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I wake up with the first light, shaking off the remnants of restless sleep. The cold dew of the grass clings to my skin, and a stiff ache settles in my bones. Swaying gently in the early morning breeze, the endless expanse of the plains stretches out around me and past the blue and white tents. My mood matches the grey sky, sour and brooding, still simmering from last night’s argument.

I sit up, rubbing the sleep from my eyes, and glance around the campsite. Clad in tunics and shawls colored in their faction’s signature deep blue and silver, the Atima are up and about, starting their day well before I have. I watch as families emerge from their homes, faces touched by the early morning glow.

The settlement is already buzzing with activity. Men head to the fields to gather beans, squash, and other native plants. Hunters set off in search of small game and birds. Craftsmen are at their stations, the rhythmic sound of tools sharpening and hammers striking clay filling the air as they shape pottery, weave textiles, and craft tools. The smell of baking clay mingles with the morning breeze.

Women bustle about, carrying on jovially with one another as they prepare food just outside their homes. Older children help with lighter tasks, while younger children stay close to home, enthusiastically engaged in play. Alpacas are checked on and fed, adding their soft bleats to the rest of the sounds of morning activity.

Rituals to honor the gods and ancestors begin, led by the village elders in chants and offerings. Smoke rises from small altars, carrying prayers to the sky. Men work on the construction and maintenance of homes, shaping adobe, wood, and thatch into sturdy shelters. The community works in harmony, each person contributing to the vibrant life of Qelantu Loh, their spirits intertwined with the land and each other.

The cheerful hum of their morning routines only deepens my scowl.

What I would give for a jug of chicha right about now.

“You slept outside, in the cold of the approaching winter? And without a bedroll?”

The familiar voice carries an unmistakable note of concern, but I also catch a slight hint of judgement. There’s a faint scent of something sweet—perhaps honey? And some kind of flower. It seems to be coming from her.

I sigh, already exhausted from the expectation of what’s to come of our interaction. I always knew we’d have to meet again and speak sooner or later, but I wasn’t expecting it to be this much sooner. I’ve barely had any time to mull over our previous discussion, let alone prepare for a new one.

I twist around to face Haesan, rustling the grass as I maneuver. “I feel more at peace underneath the stars, if that makes sense. And the grass is no different than a bedroll—it’s what comprises a bedroll anyway. Why are you drylanders so concerned about how and where I sleep?”

Haesan looks at me with a confused expression, but there’s no time to explain. “How can I be of service, Lady Haesan?” I ask, exaggerating my cordiality.

She frowns at my remark, arms folded. “I understand your frustrations, but we need to determine our next steps and act quickly. Time is running out. We cannot afford to be indecisive.”

“Indecisive?” I echo, irritation flaring. “I’m not being indecisive. I’m being strategic. If we don’t gather more support, we risk everything.”

Haesan’s eyes narrow. “And if we waste time chasing after support that may never come, we risk losing Qapauma entirely. The city is already on the brink of collapse. We need to stabilize it before it’s too late.”

I shake my head, feeling my pulse quickening. “You’re thinking short-term. We need a strong, united force to stand against the Eye in the Flame. Rushing back to Qapauma without proper support will mean certain death.”

“You think I don’t know that?” Haesan snaps, her voice rising. From the corners of my eyes, villagers uncomfortably go about their business, pretending to be uninterested in our debate—though not doing so very well.

“Every moment we delay, more lives are lost in the capital,” she continues. “If we allow the infighting to continue, the Eye in the Flame will pick apart whoever remains in Qapauma and easily claim the throne. We need to act now, not later.”

“And you’re going to what? Walk between the quarreling sides and broker peace?” I ask incredulously.

“Something must be done,” she charges.

I take a deep breath, trying to keep my frustration in check. “And what if we act now and fail? What if our small force gets overwhelmed by either of the bickering sides because we didn’t take the time to build our strength?”

Haesan steps closer, her expression fierce. “Sometimes, the right action isn’t the one that guarantees immediate success, but the one that prevents immediate disaster. Qapauma is our heart, our center. If it falls, everything else falls with it.”

I pick myself up off the ground and lock eyes, glaring back at her. “And if we don’t rally more support, we risk losing not just Qapauma, but everything. The Aimue need us. They’ve suffered under the Eye in the Flame’s raids, and according to that scout, more raids are coming. If we can rally them, we gain allies and grow our army, while weakening the cult’s influence in the north, perhaps even preventing their march to Qapauma.”

