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The moment we crest the ridge, the world rips open.

Xutuina looms before us, a monstrous maw of black rock and sulfurous heat. It exhales clouds of steam that rise like the last breaths of a dying beast. The ground beneath my feet trembles with a low, rumbling pulse, as if it’s beating from the heart of the land itself. The air is thick and scorching, like we’re already standing at the edge of some infernal abyss. I’ve never felt anything like it. The crisp, cool mists of Sanqo are a distant memory now, replaced by this sweltering nightmare.

As I step forward, the path widens into a vast basin, cradling the dormant volcano in its stone arms amidst the haze. Jagged boulders litter the ground, their surfaces scarred and blackened. Thin stone walkways stretch out like skeletal fingers, leading to platforms that rest uneasily over the sea of black lava rock. Here and there, cracks in the stone split open to reveal a dull, glowing redness—the volcanic blood of this place, simmering just beneath the surface.

Paxilche comes to a halt beside me, his eyes fixed on the volcanic basin below. He’s quiet for a moment, just staring at the stone walkways and charred effigies scattered across the sacred ground. I watch as something shifts in his expression—a twisted mix of reverence and betrayal.

He glances over at me, and when he speaks, his voice is laced with a bitterness that cuts through the oppressive air. “The last time I was here, it was for the trial to determine the Tempered after…” He struggles to finish the thought, about his brother’s murder. His lips quiver as his eyes stay focused on the landscape before us. “This place… it used to mean something to my people.”

He pauses, swallowing hard, as if the words themselves are too heavy to get out. “If we allow the Eye in the Flame to defile this place…” He shakes his head, the corners of his mouth curling in disgust. “We cannot allow those maniacs to ruin this sacred place.”

His voice cracks like a dried leaf beneath a boot. I know this isn’t just about the fire priest or the battle that awaits. It’s about what’s been stolen from him—his brother, his people’s trust in the sacred, the very ground he’s standing on.

Steam hisses up from fumaroles that dot the terrain. The vapor twists in jagged spirals that seem to claw at the sky. There’s no wind here, no movement other than the angry boil of heat and smoke from the terrain itself.

I feel the sweat bead at my brow and run down my cheek in hot rivulets. The others are silent, their faces set in grim focus as they take in the sight of this ruined sanctum. For many, including myself, it’s the first time we’ve stepped foot in such a place, and are overwhelmed by the raw and rugged landscape. Saqatli’s jaw is clenched so tight I half expect it to shatter; Upachu’s eyes nervously dart across the scene; Teqosa and Síqalat clutch their weapons tightly as they expectantly prepare for any and all threats.

Far off on the other side, the crimson-robed figure stands at the lip of the volcano. He’s framed by the glow of molten rock and smoke that twists like serpents around him. From this distance, he seems almost serene, an unsettling calm draped over a sea of chaos. His back is to us, but there’s no doubt he knows we’re here. He’s waiting for us, or perhaps he’s just unconcerned with our presence—a disturbing thought.

This priest of fire lifts his hands, and I see them shimmer—not with sweat, but with power, the kind that bends fire to its will. His low and rhythmic chant begins in a language I can’t place, though it vibrates in my skull. It’s sharp and grating, like metal grinding against stone. As his hands raise higher, the air around him shifts. Fiery illusions flicker into life, dancing in the haze.

The air catches fire before I even hear the first shout. One moment, we’re climbing the ashen path, searching the smoking horizon for the priest. The next, it feels like the world is set ablaze, like the mountain itself is trying to shake us off its back.

I hear the roar before I see it—a twisted column of flame spiraling from the ground, sucking everything around it into its molten maw. Paxilche yells something, but the sound is lost in the deafening wind of the tornado of fire. It rises, a monstrous thing that splits the air in two. We scatter. No time to think. Just instinct driving us apart before we’re cooked alive.

"Move!" I scream, my voice cracking with the heat that scorches the air before it reaches my lungs. Atoyaqtli leaps one way, Chiqama another, everyone breaking off into their own fight for survival.

The fire priest turns and steps forward from the shadows of smoke. It’s like the mountain bows to him, as the ground beneath us turns from rock to seething lava at his command. He continues raising his hands, and the land convulses. My heart slams into my ribs as cracks begin to form in the dirt, glowing orange and red. Molten rock starts to seep through. The ground is alive now, shifting underfoot.

