The Mayans staggered forward, struggling under the 44-kilogram stone pillars placed across their shoulders.
Some collapsed, unable to bear the weight.
As Spanish soldiers trampled over the fallen bodies, a thunderous voice roared—
"STOP!"
The soldiers froze. Fear crept into their eyes as they pulled back their boots from the Mayans.
This incident occurred on "Orion Day", a date the Mayans considered sacred.
Before them stood a man dressed in white robes, a cross hanging from his neck, a rosary clutched in his hand—
like a messenger sent from heaven.
To the Mayans, Father Landa looked like another Guerrero.
Word of Landa's arrival quickly reached Cortés.
He rushed from his camp and fell at Landa's feet.
The Mayans didn't understand what was happening—but they sensed one thing clearly:
this man held immense power.
Landa ignored Cortés, turning his face away.
Cortés stood up in shock.
Anger flickered across Landa's face.
"What is it, Father?" Cortés asked.
"What you are doing is wrong, Cortés."
"Wrong? In what way?"
"Does it not feel like a sin to you?" Landa's voice hardened.
"How can two men be forced to carry a pillar weighing forty-four kilos?
They are human beings!"
"They can manage, Father. Come, I'll show you."
"Tell me first how it's possible," Landa snapped.
"They are human too."
Cortés stared straight into Landa's eyes.
"No, Father… they are not."
The Mayans didn't understand the Spanish words—but they knew Landa was speaking for them.
"They are my slaves," Cortés declared coldly.
"And I won't tolerate interference in this matter."
With that, Cortés walked away.
Landa looked at the Mayans.
He saw no hope left in their faces.
Suddenly, a piercing scream echoed from afar.
Terrified, the Mayans covered their ears and fled.
Landa turned toward the sound—and his blood ran cold.
A Mayan man was dragged out of a tent, his arms and legs severed.
Before Landa's eyes, the soldiers lit a fire and threw the man into it.
Unable to escape, the mutilated body burned alive—
while the soldiers watched, amused.
Landa realized the situation had gone far beyond control.
He immediately left the camp and returned with Jerónimo.
By the time they reached the Mayan settlement, houses had already been reduced to ashes.
Some lay completely demolished.
The Mayans stood helpless, watching their homes burn.
Landa understood—
this was their everyday life now.
That night, Orion Day felt nothing like a festival.
Last year, it had been filled with torches and celebration.
This year, it felt like a funeral.
For one night alone, families who had been separated for labor were allowed to reunite.
Newly married couples clung to each other.
Parents held their children close.
Landa found them.
The Mayans stood up when they saw him.
He gestured for them to sit and began speaking in Spanish.
Jerónimo translated every word into the Mayan tongue.
Guilt weighed heavily on Landa's face.
"As a Spaniard," he said,
"watching your suffering makes me hate myself.
I don't know if I can save you…
but I promise—I will stand with you until the end.
You can trust me."
Jerónimo translated while hiding his own fear.
Two rifles were aimed directly at his head.
The Mayans did not doubt Landa.
If even a fragment of good could come through him—it was enough.
Landa stayed with them in southern Mexico.
For a month, he treated the wounded, fed the starving, visited their homes, and lived among them.
The Mayan children began calling him "Uncle."
Landa embraced them, kissed their foreheads, and returned their love.
The entire Mayan community softened toward him.
They poured out their pain.
Though he didn't understand their language, he understood their emotions.
Jerónimo, who used to translate, never returned after saying he'd come back on Orion Day.
Meanwhile, Landa's actions reached the ears of the Spanish Commando.
Furious, the Commando went straight to Cortés.
Cortés sat inside his tent, deep in thought.
The moment the Commando entered, Cortés already knew why.
"What's the matter?" Cortés asked calmly.
"A Father from Spain has arrived in Yucatán," the Commando said.
"The Mayans are getting close to him.
We cannot allow another Guerrero to rise."
"He won't be a problem," Cortés replied.
"And what makes you so sure?"
"Because," Cortés said slowly,
"I'm the one who brought him here."
Inside the cave, David had been waiting impatiently for over half an hour.
"Vincent, call Rebecca and tell her to hurry."
"Okay… it's ringing."
Rebecca answered the call.
"Hello Vincent. We'll leave in another thirty minutes."
"Alright. Be careful."
Vincent ended the call and slipped his phone into his pocket.
At that moment, monkeys on the Caracol hill began leaping through the branches, screeching warnings.
It was as if they had already sensed—
the danger that was coming.