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When you grow up in Qiapu, you hear all the legends. They’re like the air you breathe—how the land was sculpted from stone and fire, how the stars were forged and hung in the sky like jewels, how the gods wrestled with the sun to give us light. It was something to explain why the land trembled from time to time. Why Xutuina should be feared. They tell you about the wars, the sacrifices, the monsters locked away in the deepest parts of the world. They’re meant to awe you when you’re a child. To give you a sense of where you come from. To root you to our traditions.

I remember the way my father told the tale. Limaqumtlia and I would stare at him, captivated by his every word. His voice rose with excitement as his hands painted the story of Aqxilapu battling Ninaxu like it was something more than a fireside story. “The giant, formed by lava flows, claws digging into the ground,” he’d said, his eyes gleaming with the joy of storytelling, with the pride of our people and our history. “Aqxilapu beat it down with a flurry of blows, fought it until his own hands burned from the heat.”

To him, it was a tale of strength, of the gods’ power over the forces of chaos. A reminder that no matter how fierce the world became, someone would always rise to meet the challenge. It was comforting then, in the way all legends are—distant, untouchable.

But nothing prepares you for seeing one of those monsters in the flesh.

I feel the ground buckling beneath me, the deep rumble vibrating in my bones. Ninaxu’s roar is a sound so primal, it feels like it’s cracking the sky open. The heat is unbearable, like we’re already inside the mouth of the volcano.

I can feel the storm inside me, the winds building, the lightning crackling in my veins. I could unleash it all right now—strike at Ninaxu, at the fire priest. But I know what’ll happen if I lose control. I’ve done it before.

But gods, I want to.

It’s as if the whole mountain has come to life, awakened by the fire priest’s cursed ritual. The massive Ninaxu towers over us. Its molten body shifts and seethes as lava drips from its claws like blood. The beast’s glowing eyes lock onto us, burning hotter than anything I’ve ever seen. It lashes out, fire trailing in its wake.

“Scatter!” I yell, but my voice is already drowned by the roar of the terrain splitting apart, by the rumble of lava beginning to pour from the mountain. My body moves before my mind catches up. Wind surges around me as I push off, sprinting to avoid the molten claws that swipe down like thunder.

The others scramble. All I can see is Ninaxu’s massive clawed hand, the size of a house, crashing down. The ground explodes in a spray of molten rock, and I throw up my hands on instinct. The wind answers my call, and a gust howls past me, somehow deflecting the molten spray just before it hits. Teqosa barely dodges a wave of fire as it rolls toward him. Walumaq is holding her ground, the turquoise amulet glowing at her chest. But even with her powers, I can see it’s a losing battle. We’re too small, too fragile against this.

The ground pulses beneath us, sending tremors through my legs. Ninaxu stirs within the molten flow, claws of cooling rock dragging against the stone slopes. Its colossal frame shifts upward, blackened and cracked with glowing fissures, gaining size and strength with every passing moment. Smoke billows from its mouth, as the stench of sulfur and charred stone fills the air. The fire priest stands just beyond it, arms outstretched, drawing power from the molten flow as if summoning the mountain itself into the beast.

Teqosa moves first. He sprints through the smoldering rubble, dodging the columns of ash that sprout like weeds around him. He cuts down one of the molten specters with a clean swing of his blade. The specter falls apart in a burst of embers. But just as fast, another one takes its place, bursting from the ground.

I narrow my eyes, watching Teqosa fight. There’s a steadiness in him now, a focus that wasn’t there before. As he twists to avoid a flaming claw, the red light catches on something around his neck—an obsidian amulet, dark and glinting in the firelight.

Is that the same one Walumaq had? I thought she kept it, but now…

I glance at Walumaq. She stands just beyond the fiery haze. Closing her eyes in deep concentration, she mutters something under her breath and raises her hands. Without warning, water erupts from some hidden source beneath the mountain’s crust. Where on Pachil did that come from? A turquoise amulet at her chest glows faintly as she lifts the water in a graceful arc, shaping it into a stream that rushes toward the nearest specter. The water smothers the flames with a hiss, extinguishing the construct before it can reform.

