Jimena collapsed into Marisol's arms the moment her feet touched the ground. Steam still curled from her skin in thin ribbons, rising like breath into the cool night. Heat radiated from her in slow pulses, matching the rhythm of her soft, steady breathing as she fell into an exhausted sleep.
Marisol held her tighter, eyes flicking immediately to her grandmother.
But Chia only shook her head—firm, calm, dismissive of fear.
"She'll be alright," that simple gesture said.
With Javier's help, Jaime and Jimena were carried into one of the many rooms of Ma chia's new hut—still unconscious, still glowing faintly with the remnants of their power. Once both chosen were settled, Marisol finally joined her grandmother at the table. Dawn lingered a few hours away, painting the window with the faintest violet.
Chia sipped her tea, the herbal scent drifting between them like a comforting blanket.
"Don't worry," she said at last, gently chiding.
Marisol wrapped her hands around her own warm cup. The heat steadied her, but her thoughts still churned. It had been a long time since she and her grandmother had shared a night like this—restless, sleepless, waiting for the world to right itself again. They were night owls by nature, something Marisol suspected she'd inherited from her parents… though right now she couldn't recall much about them at all.
She only knew her heart needed calming.
And tonight had given it little rest.
The path to the neighboring village had been delayed. No one would travel that direction until Tomas was captured—or killed.
Her stomach tightened at the thought.
She knew her grandmother wished to spare him.
She wished it too.
And though Marisol had grown stronger—power surging through her like a river—she didn't think she was ready to kill anyone. Even someone twisted by corrupted divinity.
She swallowed hard, staring into her tea as if the surface might give her courage.
"I don't want it to end like that," she whispered.
The words seemed to hang in the air, fragile and human in the quiet pre-dawn hours.
That morning, Marisol slipped quietly into the room where the twins rested. Both were still fast asleep—Jimena curled like a cat beneath a blanket that steamed faintly, and Jaime sprawled out, one arm dangling off the side of the bed. They looked peaceful, even after last night's chaos.
Not wanting to wake them, Marisol stepped outside and let herself wander through the village.
It was something she hadn't done—not truly—since her parents had passed.
The thought still ached, but the sting no longer pierced as deeply. She had left a heavy piece of grief behind in Mictlan. Seeing them, speaking with them, had eased something inside her she hadn't realized she was carrying.
Acceptance had been painfully earned.
But it was hers now.
As the early light spilled across the bay, warming the rippling water, a fierce protective feeling surged through her. This was her home. These were her people. She would guard the beauty of this place with everything she had.
Her calm was interrupted when two giggling children barreled straight into her leg.
They bounced off and tumbled to the ground in a heap of limbs and laughter—until the girl abruptly froze. Her little face scrunched in shock, and her eyes went wide when she realized who she had collided with. Tears welled instantly, trembling on her lashes.
Her brother reacted quickly, scrambling to his feet and brushing dust off her shoulders.
"S–sorry! We're sorry!" he blurted, patting her arm in a clumsy attempt to stop the tears. "It was my fault, we weren't watching."
He took her hand, calming her little by little before guiding her toward the path.
A breathless mother arrived seconds later, exasperation etched all over her face. She scolded the boy's mischief sharply, hands on her hips as the two children wilted under her gaze. With a final stern shake of her head, she sent them marching back home.
Then she looked up—and froze when she noticed Marisol watching.
Her expression softened instantly. She offered a bright, appreciative smile and waved.
Marisol raised her hand in return, warmth blooming in her chest.
For the first time in a long while, she felt wholly part of the village again.
Her walk carried her across nearly the whole village, down familiar paths and then through corners she hadn't stepped into since childhood. She passed the hunters' huts—at least the ones she remembered. For the rest, she stopped to ask directions, receiving reassuring smiles or grateful nods in return.
Most of the hunters needed nothing more than rest.
Bed, warm food, and the comfort of home would take care of them.
The stress of the return had been far more damaging than the physical effort.
So it seemed the entire day had quietly decided to become one of recovery.
A day of breath, of stillness, of tending the self.
Marisol didn't mind.
Walking like this, without urgency or fear, let her thoughts settle into place.
Her many wandering steps eventually brought her to a gentle stream. Its waters whispered over smooth stones, and the trees above buzzed with life. Frogs croaked. Insects chirped in impossible rhythms. The air thrummed with a peaceful chorus.
She felt something stir within her.
A soft tug, like a hand grasping hers.
The gem in her chest pulsed warmly.
Then—squeak!
Axochi popped into existence beside her, shimmering happily before plummeting into the stream with a splash.
The jolt of pure joy that burst through their bond nearly made her laugh out loud.
It raced through her body like sunlight, filling her from fingertips to toes.
Strength bloomed in her limbs—clean, effortless, natural.
Marisol sat by the water's edge and slipped her feet into the cool stream.
Axochi flicked water at her.
She splashed him back.
Soon they were both making a mess of the quiet riverbank, droplets flying everywhere. Marisol laughed—the carefree, unrestrained laughter she hadn't heard from herself in years.
For a few stolen minutes, she felt like a child again.
Mud between her toes, water up her legs, the world simple and kind.
Beneath it all, the place itself responded—soft ripples of connection spreading between her, the water, the land, and the life around her.
Plants began to swell and twist—far faster than anything she had grown since returning from Mictlan. Shoots erupted from the soil, weaving together into a living wall of green. In moments, vines arched overhead, linking with rising saplings until a full dome enclosed her beside the stream.
Marisol froze, breath caught in her throat.
The growth didn't feel random.
It felt guided—as if the land itself were responding to her heartbeat.
The gem in her chest pulsed again, brighter this time.
Something loosened inside it, like a petal finally ready to fall.
A tiny seed, warm with her own divinity, dropped into her palm.
Without hesitation—without even thinking—Marisol knelt and pressed it into the soil.
A wave of energy rippled outward the instant her fingers left the earth.
It pushed through the dome, filling the vines and saplings with shimmering light. Buds swelled along their lengths—flowers, thorns, fruits, and strange shapes she didn't yet have names for. The whole sanctuary hummed with a living power, like a heartbeat echoed through wood and leaf.
When she stepped back through the closing gap, she watched from the outside as the greenery sealed behind her.
A breathing, protective cocoon.
A womb of life.
Axochi surfaced beside her, splashing her shin with his tail before floating up like a bubble. Through their bond came understanding—a gentle nudge of knowledge, like a whispered lesson.
This was a new kind of sanctuary.
A place where small creatures could shelter in safety.
Where flowers and fruits would feed them year-round.
Where roots and bark offered nourishment.
Where water creatures could breed beneath the shade.
A cradle for wildlife built from her power and the goddess's blessing.
Marisol touched the outer vines, awe softening her features.
Her goddess loved life—loved it fiercely, expansively.
Encouraged her chosen to spill water into barren places, to coax abundance where there was none, to guard the vulnerable.
Marisol had not seen hunger touch her people since her awakening.
And she would make sure it stayed that way.
She looked into the shimmering dome—its interior glowing with reflected light from the plants—and felt her goddess's care echo through her chest.
A promise, gentle and vast.
Life would flourish here.
And she would help it flourish everywhere her feet carried her.