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The throne room is a tomb of memories.

Shattered stone and broken weapons litter the floor where once my people stood in reverence. The smell of ash still permeates the air, mixed with the faint tang of blood, as though the room itself has been wounded. Once the heart of this chamber, the grand sundial lies shattered in a dozen jagged pieces. Its intricate carvings that were meant to chart the heavens and the seasons are now meaningless. Time itself feels fractured, just like everything else here.

I look up at the destroyed ceiling, where dapples of sunlight seep through the tattered leaves and broken branches, spilling onto the fractured stone below. The rubble is a graveyard of what used to be. Fragments of stone columns lie scattered like broken bones. Splintered wooden beams poke out from the wreckage like jagged teeth. Once hung proudly on the walls, ceremonial weapons now lie twisted and discarded among the debris. Torn banners that once bore the sigils of Auilqa victories hang limp, half-buried under the collapsed roof. Even the throne itself, what should be a symbol of our strength, is cracked down the middle, split like the fate of the Auilqa.

I remember how this chamber used to be. It was alive with voices, strong with purpose. The warriors flanking our revered ruler, the elders who would provide their council, the leaders who commanded respect—they are all echoes now, reduced to whispers among the rubble.

It is a ruin. The Eye in the Flame have seen to that. The head of the Great Xolotzi, who everyone thought was all-powerful, almost immortal, now stares lifelessly into the empty beyond. Everything that distinguished the Auilqa as a proud faction have been reduced to hollow remnants of what was.

I run my hand over a cracked pillar, touching the cool stone with the tips of my fingers. I want to believe the Auilqa can rise again, that this is only a temporary wound. But deep down, I feel it—the ever-present dread. A hollow pit that grows with every breath I take in this cursed place.

Everything that once made this city proud has crumbled into disrepair.

I think of my family. Are they safe? Have they survived the onslaught? It eats away at me, the not knowing. They may have disowned me, cast me aside, but blood still binds us. My heart clenches with the desire to search for them, to know if they are alive and unharmed. But I stand frozen.

What would I even say if I found them? After all this? After they have made it clear I am nothing to them?

Besides, there is no time to let fear rule me now. The Eye in the Flame have torn through the very core of our people—of my people. And I cannot abandon my companions here. Not when everything hangs in the balance. The fate of the Auilqa rests on what we do next.

My companions argue with the three outsiders in the middle of this dilapidated chamber. The manner in which they speak is intense, angry. You should know how upset this makes me, this infighting. Paxilche appears to have upset them, with his strike of lightning that wiped out the Eye in the Flame sorcerers. The confrontation is loud, filled with fury. They gesture at one another with abrupt, emphatic pointing and snarled mouths. Though part of me wants to understand what is being exchanged, I am too distraught by what has taken place moments earlier, what has happened to the heart of the Auilqa, to be bothered to listen through Noch. The despair is too overwhelming.

And the people… my people… they are not the same either. I see it in their faces. Warriors who were once unbreakable now wear their defeat like chains. Some still hold onto the fire, the will to fight. But the others, I see the doubt in their eyes. I feel the cracks beneath their surface. We are no longer a united force, no longer the sharp blade we once were. We are fragments—scattered like the stones at my feet.

I wonder if we can ever be whole again. Or if the Auilqa, like this city, are too far gone.

Sensing my sorrow, Noch rubs her head against my shoulder. My faithful companion. Her presence is comforting, a reminder that even in the darkest moments, some bonds hold strong. I scratch behind her ears, feeling the warmth of her fur beneath my fingers.

“Where did you go, back in Analoixan?” The question has been circling my mind since the battle, since the death of Naqispi. I lost her in the chaos, and yet, here she is, defying fate, by my side once again. I have been too afraid to ask, but the time has come.

Her thoughts brush against mine, a soft pulse of imagery and emotion. She shows me the confusion, the fire, the deafening roar of the serpent as it lashed through the city. I see through her eyes—darting through the smoke, dodging falling debris, until finally, she found shelter in a crevice near the edge of the city. There, hidden from the chaos, she waited. In my own chest, I feel her anxiety, the pang of being separated from me, but also her instinct to survive.

“You stayed hidden,” I murmur, understanding now. She had no choice.

Noch lifts her head, her golden eyes meeting mine. In a brief flash of emotion, she sends me an image of a figure—an old woman, cloaked in shadow, crouching beside her in the quiet aftermath. There is a pulse of recognition, a scent that lingers in my mind.