She’s always had control over water, but this… this is different. The precision, the power—it’s as if the water is alive in her hands, moving with a force beyond her own. The turquoise amulet pulses once, and I swear… no, it must be a trick of the eyes, an illusion. For a moment, I swear, she almost glows with it.

A creature roars through the chaos—a flash of stone-like armor darting through the smoke. It takes me a moment, but then I recognize the fierce glint in its eyes—it’s Saqatli. He’s taken on a form I’ve never seen before: a hulking armadillo, his hide thick and hardened, with plates of stone-like armor that shimmer as he moves. He barrels into one of the specters, claws scraping against molten flesh, sending up a spray of embers. The creature shrieks as its flames lick harmlessly against his shell, sliding off as though repelled by his very skin.

Saqatli lands with a heavy thud, dust and ash swirling around him as he pivots. His instincts kick in—just as a spray of molten rock erupts from the ground, he tucks and rolls, curling into a near-impenetrable ball. The fiery projectiles glance off his armor, leaving only faint, smoking marks on his plated hide. When the assault stops, he unfurls, standing his ground amid the flames around him. His claws dig into the ground, ready to strike again.

The priest snarls, hands twisting in a new pattern. The molten ground erupts in front of us, sending flaming specters surging forward in droves. Their bodies and outstretched claws drip with flame as they rush toward us.

“Keep them back!” I shout to the others. I release a burst of wind that whips through the battlefield. The constructs waver under the force, but they reform as quickly as they break apart. There are too many, and the priest isn’t slowing—if anything, his chanting grows stronger.

Teqosa lunges through the smoke. His glaive slices at the priest’s summoned specters. The flames writhe away from him, as though the amulet around his neck commands them to recoil. Each swing is hard-earned—he’s panting, his body slick with sweat and streaked with soot. But his strikes cut deeper than they should, scattering the constructs into embers that vanish into vapor.

I press forward, wind swirling around me in violent gusts, throwing off the specters that come too close. Teqosa is clearing a path toward the fire priest, but there’s still the matter of Ninaxu. The creature’s molten claws dig deeper into the volcanic rock, and its body emerges more and more with each breath. The priest’s chant warps the smoke into symbols that twist like living beings, binding Ninaxu tighter to this world.

Walumaq isn’t far behind Teqosa. She thrusts her hands forward, and water erupts from cracks in the rocky ground. It’s not a river, not an ocean, but it’s enough. She pulls the water upward, guiding it into coils that swirl around Ninaxu’s emerging body. The turquoise amulet glows brighter with every movement, and I swear I see patterns flicker across the water like serpents swimming through rivers.

The water slams into Ninaxu. It hisses and steams as it maneuvers around the hardened body, hitting molten rock and causing the creature to falter. Its claws loosen their grip, and magma sloughs off its body in chunks.

But the fire priest is undeterred. His hands twist, sending a flare of heat so intense it evaporates some of the water mid-air, leaving only curling steam.

“More!” Walumaq growls, frustration tightening her voice. Her arms sweep in desperate, fluid motions, pulling every bit of moisture from the fractured rock beneath our feet. A second surge of water rises, forming walls that crash into Ninaxu’s limbs, forcing them back. It’s as if I can feel her will pulsing through the amulet, as if she’s not just guiding the water but becoming it.

Teqosa presses closer to the priest, weaving through the firestorm. As another specter lunges toward him, he rolls to the side. The flaming claws swipe, but narrowly miss. He rises with a swift upward slash of his glaive. The obsidian blade hums through the air, catching the priest’s attention for the first time.

The priest sneers, flicking his wrist to send a wave of fire directly at Teqosa. But instead of flinching, Teqosa lifts his hand. As the amulet glows at his throat, the fire splits, parting harmlessly around him. Whatever the priest had done to him, it’s broken now. He’s free.

I gather the storm inside me, lightning sparking along my arms, wind howling around me like it’s hungry to be unleashed. I can feel the energy coiling tight, ready to tear through everything in its path.

