"The last kill of the day…"
Shilin was close. He could feel it—the creature's heartbeat trembling in the silence, the fear of being hunted radiating from its fur.
For the last twenty minutes, the jungle's apex predator—an elusive black jaguar—had been reduced to prey. Its instincts had failed it.
Shilin had been cautious while stalking the creature. He didn't want to damage the pelt—not for gold, but because something felt wrong. Rare beasts like this didn't survive long in the wild without attracting attention.
Even his employer had shown a rare greed when Shilin pointed it out, practically urging him to take it down. So Shilin agreed—reluctantly.
Still, he hadn't dared strike. He waited, watched. It might be a mother. It might be sacred. It could even belong to someone—or something. Possibly a deity.
As he closed within ten meters, the cat stopped. Not from exhaustion—it turned, stared straight at him, and bowed. The motion sent a chill racing down Shilin's spine.
Then, a voice rang out—both gentle and thunderous:
"Ticca tlatocayotl tlamanaliztli."
[You must be the one on a sacred journey.]
Shilin froze. He heard the words spoken aloud—and again, within his mind, echoed like thunder in a cave.
The jaguar lifted its head… and began to change.
From within its sleek, black-spotted fur, ashen white bone peeled outward. Strips of muscle and fat vaporized into curling smoke, turning the sunlit clearing into an unnatural dusk. The jungle dimmed. The birds fell silent. Even the wind ceased—as if barred from entering.
What had once been a jaguar now rose—changing shape.
Its hollow eyes opened, and blue-green light burned like fire from within its sockets. The skeleton's ivory bones pulsed as glowing glyphs etched into the bone flared to life—tattoos written in the language of death.
The being took form: tall, lean, unnaturally elongated. Its spine cracked loudly as it straightened, shattering the heavy silence like thunder splitting the sky.
The last piece to settle was its jaw, which snapped into place with a sharp, bone-echoing click.
Then, a voice returned—not spoken, but whispered directly into Shilin's mind:
[Traveler… your soul is not from here. I must ask—what is your purpose? Will you be the one to continue the war?]
Shilin narrowed his eyes. He couldn't read the figure's intent.
"Who… are you?" he asked warily.
[I am but a herald. One of the servants of Mictlazoa—The Death Keeper. Overseer of death cycles and reincarnation.]
[Now tell me, cheater of death… what is your purpose?]
Shilin exhaled slowly, gaze steady.
"I'm not here to start a war. I'm just here to get back what I lost. Nothing more than that."
The being before him stared in silence for several long seconds, then slowly lowered its head, as if listening to a distant voice only it could hear.
When it spoke again, the words echoed within Shilin's mind.
[So be it... But know this—your entry into this world has already disturbed the threads of fate. Many souls will feel your weight, and sooner or later... you will call upon us.]
[My master awaits that moment. Until then, I have been ordered to follow you. So, traveler... tell me: shall I walk beside you in my original form? Or linger in your shadow?]
Shilin fell silent.
He knew one of the gods would eventually recognize him, but not this fast. Not this early.
With the Overseer's veil in place, he should have gone unnoticed for much longer—unless, of course, that was part of the plan.
Damn it... I was used. That old fox Damian got me again. But why? What is he really planning? What's my role in this world...?
Shilin's brow furrowed. He considered the being's offer carefully.
"What would happen if others saw you in your jaguar form...? No, never mind. Stay as a shadow. If you're anything like I was when I carried Urark... you'll be more useful in the long run."
He gave a small, bitter smirk.
"Although… I can already see a good use for you though—my personal translator."
The herald looked down again, as if speaking to someone far beyond the physical realm.
[My master has given me the task of guiding you. I shall follow you as a mere shadow. Just don't expect much from me... Also—Tetzaca is my name.]
"One thing though," Shilin said, narrowing his eyes. "How can a mere servant manage something as complex as translating my language?"
He wanted to probe the creature's power, one step at a time.
[Past, present, future... a soul reincarnates endlessly.]
[We heralds have been given permission to extract our essence from any of our lives. Yours seems to be rooted in the future—on a distant planet that mirrors one I once knew.]
[And so, I was chosen to meet with you.]
Tetzaca—still wearing the form of a skeletal man—shrugged, then added with a faint trace of amusement.
"Who knows, I may have even been a friend in your past life... which, for me, would have taken place in the future from this point in time. But then again... I really died, my soul ceased to reincarnate, and so I was raised here by my master."
He paused, then waved a bony hand dismissively.
"Complex. So let's leave that for later."
The mist began to fade, and with it, the bones that composed his form dissolved into vapor. One by one, they sank into the earth, melting into darkness—until nothing remained but the curling tendrils of shadow that reached out…
…and merged silently with Shilin's own.
Shilin struck a few exaggerated poses, twisting his arms and shifting his stance to test the shadow's reaction.
It mimicked him flawlessly—each movement echoed without hesitation, as if nothing had changed.
That was, until a small rock came flying from nowhere, aimed straight at his head.
Without thinking, Shilin chopped it out of the air with the side of his hand, sending it spinning into the underbrush.
"Easy there," he muttered, chuckling. "I just needed to know if you were still with me."
He rubbed the back of his head and sighed.
"Now I just need to think of an excuse for that old man… He's not going to be thrilled that I let such a fine pelt 'get away.'"
Shilin clicked his tongue, already dreading the conversation. The merchant had been practically drooling over the idea of that jaguar skin. There was no way he'd let this slide without complaint.
Just as he braced himself for the trouble ahead, something stirred at his feet.
With a ripple, the shadow swirled—and spat out a jaguar pelt, flawless and unmistakably identical to the one Tetzaca had worn.
A whisper followed, curling in his mind like smoke:
[You will owe me.]
Shilin blinked, then smirked.
"Yeah, yeah… How about you start a tab for me?"