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“I thought you had forgotten about me.”

“It’s only because I haven’t been able to have a reasonable night’s sleep,” I say to Entilqan.

Wait, I think to myself. This exchange feels familiar.

Once again, I find us both atop the hill from our childhood that overlooks the Qantua valley. We are beneath the jacaranda tree, but the setting is off. The sun is shrouded by dark, menacing clouds, and the tree is no longer resplendent, but rather, it is leafless, save for a few that are brown or blackened. The vibrant flowers that once surrounded us are now wilted, their colors faded to ashen grays and browns. Shadows loom longer and deeper, and an eerie silence pervades, broken only by the distant croak of a raven. The once lush valley below is now a bleak expanse.

Just as before, my sister sits beside me, arms folded on her knees as she warmly takes in the scene. She gazes at the grotesque landscape with a serene smile, as if nothing has changed, as if the world around us is still vibrant and full of life. Her demeanor is unsettlingly calm amidst the decay, her eyes reflecting a contentment that is jarringly at odds with the desolation surrounding us.

“You’ve been awfully busy since we last spoke,” she comments. The familiarity of her words nags at me.

“What is happening here?” I ask, confused. “I’ve dreamt this before, but this is… different.”

My sister looks around, inspecting the scene. As if noticing it for the first time, she gently touches the blackened leaves and runs her fingers over the cracked, lifeless bark of the jacaranda tree. Her eyes observe the wilted flowers and the murky trickle of the river below. Yet she smiles, seemingly unfazed by the decay.

“It’s simply a part of the cycle,” she says softly. “Everything changes, everything decays. But sometimes, something more sinister hastens the process.”

“What do you mean?” I press, feeling a sense of urgency and concern.

She looks at me, her eyes suddenly more intense. “There are forces at work, far beyond what we understand. Darkness spreads, consuming life and light. You must be vigilant.”

Suddenly, the scene shifts abruptly, and I find myself overlooking an unfamiliar land. Below, a once thriving town rests next to a long river that connects a lake to the sea. Snowcapped mountains loom majestically in the distance, but their beauty is marred by an unnatural darkness that creeps across the landscape like a slithering creature. The sun struggles to penetrate the thick, sinister clouds that shroud the sky.

The roads are unlike any I’ve seen before, lined with structures that would be as tall as the trees, made from timber and stone. Yet with their ornate plasterwork and decorations, these buildings now lie in ruins. Intricate patterns once adorned their facades, but now they are marred by decay. Wooden overhangs dangle precariously, and the thatched roofs that resemble the peaks of the nearby mountains are sagging and charred. The people wander in ragged clothing, their faces gaunt and hollow.

“What is this place?” I ask, turning to Entilqan, but she’s no longer beside me. Her voice, however, lingers in the air.

“Beware the darkness, brother. It seeks to consume all.”

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A hand shakes my shoulder, jostling me awake.

“Teqosa!” I hear Upachu’s worried voice mutter to me. “Are you okay? You’ve been talking in your sleep, sounding all panicked.”

“I… I don’t know,” I muster breathlessly. The sweat beads at my forehead, and I search the jungle to ensure I’m no longer dreaming. Síqalat and the Auilqa warriors look on as they roll up their bedrolls and clean up the camp.

“Did something happen to Entilqan?” he asks. I nearly forgot that I’ve told him about my dreams; it has been so long since I’ve had them, let alone spoken about them.

“It’s not that anything happened to her,” I reply, still dazed from the bizarre dream. “It’s that she stayed the same while the world seemed to decay around her.”

“Decayed?” Upachu echoes. “How would it…” Just as I do, he finds the matter perplexing, to say the least, too stunned to formulate a coherent statement.

“I’ve never experienced such a dream like that involving her,” I continue. “And I somehow arrived at another world, some place with strange structures and roads. An entirely different landscape than anything I’ve seen on Pachil. And it was all crumpling, falling apart, as were the villagers who walked its peculiarly constructed paths. All while Entilqan remained calm, like nothing was shocking to her. All she said was to ‘beware of the darkness.’”