“Teqosa! Now!” I shout, sending a surge of wind to drive the fire priest off balance.

Teqosa doesn’t hesitate. He charges forward with renewed strength, his glaive gleaming blue against the black of night. With a final, decisive swing, the obsidian blade slices through the fire priest’s outstretched arm, cutting deep. The priest staggers. His chant falters. The fiery symbols in the air dissolve, curling away like dying embers.

The connection to Ninaxu wavers. The massive claws that were burrowing into the slope slide back, the molten flow cooling and hardening into cracked rock. The beast lets out one last deafening roar, its form flickering like a flame on the verge of extinction.

Sensing the shift, Walumaq sends a final wave of water crashing into Ninaxu’s chest. The torrent hits with a force that shatters the remaining bonds between the creature and the mountain. Ninaxu groans, its form collapsing into a river of cooling lava, sinking back into the volcanic pit from which it emerged.

Walumaq collapses to the ground in exhaustion. Síqalat and Atoyaqtli rush to her side, helping her to her feet. With a limp wave, she brushes them aside as she takes in gasps of air. Saqatli, back in his human form, and Teqosa stand shoulder to shoulder, panting, as the grounds of the volcano fall momentarily still. An unnatural silence blankets the field, settling over the bodies, the scorched terrain, the smoldering remnants of the fight. There’s just the faint hiss of dying flames and the soft, ragged breaths of the survivors.

It’s over.

Or so we think.

The fire priest staggers to his feet, clutching his wounded arm. A twisted grin spreads across his soot-streaked face. His eyes gleam with something dark—something desperate.

Before I can react, the priest’s free hand claws through the air in a sharp, violent twist, like he’s ripping something invisible apart. The atmosphere shifts. Pressure bears down, suffocating. It’s as if the mountain itself is drawing a deep, sinister breath. Beneath my feet, the ground growls—a low, guttural rumble that reverberates through my blood. A seething red heat pulsing between the jagged rock like exposed veins.

I can feel it—the raw, volcanic power curling downward, deeper, as though retreating back into the heart of the mountain.

“No!” Walumaq breathes. Her turquoise amulet dims as she realizes what’s happening.

The priest’s laughter rises over the trembling ground. His voice is hoarse, but victorious. “Have it your way.” His words drip with malice. “I will bring the mountain down upon you.”

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The cracks widen. The once-dormant volcano roars to life, belching smoke and fire into the sky. The already suffocating air grows heavier, hotter, choking us with the stench of burning stone. Lava bubbles up faster, pouring down the slope with terrifying speed, spreading fast. Too fast.

Panic grips my chest as I glance toward the horizon—the villages below are directly in the lava’s path. If we don’t stop this flow, everything down there will be consumed.

I clench my fists. The storm still thrums inside me, but my mind is fixed on the priest. Glancing in his direction, I catch him disappearing into the haze with that twisted grin on his face. He’s slipping away, and every part of me burns to chase him, to put an end to him before he can cause any more destruction. I can’t let him win. Not after all of this.

“We need to stop the eruption,” Walumaq says firmly. She now stands beside Teqosa, who gravely looks upon the flowing magma. The turquoise amulet still flickers faintly against her chest, as water swirls around her feet like tendrils waiting to be called into action.

“You can’t be serious!” The words leave my mouth before I can stop them, the anger surging as wild as the storm inside me. “We must stop the priest now, or this won’t end. You think he’s just going to walk away after this? He’ll come back, and next time, we won’t have a chance.”

Teqosa steps forward, his glaive gleaming through the smoke, eyes locked on mine. “You think that’s the smart play? Charging after him while the volcano tears everything apart?” There’s a sharp edge to his voice, the kind meant to cut deeply. “The sacred lands. The people below. Do they mean nothing to you?”

I glare back, lightning sparking at my fingertips. “They mean everything. That’s why we end this here. The priest dies, and it’s over.”

“You’re being reckless.” Teqosa’s grip tightens on his glaive. “Again.”