Haesan’s face tightens with emotion. “I respect your perspective, but we can’t ignore the urgency. We need to find a balance, a way to address both threats.”

“And what do you suggest?” I ask, my tone sharper than intended. “That we split our forces and risk weakening both efforts?”

Haesan hesitates, but she eventually finds the words she seeks. “Yes. We can split our forces. You go to Aimue and gather support. I shall return to Qapauma and try to stabilize the situation. We can cover more ground that way, given the urgency and shortness of time available.”

I feel a surge of anger, my jaw tightening and my heart pounding in my ears. But I force myself to remain calm. “And how do you propose we communicate and coordinate our efforts?”

“We will find a way,” Haesan says firmly. “We have to. This isn’t just about us. It’s about the future of our people.”

Is that it? ‘We will find a way’? I clench my fists, struggling to keep my voice steady. “And what if we fail? What if we’re both overwhelmed by the enemy’s forces because we didn’t stick together?”

Haesan looks at me with a mix of frustration and pleading. “Then we’ll deal with it. But we can’t stand still, paralyzed by indecision. We have to act. You carrying on to Aimue to rally support, while I return to Qapauma makes the most sense.”

“Why? So you can run away again?”

Haesan looks at me, shocked. “I beg your pardon?”

“If I recall,” I say pointedly, “you escaped Qapauma to the safety of Qelantu Loh, only to return again. And then, you required another escape, thanks to me! Personally, Lady Haesan, I don’t think the Eleven want you in the capital city.”

Haesan takes a deep breath, then speaks, her voice surprisingly steady and controlled. “I understand your frustration, Inuxeq. It is true that my path has been winding and chaotic—nothing of which I desired and found to be ideal. But every decision I made was to protect our people. What we are facing now is a natural part of rebuilding. It’s a challenge we must endure to create a better future.”

I scoff, but Haesan continues. “We can’t lose hope or give in to despair. Our ancestors fought hard for our freedom, and we ourselves have fought for our freedom. It is up to us to ensure that freedom endures. We need to adapt, to find new ways to unite our people and overcome the trials we face. The Eye in the Flame is a threat, but so is our own disunity. We must be wise, we must be strong, and above all, we must be united in our purpose.”

I sigh, as the enormity of what we have to decide is almost suffocating. “Alright. We will split our forces. But we’re taking a huge risk here. And we’ll have to live with the consequences if we fail.”

Haesan nods, her expression resolute. “I understand. And I’m willing to take that risk. Failing in either of our quests mean we fail all of Pachil. I cannot allow that to happen, and I know you feel the same way.”

Every part of my being screams that splitting up is the wrong move. It’s not that I don’t respect Haesan—I’ve seen her bravery firsthand—but this feels like cutting ourselves in half when we need to be a single, unstoppable force.

My thoughts churn with frustration. How can she be so sure that this is the right call? The threats are multiplying like shadows at dusk. The Eye in the Flame, the civil war in Qapauma, Achutli’s loyalists—they’re all looming over us like a storm ready to break. How can we fight them on two fronts and hope to come out victorious?

Time is slipping through our fingers like sand. We’ve got the new moon approaching, and with it, the Eye in the Flame’s attack. Haesan’s right about one thing: every moment counts. But her plan feels like taking a risk we can’t afford.

As we prepare to part ways, an elder from Qelantu Loh approaches us. His posture is hunched over due to his advanced age, but the expressed nervousness likely adds to it. A single, silver braid gently drapes over his shoulder and over his deep blue tilmàtli. He fidgets with his fingers, while a grave expression washes over him. Great. Just what we need. Another problem to solve.

“I beg your pardon,” he interjects, but I couldn’t help but overhear your deliberations. I have—”

“Do you always make a habit of eavesdropping on conversations that don’t concern you?” I snap, my voice dripping with irritation. “Or is this a special occasion?”

Haesan holds up a hand, stopping my tirade. “Please, good sir. Tell us what is on your mind.”

He nods cautiously, meekly. “There is recent news that may aid your decision,” he says, almost warily.

“Well,” I say, still annoyed. “go on, then, since you feel it’s important enough to interrupt our conversation.”

“Again, my apologies,” he says, bowing his head slightly. “Rumors have surfaced of an Iqsuwa nearby, one who moves like a shadow, unseen and unheard, with the ability to blend into any environment and strike with unparalleled precision. And being Iqsuwa, he is also erudite. If it is skilled warriors you seek, perhaps this Iqsuwa possesses the skills to help infiltrate Qapauma.”