“Split up!” Paxilche is yelling again, but his words are snatched by the roar of the fire.

I lunge forward, narrowly dodging a stream of lava that erupts from the ground where Chiqama had stood just heartbeats before. A scream rips through the air. I look back in time to see him fall, flames dancing up his body. He’s gone, incinerated before the others even realize. I want to look away, but I can’t. Because somehow, watching the place he once stood feels like the only way to honor what’s left of him, even if the fire has already taken most of it.

The unrelenting heat bears down on me, causing me to stumble as my attention snaps back to Xutuina. It isn't just physical—it’s inside me, gnawing at my bones, something more than fire. It’s like the very essence of me is being singed and torn apart by invisible hands. I’ve fought in battles, stared down the worst, but this…

Pomaqli is next. The ground open with a deafening crack. Before he can move, a geyser of molten rock explodes upward. For a heartbeat, his body is weightless, flung into the air like a rag doll caught in a storm. He twists midair, arms reaching out. His desperate scream tears through the chaos, the kind that makes your stomach turn.

The molten spray catches him mid-fall. Flames lick greedily at his clothes, his skin. The fire spreads too fast, and I see the precise moment when his scream cuts short—not from relief, but from the fire taking his breath, swallowing his voice. The stench of scorched hair and charred flesh burrows into my nose. His limbs jerk once, twice, a grotesque imitation of life as his body burns.

He hits the ground with a sickening thud, his body a tangle of limbs that no longer seem to belong to the man I knew. His eyes are still open, staring at nothing. He was there. And now he isn’t. Just like that.

I catch sight of Teqosa, his face twisted in agony as the priest seemingly focuses on him. The flames lick up his body, but they don’t consume him entirely; instead, they crawl like something alive, something feeding off him. There’s something more in Teqosa’s eyes, like a helplessness, a horror that I don’t understand. He’s burning from the inside out. I can see it, feel it in the air. His blood boils, and I know—I know this priest somehow has a hold on him.

A guttural scream tears from Teqosa’s throat as he falls to his knees. I’m moving toward him before I even realize it, but Paxilche grabs my arm, pulling me back.

“Don’t!” Paxilche’s face is drenched in sweat, and his eyes are wide with terror. “He’s using them. He’s feeding off them. You could be next!”

Them? My eyes dart to Síqalat. She’s trembling, barely holding back the firestorm that’s now pressing down on her from all sides. Her skin is blistering in patches, like the flames have an intimate knowledge of her essence, her being.

The priest lets out a jarring, menacing laugh. More fissures open in the ground, spilling lava like blood from a gaping wound. The flames respond to his swirling hands. They twist and reshape themselves into monstrous figures, warriors made of fire. Without warning, the warriors lunge at us in a flash. I’m forced back, barely holding my own against the searing heat. I have no blade, no weapon to defend myself. I pivot, desperately looking for Paxilche, for anyone still standing.

This fire isn’t just burning us—it’s tearing at our very spirits. I can feel it pulling at the edges of my mind, sapping my strength, my will to fight. My limbs feel heavy, my heart cold despite the flames. I look at Saqatli. He appears as though he’s trying his best to fight through it, but the fire has reached a part of him he wasn’t ready to confront.

A sudden crack splits the air, and the fire priest’s attention snaps toward me. His eyes lock onto mine, and I can feel the might of his power, the way it reaches out to sink its claws into my very being. The firestorm around me intensifies, the flames biting at my skin. It’s in my mind now, in my blood. It’s everything I can do to keep standing.

And then I catch it—a brief gleam in Teqosa’s eyes, clarity breaking through the haze of pain. He’s still fighting. He’s still with us. Barely.

The fire priest’s eyes narrow as the flames swirl around us, and I know—he’s not done. His robes shimmer in the heat, crimson and gold threads catching the light like molten metal. He gestures with his arms again, and the air trembles as if it’s about to strike.

The ground buckles beneath us, lava seeping through cracks, turning the battlefield into a boiling deathtrap. Paxilche is on one side, sweat streaking his face, eyes burning with defiance. Teqosa and Síqalat stagger behind me as the flames continue clinging to them. They’re not just hurt—they’re unraveling. I can see it in their faces, the way their bodies jerk and tremble, caught between two forces: that of the dark magic entrenched in their bodies, and their own resolve.