Upachu’s face is grave with concern as he contemplates my explanation. “What could it mean?” His question floats in the air like a specter, haunting the space between us, never intending to be caught.

“I… I don’t understand it.” It’s the only response I have, unable to make sense of the events in my dream.

Upachu frowns, then lifts himself from beside me. “Prophetic dreams,” he says, shaking his head. “It is unsettling, but I’m afraid all we can do is pay attention to the world around us, to see if the gods continue to signal events of which we should be made aware.”

“The gods?” I question. I pick myself up off the ground and begin to collect the few possessions I have that are not on the cart. “Have you suddenly become religious? This is not the Upachu I know, a learned man of knowledge who provided council at the Great Library of Hilaqta. When did you become spiritual?”

He looks at me curiously. “After everything we’ve been through, are you not? You experience dreams in which your sister, who sacrificed herself along with the others of the Eleven—err, the Twelve—regularly appears.”

“That is only in my mind,” I insert my reply, shrugging off his ludicrous assertion.

“We have traveled into the Tomb of Inqil and stood before the Auilqa hero herself!” he continues his remarks. Again, I scoff, but he carries on as he tends to the llama, who nonchalantly grazes on the nearby foliage. “You told me of your journey in Qantua, with the guardian and the shifting forest!”

We finish packing up our belongings in the cart while he rambles on about the gods. Síqalat approaches to load up her possessions. Upon seeing the spirited gestures of Upachu, combined with my unamused posture and expression, she opts to stand back and watch how our conversation unfolds before choosing whether or not to jump in. With a smirk, she takes the reins of the llama and guides it through the jungle to begin today’s travels.

Upachu mindlessly follows behind, unaware of the new driver of the cart as he elaborates on his fervent belief in the gods. “After all we’ve seen, how can you still doubt their existence?” he questions, his voice filled with both wonder and frustration.

I sigh, shaking my head slightly. “It’s not that I doubt the existence of powerful beings or forces in this world. It’s the leap from acknowledging their power to worshiping them as gods that I can’t accept. Entilqan was my sister. I knew her as a person, not a deity. She was human, with all the flaws and strengths that come with it. The fact that she gained powers and became revered doesn’t change the person she was.”

Upachu glances at me, a mix of empathy and exasperation in his eyes. “But don’t you see? It’s precisely because she was human that her transformation into something more is so remarkable. It shows that even we, mere mortals, can touch the divine.”

I shrug, growing further annoyed. “Or it shows that people are quick to deify what they don’t understand. I can’t bring myself to worship someone who I knew had the same doubts, hopes, and fears as any of us. And if we’re going to worship that, it makes me suspicious about everything else we worship.”

Upachu falls silent for a moment, his brow softening as my words settle in. Then, he takes a deep breath as his gaze drifts slowly across the shadowed trees of the jungle. “This makes me recall what happened in the village, during the Auilqa raid. When I was there, I felt… something.”

“Of course, you did,” Síqalat finally remarks. “It was the quake that shook the ground, and perhaps the entire region.”

“No, no,” Upachu says with a chuckle. “A presence, a force guiding me. It wasn’t just the training or the knowledge I’ve acquired throughout my life. No, something far greater than that. It was as if Inqil herself was with me, helping me channel the gift to speak to the Auilqa.” I can see the conviction in his eyes as he talks about the experience, something that touched him deeply. I remain skeptical, but I listen intently.

“In the village,” he continues, “I invoked the spirit of Inqil. The Auilqa were restless and suspicious. They didn’t trust us, didn’t see why they should ally with us. But when I spoke, it was as if Inqil’s wisdom and power flowed through me. I believe the Auilqa could feel it too. They knew it wasn’t only a man speaking to them, but something greater. That’s why they listened, why they agreed to our terms.”

I raise an eyebrow, intrigued despite myself. “And what exactly did you promise them?”

Upachu smiles wryly. “The same thing you would, my friend: a future where we stand united against the true threat. Where we fight not for territory or power, but for the survival of all our peoples.”

I glance at him, seeing a spark of something almost spiritual in his expression. It’s rare to see Upachu so moved, so convinced of something beyond the tangible. In spite of my own doubts, I can’t help but feel a twinge of curiosity, of wonder.