I feel a jolt of adrenaline, as if lightning had struck my heart. Could this Iqsuwa be Mexqutli? Could this be where he vanished, escaping to the north of the capital? Yet, I also feel a pang of irritation. How much of our conversation had this elder overheard?

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I open my mouth to scold him, but Haesan’s eyes catch mine, silencing my reprimand before it begins. Her expression mirrors my own intrigue. “An Iqsuwa?” she asks, startlingly calmly. “Where?”

The elder nods. “Not far from here—further into the mountains, close to an ancient village long abandoned before even the beginning of the Timuaq rule. The ancient Tapeu built a village inside the cliffs of the mountains, right by the river… Well, before the river dried out, and most of the game ventured off. It will require exerting oneself to reach the cliffs, but perhaps you should investigate before finalizing your plans.”

“And how long will this trek take?” I ask, trying to disguise my insatiable interest in tracking down this person who could be Mexqutli.

The elder considers this, then replies, “Nearly a day’s journey, there and back. Maybe less, if you’re fast enough.”

My heart races like a royal messenger with urgent news. I look at Haesan, who nods in agreement. “Alright,” she says. “If it will only take a day, we shall look into this rumor. Perhaps this Iqsuwa can help—it might change everything.”

I glance up at the sky, observing the sun that barely peeks out from behind the distant mountains. “Yes, if I depart now, I might be able to reach this location and return within the day, maybe two, depending on how it goes.”

Haesan contemplates for a moment, then nods. “We should leave, then. The two of us. I refuse to allow you to travel alone, especially with the Eye in the Flame looming.”

“I can handle—“

Haesan gently places a hand on my shoulder—I very much dislike being touched like this. But she follows this by saying, “You are most capable, indeed. Which is why I will be grateful for your skills if we encounter any danger.”

“But what about the Queen Mother?” I ask. “You will be leaving her behind, without notifying her where we are going?”

Haesan pauses, then looks to the elder, who returns a knowing nod, as if he understands the meaning behind the wordless exchange. “We are grateful that the two of you are helping Qelantu Loh by gathering food and supplies for us in the vast plains,” he says.

At first, I’m confused by his statement—we are not gathering food nor supplies. But then, slowly, I catch the hidden meaning. Though I still dislike Haesan endangering herself in this way, I reluctantly agree to have her join me. Nevertheless, we bow our heads and part ways.

We set off right away, on the path that winds through the beige plains of northern Tapeu, heading to the mountains. Only the rustling of the tall grass breaks the silence as we travel side by side. Occasionally, I glance at Haesan, who is lost in her own thoughts as she stares blankly out toward the horizon. It gives me a quiet moment to myself to reflect. Who is this Iqsuwa? Is it Mexqutli? Each step feels like a heartbeat, pulsing with anticipation the closer we get to our destination.

My mind wanders to Mexqutli, that scum. The last time I saw him, he was fighting Xaqilpa, the treacherous councilor to the Arbiter, Achutli. Worse, he tried to assassinate the Arbiter in the middle of our battle against the Eye in the Flame at Qapauma. And then he just disappeared. All the deception, all the betrayal. I trusted him, and he abused that trust multiple times. The thought of seeing his face again fills me with a mix of anger and anticipation. If this Iqsuwa turns out to be him, I don’t know how I’ll react. Perhaps it’s wise that Haesan joined me in this journey, to have someone restrain me from slicing Mexqutli’s head off when I see him.

As we trudge along the rocky path, the silence stretches on, heavy and awkward. I can see that Haesan wants to say something, but each attempt results in us carrying on quietly. Finally—unfortunately—she breaks the silence.

“You know,” she begins softly, “when I was a child, I used to spend hours exploring the jungle around our home in Achope. My parents—well, my adoptive parents—always worried about me getting lost, but I never did. I had this favorite spot, a hidden grove with the most vibrant flowers and a small, crystal-clear stream. It was like my secret sanctuary.”

I fold my arms, trying not to give in to her offering of peace. But the sincerity in her words draw me in despite myself.

“There was this one time,” Haesan continues, a smile lighting up her face, “I must have been about seven or eight harvests old, I found a baby capuchin monkey there. It had been separated from its troop, and it was so scared and hungry. I couldn’t just leave it there, so I brought it home. My parents were furious at first. My father, Suntu, even threatened to force me to live in the jungles with it. But eventually, they saw how much I cared for the little fellow. Together, we named him Chasqa.”

I try to fight back the smile that begins creeping up the corners of my lips. Why is she telling me this story? Reluctantly, though, I feel my expression soften slightly at the mention of the capuchin. Even I can’t deny the adorableness of a monkey companion.