The fire priest’s hands twist in the air, and a wall of fire roars to life between us. I flinch as the heat scorches my skin. Then, I feel it: the pull of my amulet, the obsidian and copper stone humming at my chest. The flames hesitate, licking at the edge of its power, as if something in the darkness of the magic fears it.

I look to Teqosa, who’s barely able to stand. The flames flare up, burning brighter around him. Something clicks in my mind, a realization. He’s too vulnerable, too exposed. This fire is somehow breaking him from the inside.

But I might know how to stop it.

Without thinking, I’m at his side, yanking the obsidian amulet from around my neck. “Teqosa!” I shout over the roar of the fire, and my hand finds his. His eyes are wild and panicked, but they meet mine. And in that moment, I see past the fear to something deeper—hope, maybe. Desperation, definitely.

Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

“Take it,” I urge, pressing the amulet into his hand. “I can’t explain it, but something about this amulet… it will protect you.”

He hesitates, his fingers barely able to curl around the amulet, like he’s afraid it might bite. His whole body is shaking, and I can see the battle raging inside him—not just against the flames, but against something that’s tearing at the very core of who he is. The flames dance over his skin, leaving dark trails like burns, but they aren’t consuming him—not yet. They’re just tormenting him, holding him on the edge of agony.

Slowly, as if every movement is a struggle, he lifts the amulet to his neck. The moment it touches his skin, there’s a change. It’s subtle at first—a softening of the lines of pain etched into his face, a lessening of the tremors that wrack his body. Then, the flames recoil. They don’t disappear, but rather, they draw back like they’re suddenly wary, like there’s a boundary they can’t cross.

Teqosa takes a deep, shuddering breath. His eyes close for a moment as if he’s just realized he can breathe again. When he opens them, there’s a clarity there that wasn’t before—a spark of life, of strength returning. The flames still flicker around him, but they don’t cling as tightly. They don’t dig as deep. His shoulders straighten, and his posture shifts from someone braced for a blow to someone ready to face it.

His gaze finds mine again. It’s steadier now, and he nods gratefully—a quiet acknowledgment that he’s not alone in this. His voice is still hoarse, roughened by pain and smoke, but there’s a firmness to it now that wasn’t there before.

“You… you seem to know more about these than I do,” he remarks. He reaches up, unclasping the turquoise and gold amulet from around his own neck. “So, here… take this.”

Before I can respond, he extends the amulet toward me. Even before it touches my skin, I can feel the power thrumming in the stone. When he presses the cool surface into my palm, I inspect it, marveling at the turquoise and gold. Its texture is as smooth as water, but gleams like the sky at sunrise.

I slip it around my neck, feeling the cool chain against my skin. Instantly, there’s a change. How can I begin to explain it? There’s… a warmth that spreads from the amulet, but it’s not like the heat of the fire around us. No, it’s deeper, softer, like sunlight filtering through the canopy after a storm. My pulse steadies, and the tension in my muscles eases as the amulet’s power unfurls within me.

The world shifts. Despite the flames, the ground beneath my feet feels solid again. The air clears, the ash and smoke parting just enough for me to breathe. And then I feel it: a connection, like my feet are rooted deep into the terrain, as the pulse of the land flows through me. Strong, ancient, alive.

I’ve meditated on this connection before, sat in silence for long stretches of the day, simply waiting for the land to speak to me. But this… this is different. This is the land responding. I am not just part of it—I am it. I feel the rocks shifting beneath the flames, the distant rumble of the volcano, the water far below, waiting to surge up and cool the molten fire. I feel the sky above, immeasurable and endless. I feel the wind at the edge of a storm that has yet to break.

For a moment, I forget where I am. Forget the battle raging around us. There’s only the sensation of being part of something far greater, something vast and eternal. The power of the amulet hums in my blood, and I feel stronger than I’ve ever felt before.

Then a mortifying, raw cry cuts through the haze. I snap back to the present, as the fire priest’s laughter echoes through the smoke. His gaze is fixed on me now, his eyes burning with something more than hatred. He knows. He can feel the shift in power, and he’s not about to let me take it.

A new, trembling roar rises from the depths of the mountain. The ground shakes, more violently this time. I know we’re running out of time. The fire priest spreads his hands wide, as if pulling the heat from the very cracks in the land. I can see it now—the power flowing up from the volcano, rippling through him like waves of molten stone. His chanting swells, with each word scorching the air as it leaves his mouth.