Still holding the llama’s reins, Síqalat looks back at us with a contemplative gaze. “So you believe… that Inqil’s spirit truly guided you?” She attempts to make sense of Upachu’s statement as she asks aloud.

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Upachu nods, resolute. “I do. Whether it was her spirit or some other force, I cannot say for certain. But what I felt was real, and it helped bridge the gap between us and the Auilqa. They agreed to join us because they felt the presence of something greater than all of us.”

We walk in silence for a while, as the sounds of rustling leaves and distant animal calls travel throughout the jungle. Upachu’s fingers tap rhythmically against the cart, reflecting his restless thoughts. Sunlight filters through the leaves above, casting scattered beams on our path. Despite the beauty around me, doubt tugs at my mind. I shake my head slightly, trying to dislodge the unease. The idea of unseen forces influencing our lives is a heavy cloak I can’t quite shrug off.

I think back to the days of our childhood, when everything seemed simpler. Entilqan and I were just children, playing beneath the jacaranda tree, unaware of what destiny would place upon us. She was my sister, flesh and blood. Someone who laughed and cried like any of us. She then gained powers, and everything changed. Upon her sacrifice, people started to worship her, to see her as something more than human. Perhaps that’s when my beliefs started to shift. I couldn’t reconcile—I still can’t reconcile—the girl I grew up with, the one who teased me and shared secrets and played with me throughout the Qantua hillside, with the deity that others now revered.

Even after everything Upachu, Síqalat, and I experienced in the Tomb of Inqil—the ancient power that flowed through the very walls, the presence of something greater than ourselves—I still find it hard to believe. I wonder why that is. Why can Upachu, a man of knowledge and reason, find faith in those moments, while I remain skeptical? Maybe it’s not the gods themselves I resist, but the way people blindly follow, seeking answers in the divine instead of facing the harsh realities of our world. Upachu sees divinity in our experiences, a guiding hand in the chaos. But all I see are people struggling to make sense of things beyond their control. The gods didn’t save Entilqan and have her placed among them within the palace of the heavens; she sacrificed herself. Perhaps that’s the crux of it. I can’t put my faith in beings who demand such a price, who turn people into symbols and stories.

As we push forward through the jungle, I find myself hoping for something tangible, something real, that doesn’t rely on faith or worship. But deep down, a part of me wonders if that hope is just another form of belief, another way of seeking meaning in the void. Despite everything, why do I still cling to this skepticism? What would it take for me to believe again?

The questions swirl in my mind like leaves caught in a whirlpool, but the path ahead demands focus. The jungle thickens around us, the terrain becoming more challenging with every step, as if the land itself resists our passage. The sounds of our movements—feet crunching on dried leaves, the occasional snap of a twig—are swallowed by the dense foliage, leaving only the persistent hum of nature.

My thoughts begin to shift from the abstract to the immediate, from the gods to the very real dangers that lie ahead. I begin to reflect on the Auilqa and what’s occurred in our encounters with them. We have to make the right decisions, or everything could unravel. We don’t have the luxury of being wrong.

The jungle closes in tighter, the path narrowing until we’re forced into a single file. Upachu and Síqalat are just ahead, their heads close together while voices are a low murmur that blends with the rustle of the undergrowth. I can’t make out their words, but their discussion seems urgent, almost conspiratorial.

A sharp realization strikes me, cutting through the haze of my thoughts. This isn’t just about faith or doubt; it’s about survival, about the very real dangers that now surround us on all sides. Once a proud and independent people, the Auilqa have somehow become ensnared in the Eye in the Flame’s twisted plans. With their relentless pursuit of power, the zealots have infected the minds of those who once stood strong against any outside influence. Is it wise to place our trust in the Auilqa? These aren’t abstract concepts or distant threats—they’re flesh and blood, breathing down our necks, ready to strike at any moment.

I quicken my pace, drawing alongside them. “We need to move faster,” I say, my voice sharper than intended. “I believe Qiapu is our priority. Besides, I’m not sure the Auilqa can be trusted. They’re opportunists by nature—you said so yourself, Síqalat. Something about how quickly they were swayed does not sit well with me.”