“Chasqa became my constant companion. He’d sit on my shoulder while I did my lessons and follow me around everywhere. I remember teaching him to fetch small fruits and how he’d mimic my every move. He was more than just a pet; he was a friend, someone who made me feel understood in a world where I often felt out of place.”

Haesan pauses, and our eyes meet. There’s a sincerity in her gaze that I can’t ignore, as much as I try to. “Looking back, I realize that Chasqa and that grove were my way of connecting with the wild, with the part of me that didn’t quite fit into the pampered life my parents wanted for me. It was my way of holding on to something real, something that felt truly mine.”

She lets out a small laugh, and I can’t help but feel a touch of empathy. “Of course, Chasqa eventually grew up and returned to the jungle. But those memories… they remind me that no matter how luxurious my surroundings were, there was always a part of me yearning for something more, something authentic.”

I uncross my arms, letting the story melt away my toughened exterior. Despite everything, the image of a young Haesan with her monkey friend warms a small corner of my heart.

“We had such different upbringings,” I say with a chuckle. “For the Tuatiu, our connection to our surroundings defines us. We are taught at an early age that we need to thrive within the dangers of the jungle in order to survive. When we are young children, the elder warriors used to test our skills, preparing us for the rite of passage that occurs later on in our lives.”

We reach a particularly challenging climb up the steep face of a mountain slope. I leap, catching the edge of a cliff and pull myself up. Haesan can only stare at the ledge, her face overcome with concern. I extend my hand, ready to pull her up. Her first attempts at jumping to reach my arm fall short, and I have to stifle a laugh so as to not discourage her or make her feel embarrassed.

“You got this, Lady Haesan,” I say, part encouragement, part playful gibe.

Her face scrunches up as she readies herself for one more, determined attempt. With a tremendous leap, her hands clasp onto my forearm. I reach down with my other hand and secure her, then pull her up. She braces herself onto the cliffside with her feet, using them to lift off the rock face and climb over the ledge. She’s overcome with a sense of accomplishment, grinning from ear to ear. I nod a silent congratulations, then dust off my green tunic as I stand up.

We continue our trek along narrow ledges and steep slopes. After a short period, Haesan asks, “So what do the Tuatiu do to test the skills of a young child?” When I look at her in confusion, she clarifies, “Your story. You never got to tell me what tests the Tuatiu endure to prove they can be self-sufficient in the jungle.”

“Well, there is one night where the elder warriors will blindfold a child and set them loose in the jungle. The task is to return to the village without being seen nor heard. For me, I was creeping through the underbrush until the break of dawn, listening to the sounds of night, feeling my way back. It had taken me all night, but I had made it back, faster than the other children who were sent out at the same time. When they told me I had passed, it was one of the proudest moments I can remember.”

“That sounds a bit cruel,” she comments. “abandoning children in the jungles like that.”

“I don’t see it that way,” I reply. “And they watch us—it’s not as though we’re completely left on our own. That’s what the blindfold and time of night are for: so you don’t see that the warriors are watching over you. You believe you’re alone, so you believe you can only rely on yourself. It’s a test of trust and self-reliance. The jungle is dangerous, but it’s also our home. We have to learn to navigate it, to respect it, and to survive in it.”

Haesan nods slowly, processing my words. “I suppose we both had to prove ourselves in different ways. You with your skills and stealth, me with… well, finding my place in a world that always felt like it was trying to mold me into something I wasn’t.”

There’s a moment of silence as we continue walking. Then, Haesan frowns, looking down at the ground in front of her. “I would like to just say that… I regret how we left matters in Qelantu Loh, and I wanted to apologize for my demeanor. You are a valued ally, and I dislike causing you to be angry with me.”

Another sigh escapes my lips. “You didn’t make me angry,” I assure her—although, if I’m being completely honest, I was a little upset with her before we departed Qelantu Loh. “The entire situation bothers me, and I’m uncertain what the best course of action is. There are too many dangers, too many foes, and I fear we don’t have enough time to stop one threat, let alone two.”

She nods subtly, then glances at me solemnly. “These are most certainly trying times,” she says.

“I assumed such times would cease once the Timuaq were defeated,” I say, sounding whinier than I intended. “Back then, the decisions were obvious: fight against the titans, stop their tyranny, save our people. Now, everything is murky. We’re facing threats from everywhere—from outside and within—and I’m uncertain whether we’re truly better off now than when we were under the rule of the titans. Frankly, I’m not certain we’re capable of ruling ourselves.”