“No…” The words cling to the gasp that escapes my lips.

I know what’s coming. Ninaxu.

The first hints of its form begin to rise from the smoke and molten rock. An enormous shadow looms against the sky. Its massive body is a mass of magma, glowing cracks running like veins through its surface, lava dripping down like blood. It starts to claw its way free from the volcano, pulling its immense form from the depths of Xutuina. Its monstrous shape shifts as it begins to climb, sometimes formless, sometimes humanoid.

The air crackles with heat, the ground shaking harder now, and I know—if we don’t stop this, if that thing breaks free, it’ll be the end of us. The end of Qiapu. The end of Pachil.

I clutch the turquoise amulet at my chest, feeling the strength of it pulsing through me. There has to be a way to stop this. There has to. My mind races, searching through everything I know, every scrap of knowledge passed down from the old stories. If Ninaxu fully emerges, the volcano will erupt, and we’ll all be buried in fire.

“We have to break the ritual!” I shout to the others, barely able to hear my own voice over the rumbling volcano. “It’s fueling him!”

I channel everything I can into the amulet, willing the power of the land and sky to disrupt the priest’s magic. The air around me shimmers and warps as I gather what stirs beneath the surface—a wild torrent of heat and light—and hurl it toward the ritual site. The blast unfurls in ribbons of blue, twisting as it slices through the air.

But the priest sees it coming. With a shift of his arms, a wall of molten lava springs up in front of him. It easily absorbs the force of my attack like it was nothing. The lava cools, forming a barrier as solid as stone. The priest’s eyes gleam, and simply laughs tauntingly.

“He’s… too strong!” Paxilche yells. He hurriedly looks about the sacred site, searching for any hint of a clue. His eyes appear to catch onto something, and he points urgently. “There! We need to take out those constructs first! Free up a path to the sorcerer!”

With my heart pounding through my chest, I quickly glance around. The twisted and contorted shapes of the flaming warriors swarm us. Even from where I stand, the heat from them is nearly enough to singe flesh; I don’t want to know what is to become of us if we get too close. But we don’t have a choice. We have to take them down before the fire priest completes the ritual, before Ninaxu rises.

Still possessing the obsidian amulet, Teqosa stands taller now. Whatever hold the fire priest had on him, it’s visibly weakening. Without hesitation, he swings his long glaive at the specters, slicing through one of the flaming warriors. The thing shrieks, a sound like metal grinding against stone. Teqosa’s weapon glows an otherworldly blue as the creature quickly crumbles into ash.

Paxilche is beside him, fiercely swinging his war club. Every swipe releases gusts of wind that howl like distant storms, ripping through the flaming warriors. The flames scatter, limbs blowing apart into embers and wisps of smoke. But almost immediately, they coil back together. Fingers reform from twisting plumes, shoulders and heads flicker back into existence.

One specter lunges at Paxilche, molten claws slashing through the air. It forces him back on his heels, twisting at the last second. The heat scorches close enough to make the skin on his arms prickle. But he gnashes his teeth and presses forward. Another warrior surges from the ground, rising in a pillar of fire. Paxilche meets it with a snarl, wind bursting from his club and sending it scattering into a storm of glowing embers. However, the flames snake through the wind like they were born to it, twisting and swirling until they reform again.

With a growl of frustration, Paxilche slams his war club into the ground. His hands spark and hiss with electric charge, as the air around him vibrates with a sharp hum. He lifts one crackling hand to the sky and pulls down a whip of jagged and white-hot lightning. The bolt snaps downward with a blinding flash, splitting the air in two as it strikes a fire specter square in the chest. The construct doesn’t just dissolve—it explodes, shards of flame scattering into the wind, leaving nothing but a faint hiss of smoke as it evaporates into the night.

More warriors crawl from the molten ground. Paxilche shifts his stance, sweat dripping from his brow, muscles tense as he prepares for the next wave head-on. The ground rumbles, like the volcano is breathing in time with the fire-born army, feeding them, summoning more. He tightens his grip on the war club, and the charge in his hands builds again.

But it’s not enough. There are too many of them, and more keep coming. Their forms emerge from the edges of the fire priest’s spell, fed by the very volcano surrounding us.