Upachu looks offended by my observation. “Teqosa, I just told you how they recognized the truth, how they felt the presence of something greater guiding them. It was a genuine moment of connection and understanding, not mere opportunism. You can’t dismiss that so easily.”

I pause, guilt tightening my chest as I see the hurt in Upachu’s eyes. I never intended to diminish his experience, but given our dire situation, I can’t afford to ignore the risks that he may not fully grasp. “I respect what you felt and what you accomplished—I sincerely do. But feeling the presence of the divine and trusting a faction known for its changing allegiances are two different things. I’m not dismissing your experience; I’m questioning the Auilqa’s reliability. The success of our quest depends greatly on alliances we can count on.”

Upachu nods slowly, but it’s clear he is still troubled. He looks away, focusing on the path ahead while silently accepting my point without fully agreeing.

Síqalat turns to me, her lips pressed into a thin line while a spark of defiance ignites in her gaze. “And what makes you think Qiapu is any different? Every faction has its opportunists. We need allies, Teqosa. The Auilqa have agreed to join us, and we need to solidify that relationship, especially as we travel through their sacred lands. It’s crucial for our survival.”

“Survival?” I can’t help but scoff. “Their loyalty is as fickle as the wind. One moment they’re with us, the next they could be against us. We can’t afford to waste time building trust with those who might betray us at the first opportunity. If it’s survival that concerns you, we need allies we can rely on, not ones who change sides with the shifting tide.”

Síqalat’s jaw tightens, and she steps closer, her voice low and intense. “You think the Qiapu will just welcome us with open arms? They have their own agendas, their own priorities. We can’t march into their territory expecting support. The Auilqa are willing to stand with us. That means something.”

I shake my head, frustration boiling over. “We don’t have time for this. Every moment we spend here in Auilqa, we stray further from our mission, and the Eye in the Flame grows stronger. Qiapu is designated as one of the destinations we are supposed to travel to, and it has resources we need. Warriors, provisions, healers. We secure that, and we have a fighting chance.”

“And what happens if we reach Qiapu and find ourselves outnumbered, outmaneuvered, by the Eye in the Flame, or even their own people?” she counters. “Without the Auilqa, we’re vulnerable. If the Eye in the Flame is attempting to form alliances with every faction on Pachil, we need the Auilqa warriors and their knowledge of the land, more than ever. You’re letting your quick distrust cloud your judgment.”

My hands clench into fists, and I take a deep breath, trying to rein in my temper. “And you’re letting your idealism blind you to the reality of our situation. We’re not in a position to take risks with unreliable allies. We need certainty, strength, not potential betrayal.”

Síqalat’s eyes narrow, and for a moment, we stand toe to toe, the space between us crackling like static. The Auilqa warriors look on with curiosity, and Upachu watches us uneasily, and I catch the slight tightening of his jaw, the way his fingers clench and unclench at his side.

The heavy and oppressive silence stretches, until finally, Síqalat speaks again. “I understand your fear. But we can’t fight this war alone. We need to build bridges, not burn them. If we alienate the Auilqa now, we lose a potentially valuable ally, especially if Upachu can continue to reach their hearts and minds. We need to be smarter, more strategic.”

Her words linger between us, challenging my stubbornness. She’s right, in a way. We do need allies. But can we really rely on the Auilqa? Can we afford to take that chance?

I look away, my gaze drifting to the dense jungle around us, the twisted vines and towering trees teeming with life, their vivid colors and hidden dangers momentarily distracting me. A world that feels increasingly distant, increasingly fragile. The animals carry on as if our argument hadn’t just shattered the tranquility. The jungle remains unchanged, an indifferent witness to our struggles.

“Fine,” I say finally, rough with reluctance. “We’ll go to Qasiunqa first. But if there’s any sign—any sign at all—that the Auilqa are wavering, we cut ties and move on. We cannot afford to be naïve. Not now.”

Síqalat nods, a small smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. “Agreed. But let’s give them a chance. We might be surprised by what we find.”