“The woman?” I ask.

Noch offers no name, but the sense of calm in the memory reassures me. Whoever this stranger was, she helped Noch find her way back to us. I can see her showing Noch the way back to the jungle, to safety. A guiding hand in the dark. It does not answer all of my questions, but it fills in enough of the gaps to make sense, for the time being.

“You found your way back to me, thanks to her,” I say. Noch purrs softly in response, curling closer to me. I can sense that she wants to tell me everything, to reassure me somehow, but she is too worn, too exhausted, and too upset to speak.

I let out a breath, and some of the tension in my chest eases. Whatever happened back in Analoixan, whatever strange forces intervened to reunite us, Noch is here. And I thank the gods for bringing us back together once more.

I linger in the quiet moment with Noch, feeling the pulse of her steady presence. But even as the warmth between us offers solace, the world around us feels cold and distant.

I look up, and my eyes sweep over the once-great throne room of Qasiunqa, now a twisted shadow of its former glory. I find myself staring at the ruined calendar stone in the center of the room, its once intricate carvings now barely recognizable, scorched and broken. Time itself feels undone here, as if everything the Auilqa had built and believed in has been left to wither and die alongside the stone. The air tastes of dust and decay, but beneath it, there’s something else, like the room is pressing down on all of us, a force waiting to collapse.

It is in the way the others move, too. Everyone is unsettled, haunted. We are all pretending we are not, but I can feel it clawing at the edges of our thoughts. Pomacha is at the far end, murmuring something to Pomaqli, though the words are lost in the stillness. Síqalat and Upachu exchange quiet words, but even their unshakable composure seems delicate here.

Atoyaqtli stands before the calendar stone, his brow furrowed as his calloused fingers trace the worn grooves etched into the surface. His expression is one of perplexed curiosity. It is clear he is trying to make sense of the intricate markings that cover the stone, but the meaning escapes him. His hands move slowly, almost reverently, across the surface, as though he is trying to reconstruct what it might have been in its prime.

Though we do not speak the tongue of one another, I can see it in his face—he does not know what it is.

I stare at the stone as well, its surface covered in intricate markings that seem to pulse with some long-lost wisdom. You should know that my father once told me about this, about the way the Auilqa tracked time using the stars. After all, time is written in the heavens. But I never truly understood how this mechanism worked. Looking at it now, I still do not. But it looks… fascinating.

I step closer to Atoyaqtli, now my fingers brushing against the stone. I do not know the full meaning of the carvings, but I know there is knowledge that they hold. I turn to Atoyaqtli, shrugging slightly, as if to say, I do not fully understand it, either.

He looks at me with a silent question in his eyes. I can see his need to understand what this broken mechanism once was. But like me, he is lost in its complexity.

Before either of us can say more, Síqalat steps forward, calm and composed. She glances between us, her eyes settling on the calendar stone. “You both want to know, do you not?” she asks. Her voice flows easily in the Auilqa tongue, catching me off guard. It is rare for outsiders to speak our language, and even rarer for them to do it so fluidly. It is like hearing something familiar from a voice you did not expect.

Mouth agape, I nod. Standing nearby, Atoyaqtli clearly does not understand our exchange. Síqalat turns to him and speaks in the Tongue of Merchants. He gives a slight grunt of agreement, nodding in response to whatever it is she told him.

“I have heard of it,” I admit softly, “but… I do not understand how it works.”

She offers a small smile, kneeling beside the ruined calendar. “I have never seen one in person before,” she starts to explain, “but from what I have been told, it is a tool, one that helps the Auilqa track the stars, the moon, the sun. With it, they can tell when to plant, when to harvest, when the rains would come.” She gestures to the central part of the stone, tracing her fingers over the faded symbols.

She looks up at us, first meeting my eyes, then glancing at Atoyaqtli, who watches the scene with a quiet intensity. She speaks to him in the Tongue of Merchants, describing what I can only assume is the same explanation she gave me. His eyes flick between us, intrigued.

Hesitantly, I say, “I think my father once told me that this,” I point to the same central marking she had just touched, “was where the cycle starts. But I do not know what comes after.”

Síqalat translates my words to Atoyaqtli, who kneels beside her. His expression changes, stroking his chin contemplatively as he looks at the symbols again. She nods, comprehending what the Sanqo warrior has told her, then tells me, “He says it is like the stars they use to guide their ships.” His fingers trace the worn carvings while she translates.