This elicits a chuckle from Haesan, something sounding like the flittering of a thrush. “It’s normal to feel overwhelmed by the complexity of the choices before us.”

I grunt skeptically. “Easy for you to say. And you sound like one of those elders.”

For a moment, there’s another flittering chuckle, but then Haesan’s smile fades, and her tone grows serious. “The challenges we face now are a testament to our freedom. It was easy to have clear enemies and obvious goals when the factions fought against the Timuaq. Now, we must navigate the complexities of our own choices, our own conflicts.”

She leans in closer, speaking softly. “That uncertainty you feel? It’s the price of autonomy. We are better off because we have the chance to find our own path, even if it’s fraught with difficulty. True strength isn’t found in only overcoming an oppressor, but in building something better in its place.”

“Do you think we will build something better?” I ask.

Haesan flashes a faint smile. “We have to try.”

After scaling the slopes a little while longer, we reach a small clearing among a plateau. A few windswept trees tilt decrepitly amidst the arid setting. The sun is nearly at its apex, shining down harshly upon us and casting short shadows along the reddish brown dirt. But a short distance away, it illuminates part of a wall made from mud bricks that follow along the edge of a cliff, with another rocky overhang above.

“This must be the abandoned dwelling,” Haesan observes. “This must be what the elder at Qelantu Loh spoke of.”

“We should proceed with caution,” I warn her. “We must assume Mexqu—I mean, the Iqsuwa, does not want to be found, and could be hostile.”

I draw Sachia’s bow and nock an arrow, steadily clutching it by my chest. Haesan retrieves the dagger I handed her, awkwardly holding it out in front of her with both hands. We take small, careful steps as we approach the ancient habitation, watching for any signs of movement.

The wind picks up, circulating dirt in the air and obscuring my view. A couple of stones tumble down the rock face. We both shift to face it, eyes wide as we inspect the source of the sound. Did the Iqsuwa misstep, errantly kicking pebbles and exposing themselves? No, instead, a large crow had leapt from the spot, knocking the stones loose as it took off, now soaring past the cliffside.

Haesan lets out a nervous chuckle. “But of course. At least it got the blood flowing.”

As her laughter fades, a heavy silence descends. I catch a faint, rhythmic crunch—footsteps, careful but unmistakable, advancing through the gravely dirt. My pulse quickens, bowstring taut against my fingers. I motion to Haesan, and we freeze, our ears straining to catch the subtle sound of what approaches.

There it is again, closer this time. Each step is deliberate, as if whoever or whatever it is knows the terrain intimately. I tighten my grip on the bow, eyes peeled for the threat. The sun blazes above, but an icy dread grips my heart.

Time stands still. Neither of us move. I don’t even breathe, too self-conscious that it may give away our position. My eyes bounce from location to location, checking for any movement. Only the wind dares to make a noise, rustling the dried shrubs and swaying the leafless branches.

Long, slow breath in, I have to remind myself. Long, slow breath out.

Then, my eye sees it, just at the edges of my vision. Without hesitation, I leap for Haesan, tackling her to the ground. Just above us, something small, something quick, whooshes as it flies in the air. It knocks on the dead tree behind us a dozen paces away, then falls to the ground with a paltry thud. A dart. The tiny feathers of its fletching are radiant, a bright turquoise.

Those aren’t the feathers of any Tapeu birds, I think. Those must come from a jungle bird. But, where?

A few heavy steps crunch the nearby gravel and dirt. A large, daunting figure with sun-scorched skin emerges from behind a boulder. He wears a long, dark turquoise tunic paired with fitted trousers, and dons a flowing cloak of a vibrant achiote, all adorned with intricate ivory patterns. Even the leather armor on his chest and bracers have been treated and dyed to a dark turquoise, engraved with more ivory patterns and symbols upon them. He holds a blowgun the length of his forearm in his hands, and an obsidian sword remains sheathed, dangling at his hip.

His gaze locks onto us, and a slow, predatory smile spreads across his boxy, weathered face. “Impressive reflexes,” he says with a low, resonate voice.

He takes a step closer, and I can better see his simple, gleaming helmet, crowned with the iridescent turquoise feathers of a quetzal. His eyes seem to measure us, studying us and waiting to see what we might do. When we remain still and silent, he gives a curt nod, and a slight sound of acknowledgment escapes his lips.

“I am Xelhua,” he proclaims, “and you have just entered my domain. Now, tell me, what brings you here—before I decide if you are worth keeping alive.”