I grunt in acknowledgment, and though I can’t shake the feeling of unease, we resume our journey. Upachu steps close to me while the others continue on into the jungle. He nods in quiet approval. “A wise decision,” he mutters under the hum of the jungle creatures, resting a gentle hand upon my shoulder. “Unity is our strength. Let’s move forward together.”

Days blend into each other as we trek through the dense, suffocating jungle. The ground beneath us is a carpet of moss that yields beneath each step. The jungle air is stifling, and it clings to our skin and seeps into our lungs. The terrain and territory is a far cry from the hilly Qantua lands to which I’m accustomed.

The overwhelming number of leaves overhead is so dense it steals the sun, casting everything in perpetual twilight. Vines as thick as my arm twist and coil around trees, creating natural barriers that Upachu and I struggle to navigate, though the Auilqa and Síqalat appear unfazed.

Our stoic Auilqa escorts move with an eerie silence, their steps almost imperceptible on the soft ground. They communicate in whispers as their eyes constantly search the surroundings. They interact only among themselves, occasionally pointing to the markings on tree bark to seemingly indicate we’re heading in the correct direction.

I watch them closely, noting the way they seem to merge with the environment. Their movements are efficient, each step calculated to avoid unnecessary noise. They use the thick vines and foliage to their advantage, moving through the jungle with a grace that borders on the supernatural. Every now and then, one of them will silently signal to the other. I try to learn from them, but their ways are as impenetrable as the jungle itself. I can’t help but feel a mix of admiration and wariness.

As we push through the dense jungle, a tremendous village emerges like a phantom from the mist. The thick foliage parts, revealing a city that seems to rise from the very soil itself. Precious sunlight that otherwise seems rare in this shadowed realm bathes the towering spires of the city in a golden glow. My eyes are drawn to a massive structure dominating the landscape—a pyramid of immense stone blocks, rising high above the treetops.

The city’s perimeter is marked by formidable walls interwoven with a fierce blend of thatch, foliage, bone, and wood. Despite their brutal composition, the walls are adorned with vivid feathers and pigments, creating a striking contrast against the raw materials and verdant greens of the jungle. Admittedly, the decorations do little to soften the intimidating presence of the city.

Tall structures loom over the jungle, their heights surpassing even the tallest trees. Much like the Auilqa village we departed, suspended bridges connect towers that form a network of swaying pathways, except the scale here is beyond comparison. The sight leaves me wondering if any outsider has ever truly understood the depth of this place.

Yet as we draw nearer, the sense of awe is replaced by a creeping unease. The striking colors adorning the walls seem dulled, and a heavy silence hangs over the city. There is no sign of the bustling activity one would expect from such a grand settlement. Instead, from what we can see at our distance, the streets lie eerily empty, and the once proud towers now bear marks of recent conflict—scorch marks and shattered wood. The humid air now carries a stifling stillness, as if holding its breath in anticipation of some unseen horror.

The towering pyramid casts a foreboding shadow over the city. Upon a closer gaze, its stone steps are marred by what looks like fresh, dark stains. The jungle around us seems to recoil from the city’s boundaries, the luscious flora giving way to patches of scorched terrain and trampled undergrowth.

The Auilqa warriors beside us remain stoic, their eyes fixed ahead and jaws set. Each step forward feels heavier, laden with the foreboding sense that we are walking into a trap. My mind races with questions and doubts. What happened here? What disaster did the Auilqa face? Or cause?

As we get closer, the details become clearer and more disturbing. The structures show signs of violence—splintered wood, blackened stone, and the faint scent of smoke. The oppressive silence is broken only by the distant, methodical footsteps of those patrolling the city walls. The dark silhouettes carry weapons etched with dark runes, and the very sight of them makes my blood run cold.

From our vantage point, I catch sight of the figures, focusing on the flowing fabric of their garments. They’re distinctively unlike the traditional Auilqa garb—the muted sheen of ashen gray or streaks of crimson coming into view. My heart sinks as I recognize what this indicates. These are not the Qasiunqa’s defenders, but members of the Eye in the Flame.