I nod. “Yes, maybe. The stars and the sky, they are part of the same cycle, are they not?”

Síqalat relays my question, and Atoyaqtli furrows his brow once more. After a moment, he speaks thoughtfully. Síqalat translates back for me: “He says, ‘Perhaps it is like navigating the sea. You follow one star, then the next, each one leading you forward. Maybe this stone is doing the same, but through time.’”

I pause, contemplating this. “That is what my father said, too. He spoke of following patterns, cycles… But I still do not know what they mean.”

The fingers of Síqalat graze over the faded carvings again. “I have heard stories,” she admits, “about how the Auilqa used this to predict more than just the seasons. Some believed they could see the future through it. But it is just stories. I am no elder. I do not know the full truth of it.”

Atoyaqtli watches closely as she explains, nodding as he takes in her words, then casting a glance at me, waiting for my response. I shrug, offering him a small, awkward smile.

“I think,” I say, my voice quiet as I reflect on the teachings of my father, “the Auilqa believed this was the center of everything. A way to measure not just the seasons, but the passing of life and time itself. The calendar tells a story, although only the elders know how to read it.”

She translates my words to Atoyaqtli, who listens intently. He leans in closer, studying the stone more carefully now. After a few grunts, he mutters something in the Tongue of Merchants.

“He says, ‘It is like the sea,” Síqalat speaks, smiling faintly. “‘Endless, but with rhythms and currents.’ He says, ‘If you know where to look, you can find your way.’”

I find myself nodding. The three of us fall into a quiet study of the stone, each of us piecing together what little we know. Though our knowledge is incomplete, I enjoy this temporary reprieve, no matter how brief it is. In this moment, we are simply three people trying to understand something far greater than ourselves. Something to hope for.

But hope, like the sun setting beyond the broken walls of this throne room, is fleeting.

In the distance, a low rumble echoes through the skies, like a giant shifting in its sleep. I glance up, frowning at the sudden shift in the air. The warmth from earlier has vanished, replaced by a cold breeze that wraps itself around us, biting at the skin.

There is a shuffle from the edge of the room. One of the Auilqa warriors, a convert still smeared with red across his chest and face, steps toward us, putting us all on guard. He is tired and haggard, and the zeal in his eyes has clearly dimmed.

Everyone turns to look at him. The warriors in support of Walumaq shift, ready for another confrontation. But the man raises his empty hands in surrender.

There is much sorrow in his face as he addresses us. “I am ashamed for how easily swayed our people have become. I can do this no longer. The priest of fire was leading us astray, weaponizing the ancient Auilqa prophecy.”

The Qantua warrior named Teqosa turns to Síqalat with a confused expression. She tilts her head, listening closely as the man continues speaking. She translates for him, and her words in the Tongue of Merchants slowly morphs inside my mind. It is still muddied, however, but she speaks true, not mincing words.

The elder, Upachu, watches the man closely, eyes no longer glowing white. “…ask him what he knows. What… doing here? …were… planning?”

I wince, unable to clearly understand him. Noch appears distracted, attentively tracking a small spiny pocket mouse that scurries nearby. I shout at her to pay attention, startling the others. Meekly, I lower my head and apologize. However, my holler achieves the desired results: Noch is now paying attention to the conversation.

Síqalat relays the question, her words flowing smoothly in the Auilqa tongue. “What do you know about the plans of the fire priest? What were their plans? What were they doing here?”

The shoulders of the man slump, as though the very act of speaking is draining what little strength he has left. He hesitates briefly, but after a moment, he nods, resigned, and tells what little he knows.

“He says,” Síqalat tells the others, as the confession of the man spills forth, “that the priest of fire wasn’t running away. He was preparing something… something bigger.”

The room seems to freeze, every pair of eyes now focused on the broken man. “He doesn’t know much of what it all means,” she continues. “But the priest kept speaking of cryptic symbols, ancient chants—things that seem tied to Aqxilapu and Ninaxu.”

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“Ninaxu…” Teqosa repeats. Though the god called Aqxilapu who formed the distant Qiapu lands is well known, like the Qantua warrior, I, too, am unfamiliar with the other name.

“A Qiapu legend,” Paxilche clarifies. “The fire serpent of the mountain, a creature of destruction. Seems farfetched.”

The Auilqa man looks at Síqalat, desperation etched into his features. His voice shakes as he continues speaking. “The priest was preparing something, here in the throne room—some final act of summoning. But the final step of his ritual was not to be completed here in Qasiunqa. They were just starting here.”

