle of Pachil, revered and unchallenged. And those who stand in our way,” he glances down at Mexqutli, “will be but ashes beneath our feet.”

With that, Xaqilpa delivers another kick, this time more dismissive than angry. “Ponder that in your final moments, warrior. You have witnessed the dawn of the ascension of Ulxa.”

While he’s distracted, I determine that I must disarm him of that tumi knife. I crouch low and bring my hand back, brushing the fletching of… Wait a moment. There’s only one arrow remaining! The last arrow crafted by Sachia. I pause, a pang of sorrow tightens my chest while I contemplate whether or not I should use this item I hold to be sacred. Sachia took such pride in his arrows, boasting of their strength and durability. How they could penetrate the thickest peccary hide. How they could travel clear through all of the Tuatiu jungle. Must I use this invaluable item? There must be another way.

But then, Sachia’s laughter echoes in my memory, bold and unfettered, as if chiding me for my delay. “What use is an arrow left unused?” I can hear him say.

There’s no time to hesitate. If I am to stop this maniacal zealot from harming any more people, from seeing his plan to fruition, I must strike true. If he can’t be pierced by my arrow, perhaps the gemstone embedded within the tumi knife can, or at least be dislodged. I must try—Qapauma, and Pachil, depend on it.

With an unwavering resolve, I notch the arrow and draw the string taut, trembling against my fingers. I steady my aim, maintaining my focus as I’ve done countless times before. Both of my eyes are placed on the target, marking the vibrant coral stone that emits a sickening, black glow.

Long, slow breath in. Long, slow breath out.

Sachia, guide your arrow true, I whisper to the wind.

I loose the arrow, watching it seamlessly slice through the air. The moment stretches, with every heartbeat pounding in my ears. As it soars towards Xaqilpa, Pachil seems to hold its breath, the cacophony of battle fading into a hush.

Then, contact. For a moment, time halts, suspending the aftermath. Suddenly, with a burst that cleaves the silence, light erupts as my arrow collides with the gemstone. The horrifying glow extinguishes in an instant as the stone plummets to the ground. A dissonant wail, like the darkness itself is being torn asunder, reverberates through the grounds.

The man in the white robe looks down at his hand in stunned silence. Confounded, he frantically attempts to replace the gemstone back into the tumi knife. He tries to jam the lifeless stone back into the hilt, but it refuses to be embedded into the weapon, to succumb to Xaqilpa’s corrupt power. He curses, shouting in the stilted Ulxa tongue, as he pleads with the ritual items to cooperate.

Then, he’s brought back to the harsh reality of the situation. As though he’s seen a demon spirit, he looks between me and Mexqutli with wide-eyed mortification. In the blink of an eye, he takes off, running toward the palace entrance in a hasty retreat.

“We must stop him!” I command, urgently alerting Mexqutli. He’s too shaken, too exhausted and wounded to pursue in a hurried manner. Darting after Xaqilpa, the battlefield becomes a maze of clashing warriors and swirling dust. I weave through the combatants locked in their own struggles for survival, dodging blows meant for others. The urgency to catch the sorcerer fuels my evasion, slipping past swords and under raised arms, always keeping my eyes on the fleeting shape ahead. Struggling to his feet, Mexqutli calls after me, but his voice is lost in the clamor.

I push my muscles to their limit, my lungs burn with exertion as my breaths come in sharp, ragged pulls. The edges of my vision narrow as I focus solely on Xaqilpa. Yet despite my speed, he remains just out of reach, his form flickering at the periphery of the chaos like a specter.

In my fervent pursuit, I barely notice a warrior swinging wide. His blade slices through the air where I was just a heartbeat ago. I’m forced to pivot sharply, using the momentum to propel me forward, further into the fray. I navigate the battlefield with an immense desperation, as each step seems to bring me closer and somehow still far from my quarry in equal measure.

The chase leads me toward the palace entrance. Yet as I round a corner, Xaqilpa’s figure blurs and then vanishes as if dissolved into the air itself. I skid to a halt, my sandals scuffing the ground, eyes darting across the landscape. For a moment, the terrain seems to swallow him whole. A faint shimmer near a stone statue flanking the entrance catches my eye—a trick of light, or perhaps a clever sorcery? Could he have used a reflective charm on his cloak, something that mirrors the surroundings to render him invisible?

With my heart pounding, I rush to the spot, scouring the ground and the air for any sign of what caused his disappearance. But it’s too late; the illusion, if that’s what it was, has already faded, leaving behind only the swirling dust and the faint traces of his footsteps. I kneel, touching the ground where he last stood, searching for any residue of magic or trickery that might explain his sudden get away.

The cold realization that the sorcerer of the Eye in the Flame has escaped washes over me, leaving no trace but the turmoil of battle in his wake. How had he vanished so completely? This question gnaws at me as I stand with uncertainty.

Exasperation clenches within me, but there’s no time to dwell on the escape. The ground is littered with remnants of the fight—weapons discarded in haste, the wounded seeking aid. The battle around me demands attention, as warriors of Qapauma and Tapeu clash with the invaders in a desperate bid to protect our land. Zealots in crimson and gray robes erupt upon the location, overwhelming the palace defenses. The fight for Pachil continues.

Turning back, I find Mexqutli has disappeared as well, lost in the chaos. Or, perhaps, did he chose this moment to flee? Fury rages inside me like an unbridled storm. A sense of betrayal, heavy and cold, settles in my chest.

As my eyes sweep the battlefield and the devastation, the vibrant coral gemstone catches my eye. The tumi knife lies abandoned on the ground, its once dark radiance now dim and fractured. Before it goes missing amidst the chaos of combat, I rush over to the ritual item. With agile steps, I dodge a swinging blade, feeling its breeze close enough to chill my blood. Ducking a wild, desperate thrust from a zealot’s sword, I roll across the gritty dirt, pushing myself up just in time to evade a warrior’s crushing downward swing. I sidestep another falling body, its weight hitting the terrain with a thump that resonates through my sandals.

Finally, I reach the tumi knife. Crouching low, I extend a hand, my fingers brushing the cold metal of the handle. The knife pulses as if alive, its warmth seeping into my palm. For a brief moment, I consider leaving the knife and the gemstone behind, not wanting possession of something containing such darkness and evil. Yet I convince myself that it’s better to be in my hands than that of another cultist, and I secure the tumi knife into my harness.

I stand alone in the aftermath of my encounter with Xaqilpa, the gemstone clenched in my fist. All that’s transpired bears down on me at once. Mexqutli’s treachery. Xaqilpa’s escape. The continued battle with the Eye in the Flame. It’s as if the fractured pieces of the ritual tumi knife are a reflection of the tumult within me. What does this mean for our quest? For Pachil? Though both Mexqutli and the sorcerer have slipped through my fingers like smoke, the fight for the future of my land is far from over.