Pomacha charges into the fray, his giant battle axe raised high. With a bellowing war cry, he brings the axe down, cleaving through a warrior in a single blow. The flames scatter, and for a moment, it seems like he’s won—but then the fire recoils, transforming into another shape, refusing to be vanquished. Pomacha swears under his breath but keeps swinging, hacking away at anything that gets too close.

Behind him, Atoyaqtli slices his obsidian blade through countless fiery forms, but the constructs are relentless, reforming as quickly as they fall.

Saqatli stands by the edge of the fighting. I see him hesitate for just a moment, his eyes locking onto the nearest fire warrior. Instead of lunging like he usually does, something… different shifts in him. His body twists, morphing in a way I’ve never seen before. He’s changing, not into the familiar jaguar, but into something larger, something covered in thick, stone-like scales. It’s like the very essence of the volcano is reflected in his new form.

Saqatli charges the flaming warrior. His stone-like hide brushes against the fire, absorbing the heat without a single burn. His new form tears through the flaming constructs, scattering them into nothing but cinders. Though he’s a beast, I can still see the surprise in his eyes. He’s never done this before, that much is evident—never transformed into something other than his jaguar form. But there’s no time for wonder. He presses the attack, using this new form to shield the others as the magic from the sorcerer in crimson begins to falter.

The turquoise amulet around my neck thrums again, vibrating against my skin as power surges through me. It feels like the tide pulling free from the grip of a storm, crashing forward all at once—wild, unstoppable—filling every nerve, every muscle. I close my eyes for just a moment, and there it is: the connection, the pulse of Pachil beneath the volcano, ancient and fierce. The land breathes through me, grounding me, shaping me. It’s all here. It’s all part of me now, as though I’ve become an extension of this place, as though the land and sky are waiting for me to act.

“Get to the sorcerer!” I shout the command. Paxilche opens his mouth to protest, watching the fiery forms closing in around me. I glare at him. “Now!” It’s all that I need to say. In an instant, he, along with the others, rush off toward the fire priest.

I raise my hand, fingers outstretched, feeling the charge gather along my arm—cool currents of power waiting to strike. With their fiery weapons glowing white-hot, the flaming warriors circle closer, their forms flickering and twisting like smoke caught in a wind. One lunges toward me, slashing its blade through the air. But I step back, twisting on my heel just in time. The scorching heat brushes past my face, nearly stealing my breath.

I focus everything I have, every spark of strength the amulet feeds into me, and release it in a surge. A wave of blue currents explode from my palm, roaring toward the constructs like a flash flood crashing down a canyon. The wind Paxilche summoned howls through the battlefield, catching the wave and feeding it, twisting the currents into a vortex that tears at the flames. The fire warriors shriek as their bodies unravel. The flames splinter apart into ribbons of smoke and sparks. They fall, one by one, disintegrating mid-lunge. Their weapons crumbling into ash before they can even hit the ground.

The scent of charred stone and sulfur is thick in the air. Ash drifts lazily around me, like embers from a dying fire. For a heartbeat, I stand still, breathing hard, waiting for more to come. But the battlefield is quiet now. Eerily so. Only the wind remains, whistling through the cracks in the terrain, carrying the last remnants of the fire warriors away into nothing.

For the briefest moment, it feels like we’ve won.

The ground shudders—once, then again. The tremors hit harder, rolling through the land in waves that buckle stone and nearly knock us off our feet. A jagged crack shoots through the volcanic rock, and from it spills molten lava, bubbling to the surface in thick, glowing pulses of red and orange.

A blast of heat rolls over us, and the air burns going down, like swallowing embers. I wipe my mouth, half-expecting blood to come away on my hand. The ash clings to my skin and throat. And then, through the smoke and fire, I see it.

Ninaxu.

Its eyes appear first—two furious, molten orbs, glaring through the swirling ash as if they’ve already judged us unworthy. Magma pools into rivers at its feet, and steam hisses as it claws its way out of the volcano.

The unbearable heat presses in on me, like my skin is shrinking over bone. My muscles scream as I move. But it’s not just the heat or the smoke that threatens to crush me—it’s Ninaxu itself, the feeling that this ancient evil has been waiting far too long to emerge, and its chance has finally come.

And then it roars—a sound so massive, like the mountains crumbling into the sea. The air shakes, and I feel it deep in my chest, rattling my ribs. The sky darkens, clouds swirling into a furious spiral overhead, as if even the heavens know what’s coming.

We’re out of time.