“Starting?” Walumaq echoes after Síqalat translates the words of the man to the others. The Sanqo princess frowns, confused.

Síqalat ask the man to explain, and he nods slowly, his voice barely a whisper now. She continues to translate, but now she appears visibly shaken. “He says the priest was heading to the mountains of Qiapu. To the sacred sites. Whatever they’re planning, it’s going to happen there.”

I glimpse at Upachu, whose brow is knitted deeply in thought. The eyes of Walumaq glance to Paxilche, who still stands silently at her side. Even his fury seems to have been tempered by this revelation. The truth begins to take shape, but it remains murky, like shadows flickering on stone—hinting at something far darker than we ever imagined.

“The mountains of Qiapu…” Paxilche murmurs. “The legend of Aqxilapu says he fought Ninaxu in the sacred volcano, Xutuina. Are they trying to awaken it?”

The man trembles, sweat beading on his brow. Síqalat’s face grows ashen as she responds with what the man says next. “He says… No, that can’t be right. He says ‘the new moon’. It’s happening then.”

The new moon. It is not far off. I can feel the cold knot of dread tightening in my chest. Whatever the Eye in the Flame has planned, we have little time to stop it.

Upachu and Teqosa exchange a look—quick, uncomfortable, and knowing. There is something unsaid between them, something heavy. I catch the subtle tension in their eyes, a shared knowledge they are unwilling to voice just yet. Walumaq notices too, her gaze lingering on them, as though waiting for one of them to break the silence.

Atoyaqtli shifts uneasily beside me, and finally speaks. “If the priest is in Qiapu,” he begins slowly, as though selecting his words carefully, “and whatever they are planning involves these sacred sites, then we have little choice, do we? We must go there. There is nowhere else.”

Walumaq stares intently at the broken celestial calendar, as though it will provider her with the answer. “We don’t have much time, not with the new moon approaching. If we can reach Qiapu before they complete the ritual, perhaps we can stop them.”

Teqosa crosses his arms and grimaces before speaking reluctantly. “I don’t see any other path forward. We must go to Qiapu. If they are planning something for the new moon, we are already behind.”

The decision seems to settle over those present. There is no other choice. The path is set, whether we are ready for it or not.

My attention shifts to Paxilche. He stands off to the side, arms crossed tightly over his chest, his face as rigid as stone. The winds begin to stir, swirling dust around his feet.

His fingers rap impatiently against his thighs, eyes sharp and restless. I can feel the storm building inside him, as tangible as the wind. A dangerous energy barely contained. A breath passes, heavy, charged. He briefly glances at me with his clenched jaw, then looks away. My heartbeat quickens, as if sensing that something is about to give.

The calm before the storm, I think, my pulse drumming in my ears. He is planning something—I can feel it. Hearing my concerned thoughts, Noch brushes alongside me, her turquoise tail flicking.

And then, just as the wind picks up speed and rushes about the dilapidated throne room, Paxilche abruptly breaks the silence.

“I don’t think this plan is going to work.”

The air cracks like a whip after he speaks. Every eye in the chamber turns toward him, looking confused. At this, he grows more and more visibly irritated, and he begins pacing, his frustration spilling out with every step.

“Marching into Qiapu with this vague plan?” Paxilche continues, his hand gripping his massive war club like he is already preparing for a fight. “You all act like this is going to go smoothly, like the Eye in the Flame doesn’t know we’re coming. What if this is all a trap? What if we walk right into an ambush at Xutuina, and we’re done for before we even get close?”

“We know the risks,” the voice of Walumaq pierces through the howling gales, “but there is little else we can do. Xutuina is our only choice—everything points to it.”

Paxilche shakes his head and throws up his hands. “That’s exactly what they want you to think! The fire priest is leading us on a chase, and we’re all just following blindly. You think we can stop this thing in time, before the new moon? By the time we get there, Ninaxu will already be awake, and we’ll be staring at our doom.”

His eyes dart from face to face, as if daring someone to challenge him. Although Teqosa watches with sharp focus, there is no immediate response from anyone else. Eventually, Chiqama steps forward. His shoulders are stiff, and his eyes are hardened with grief and anger.

“Of course you’re worried about the plan,” Chiqama snaps. “Look where following Walumaq’s plans got us! Naqispi is dead. Do you think I’ll forget that? We followed her, and look what happened.”

The jaw of Walumaq tightens, and she opens her mouth to respond, but Chiqama is not yet finished. “You think we can just march into Qiapu, rally the survivors, and what? Stop some legendary creature from awakening? We’ve already seen the Eye in the Flame’s power. It’s bigger than you, bigger than all of us.”

Walumaq straightens, trying to keep her composure. But it is clear that the words spoken by Chiqama have struck a nerve. Her thoughts are racing, and it is difficult for me to understand what is going on through her mind. All I can sense is the multitude of emotions—fury, sorrow, disbelief, self-doubt.

“Chiqama’s right,” Paxilche says, his eyes narrowing at Walumaq. “We’ve been fighting the Eye in the Flame since this all began, and now you think we can stroll into Qiapu and stop whatever is coming?”

There is a touch of something deeper in his gaze, something that I notice—a hint of fear, and something else, buried beneath the surface. But Paxilche covers it quickly with his usual defiance. “You’re so convinced that you’re going to be the one to fix all of this. What if you’re wrong? What if you’re leading us all to our ends, just like Naqispi?”

The eyes of Walumaq flash with hurt, like Paxilche wounded her physically. But she stands firm. “This isn’t about me. It’s about stopping the Eye in the Flame from destroying everything. If we don’t go to Qiapu, if we don’t confront whatever they’re planning, it won’t just be us who suffer—it’ll be all of Pachil.”

Paxilche clenches his fists. His frustration now boils over. “You think I don’t know that? You think I don’t understand the possible outcomes? But running headlong into Qiapu isn’t going to stop them. It’s going to get us killed, and then there’ll be no one left to fight.”

Atoyaqtli clears his throat and interrupts this verbal assault of Walumaq. “She is the daughter of Siunqi, and I follow her out of loyalty to our people and her father. But even I must admit…” He pauses, looking directly at Walumaq. “There is much we don’t know about what awaits us in Qiapu, and we barely survived the battle here. We sail blindly toward an unknown enemy.”

“I have followed you, princess, because initially, I believed in your vision,” Chiqama adds. “But I can’t keep charging into hapless battles we might not survive. Not for a cause that has no clear conclusion. I’d rather defend our homeland than seek out my death elsewhere.”

Sitting near the edge of the gathering, Upachu shakes his head and stands. “You think waiting will help? You think hiding will solve this? The fire priest is out there, planning something far worse than anything we’ve faced. And Ninaxu—whatever that thing is—we can’t let it wake. Otherwise, the whole land will burn. And only the gods know what will happen then.”

Teqosa is finished brooding in silence. “You all talk as if we have a choice. You think avoiding the conflict will change the outcome?” He glares at Paxilche, clearly unimpressed by the display of dissent. “The Eye in the Flame doesn’t care about your fears, Qiapu boy. And neither does the fire priest. If he reaches Xutuina and awakens Ninaxu, everything you’re so scared of will pale in comparison.”

The eyes of Paxilche darken, and a spark of resentment flickers within them. “You think I’m scared?” he spits. “I’m being realistic. And at least I’m not delusional.”

“Enough, Paxilche,” Teqosa grunts. “We’ve already wasted too much time while you waste your breathe to complain.”

“We’re trying to stop a nightmare from becoming reality,” Walumaq says unsympathetically. “If you have another plan, say it. But standing here, doing nothing… that’s a guarantee of failure.”

You should know that, as I watch the others argue, I begin to sense something deeper in the anger of Paxilche. It is not just frustration or pride driving him; it is fear. He is far more afraid than he will ever let on. I can see it in the tightness of his jaw, the way his fists clench at his sides, in the way his eyes dart about nervously when Walumaq speaks. He is scared—scared of what lies ahead, of what this journey may demand of us, of what it might reveal about him.

But it is not just fear that I see. No, there is something even more dangerous lurking: doubt. It coils around him like a shadow, clinging to every word he speaks, every move he makes. It is not just doubt in the plan or in the quest itself. It is doubt in Walumaq. He does not trust her fully, though he pretends otherwise. There is a hardness in his eyes when she speaks, as if he is questioning her every decision, weighing her every word.

The others may not see it, but I do. I know what it feels like to carry that kind of doubt, to have it continually whisper in your ear, telling you that you are not enough, that you will fail. Paxilche is fighting more than just us or this plan; he is fighting himself. And that, more than anything, is what worries me.

The voice of Paxilche drops to a bitter growl, the hurt in his tone subtle but undeniable. “It’s easy for you to say, isn’t it? You don’t have to worry about putting the people you care about at risk because of some grand, heroic idea.” His eyes flick to Walumaq again, and this time, there is something more in his gaze—something almost imperceptible. Walumaq does not respond immediately, but the hurt in the words spoken by Paxilche are not lost on her.

“This isn’t just about stopping the fire priest,” Upachu says, warily, as though he is winded by the conversation. “There’s more at play here than any of us fully understand.”

The rest of us exchange glances, uncertain what he means by this. Is this about the glance he exchanged with Teqosa? Something about what was spoken by the Auilqa man? Even Noch is curious—or appears to be—leaning in closer to the elder Qiapu.

From his chest, behind the cloth of his black tunic, Teqosa reveals a deep blue stone attached to a vibrant, gold necklace. In doing so, the air around us hums, reverberates, shaking through me. “There’s a reason these amulets were hidden away. A reason the Eye in the Flame seeks them out now.” He pauses, eyes glancing over to the necklace around the neck of Walumaq, then to the jade and onyx amulet dangling above my chest. “Sualset knew something… something about the Eleven.”

“The Twelve,” Upachu corrects.

“The Twelve?” I find myself repeating the phrase. Síqalat smiles at my use of the Tongue of Merchants, though I do not understand what I spoke. Upachu nods, as if he was waiting for someone to take the bait.

“The Twelve, yes,” Upachu beams, gesturing dramatically. “Everyone always talks about the Eleven—heroes of legend, saviors of Pachil, correct? But there was a twelfth… an outlier, forgotten, erased.” He looks around, his eyes wide with anticipation. “No one else knows who this twelfth person was, or why they were excluded from the tales, but they were part of it. And Sualset most certainly had something to do with it.”

Chiqama scoffs. “That can’t be. Everyone knows it’s the Eleven. Eleven warriors traveled aboard the Sanqo vessels to the Frozen Isles and defeated the Timuaq there. Not a person on Pachil doesn’t know that!”

A slow smile creeps across the face of Upachu—almost appearing condescending, if I may be so honest. “We have traveled far, to many lands, and have encountered great challenges, protectors placed by Sualset herself to guard these amulets, among other items.”

Síqalat nods, almost as though she is in a daze herself. “It’s true.” She speaks more like a gasp. “I was with them, at the Tomb of Inqil. It’s how we arrived in Auilqa. The goddess… I saw her. They spoke…” She is too astonished to finish her thought. But she is not alone in her bewilderment.

Walumaq stiffens, and a sudden pall of dread overtakes her expression. “I was told… by an old woman in Chalaqta. She said there were ‘twelve’, but I thought it was just a story, or that she misspoke.” Her words falter as she recounts the memory, leaving the rest unspoken.

“How did you…” Atoyaqtli struggles to find the words, completely mystified by this new, startling information—you should know that I, like everyone else, am jarred by this, as well. “How did you come across this knowledge?”

Teqosa searches the ruined ceiling for the words. “It began in the ruins of the Atima territory, where—“

“At the Temple of the Titans, really,” Upachu corrects. “One of the limuli chests was discovered there, which set this whole quest off.”

Teqosa groans and shrugs. “Yes, yes. The Temple of the Titans. How could I forget. Then, we traveled to Wichanaqta, where we discovered these clay pots at the palace. On them, we—“

“But first,” Upachu excitedly interjects again, “we had to fight these fire pumas, with hearts set aflame! And the pots needed to be filled with special water from a nearby spring to reveal the—”

“May I please finish the abbreviated version of this explanation?” Teqosa snaps, glaring at his elder companion. Upachu raises his hands and relinquishes the conversation.

After a deep breath, Teqosa continues. “There were four destinations marked on maps that appeared on the clay pots discovered in Wichanaqta. We believe we determined the locations: Qantua, Auilqa, Qiapu, and Sanqo. We have traveled to Qantua and Auilqa, and Qiapu was to be our next destination.”

At this, Paxilche scowls and shakes his head. He knows what this means, that we mustgo to Qiapu. Everything is falling into place, and the indications are clear, undeniable now.

“So this destination,” Walumaq says, finally out of her daze, “is at the volcano?”

Teqosa frowns. “I couldn’t make out the location clearly, and I’m not too familiar with the territory to distinguish the marking. But if it’s as sacred as we’re to believe, then it must be. Since the discovery of the first chest at the Temple of the Titans, the Eye in the Flame have been tracking us down. There is something about these amulets they’re after.”

Walumaq nods, her eyes wide and nervous. “I have encountered them, as well. They have spoken about these amulets. But I was in Qiapu already, when I faced one of their sorcerers. Do you think…” She looks at her amulet of obsidian and copper questioningly. “Was this the amulet you were to find there?”

Appearing confused, Síqalat interjects. “Well, wait a moment. If there are supposed to be four destinations, I’m counting four amulets. See—“ She reveals an amulet of turquoise and gold, then points to the other amulets possessed by the rest of us. “So, the quest is complete… right?”

The eyes of Upachu grow wide with surprise. “Then you have found the papyrus!” he remarks, staring eagerly at Walumaq.

She frowns. “I’m afraid I don’t know what that is. Each amulet was already in the possession of a sorcerer of the Eye in the Flame.”

“Not the one around your neck.” Paxilche points to the jewelry worn by Walumaq. “We found that at the palace, in the secret chamber, remember? Using that key my brother, Limaqumtlia, wanted me to have.”

“Your brother was the slain Tempered?” Teqosa asks, astonished. “Are you the new ruler of Qiapu?”

Paxilche glowers. “That’s… not exactly how it’s done in Qiapu.”

“But he’s right,” says Walumaq. “We have found them in different places. Perhaps this,” she holds out her amulet, “is what you seek.”

Paxilche casts his “I thought these were sacred to Qiapu, that they were to protect the land and its people from any evil that sought to destroy us. That’s what our oral historians told us. Were they all lies?”

“Whatever it was that Sualset was planning,” Upachu says, “it was somewhat explained through the papyrus.” Seeing the confused looks on our faces, he explains. “It’s like cloth, but strips are patched together. And it’s rougher. And they had markings on them.”

Seeing that he is getting nowhere, he lets out a frustrated puff of air through his pressed lips, then returns to the previous subject. “These amulets—they’re pieces of something larger, a part of this... Twelve. But like the papyrus, the explanation has been coming to us in pieces. We’ve been collecting them during our quest.”

“So what does this mean for us?” Paxilche asks in a growl “For the plan? Do we even have a plan anymore? If we already found the amulets you were looking for in Qiapu, then we’re going to Sanqo?”

“Do you even need to travel to Sanqo anymore?” Síqalat asks. You should know that I am wondering the same thing, as well. “Four destinations, four amulets… It sounds like you’re done.”

“No,” Walumaq says with more certainty than I expect. “We go to Qiapu, to defeat the Eye in the Flame. That must happen. And we must discover why they seek the amulets.” Teqosa nods fervently at this—the most emotion I have seen exuded from him.

Upachu winces. “And we still don’t understand the purpose of these amulets. We haven’t collected enough of the papyrus to understand what Sualset’s plans were for them, and why they’re scattered throughout Pachil. I think we still need to find this papyrus to figure it out.”

There’s silence, as if everyone is waiting for someone to argue, to offer a different path, but no one does. I glance around at the others, but everyone looks nearly inconsolable. The realization of what our journey has become strikes us like an arrow to the chest.

I want to speak, to offer some reassurance, but the words will not come. Instead, I stand in that uncomfortable silence, feeling the unease build inside me. My legs feel heavy, as if weighed down by the enormity of what lies ahead. I close my eyes, hoping to calm the storm in my mind, but it only grows stronger.

As the others begin moving about to gather their belongings, a faint rumble shakes the walls. The loose stones clatter as they fall to the floor, and the quake is enough to make my heart jump in my chest. I open my eyes, and I see the others exchanging worried glances. Something is coming—whether it is the Eye in the Flame or something far worse, I do not know. But I feel it. We all do.

“That can’t be good.” It is all Paxilche says as he searches the chamber for the source.

“No,” Teqosa mutters, his eyes narrowing as he stares at the distant horizon. “It’s not.”

The wind howls outside, a reminder of the storm still raging beyond these walls, but it feels different now. It is a harbinger of what is to come.

I grip my amulet, feeling its weight against my chest, and wonder if it will be enough. If any of us will be enough.

The others are already moving toward the grand entrance, eager to continue on to Qiapu. But I pause, my feet unwilling to follow just yet. Still, I find myself stepping into the storm, the cold wind biting at my skin, as one thought refuses to leave my mind.

This journey… it will not end well.