“Enough!” Walumaq’s shout breaks through, and both of us freeze, her presence more commanding than I’ve ever felt. Water swirls at her feet, and the turquoise amulet pulses faintly, matching the rhythm of her breath. “We don’t have time for this.”

Saqatli shifts uneasily near her, glancing between us. After a moment, he exhales sharply. “We stop the lava,” his voice echoes through our minds. “If we do not, nothing else will matter.”

Teqosa gives me a final, pointed look, like he’s daring me to argue again, but I bite back the words. He’s right. Walumaq’s right. But it doesn’t make it any easier to swallow.

“Fine,” I snap, releasing the storm within me just enough to keep it from erupting. The words taste bitter on my tongue, but there’s no time for grudges.

The ground convulses, shuddering as if the mountain itself is coming undone. Cracks split wide open, jagged mouths yawning to reveal the fiery depths below, where molten rock churns and spits, the glow fierce and blinding—a raw, seething red-orange that casts everything in shades of blood and embers. Lava spills over the edges, oozing at first like a sluggish beast. But within moments, it gains momentum, spilling down the slope in thick, unstoppable waves. This kind of eruption can swallow whole cities, wipe histories clean. The flow is a hungry, churning river of fire, creeping toward Qiapu like it’s been waiting generations to claim it.

“Move!” Teqosa urgently commands. “We have to steer it!”

He drives his enchanted glaive into the rock with a grunt, twisting the blade to widen a trench. The obsidian amulet at his throat glints in the firelight, though he doesn’t seem aware of it. He pulls the glaive free and carves another channel with swift, practiced motions. The lava bubbles angrily, hissing as it spills into the makeshift path. It’s a small victory—but the flow is relentless.

I plant my feet, calling the storm inside me. Wind rushes around us in fierce gusts, fanning the smoke and slowing the advancing molten tide. It’s not much, but it buys us seconds. Seconds we can’t afford to waste.

"Again!" Walumaq shouts, summoning every drop of moisture from the cracks in the ground. Water rises in spiraling currents around her hands, coiling like serpents as the turquoise amulet at her chest pulses with energy. She shapes the water into a wave and slams it into the lava with a flick of her wrist. Steam erupts in a blinding cloud, the air hissing with fury.

"It’s not enough," she mutters, frustration bleeding into her voice.

Nearby, Atoyaqtli and Pomacha stand shoulder to shoulder, their weapons drawn. They launch into the fray as another wave of fire specters rises from the lava. The creature’s forms twist and contort, mouths stretched in silent screams. Pomacha strikes first, his axe carving through one of the specters with ease, scattering it into embers. Atoyaqtli isn’t far behind, slashing at a second specter, though his obsidian sword cracks with each impact.

“Hold them off!” Teqosa barks, carving another trench with his glaive. “We just need a little more time!”

Atoyaqtli glances over his shoulder, catching sight of Upachu and the cart at the edge of a widening fissure. The ground splits open like an angry wound, veins of molten lava crawling dangerously close. The llama stands rigid, its wide eyes fixed on the fiery crevice. Upachu frantically tries to pull the cart to safety, but his movements are erratic in his panic.

“Atoyaqtli!” Pomacha shouts, already moving toward them and directing the Sanqo general’s attention to the Qiapu elder.

Without a second thought, Atoyaqtli nods, and the two warriors surge toward Upachu. Pomacha swings his axe, carving through a fire specter that blocks their path. The creature shatters and disintegrates into the air, but another specter rises from the fissure, lunging toward Upachu and the llama.

Upachu scrambles back, grabbing the reins and attempting to pull the llama away, but the ground gives a sudden lurch, sending him stumbling. “Move, Upachu!” Atoyaqtli yells, swinging his sword at the advancing specter. His obsidian blade bites through the creature, but the force sends cracks spidering along the weapon’s edge.

Pomacha reaches the cart just as another fissure cracks open, sending lava oozing dangerously close. He plants himself between the cart and the oncoming threat, slashing at anything that dares come near. “Get that beast moving, now!” he barks, hacking through a creature with one powerful strike.

“I’m trying!” Upachu snaps. He stumbles to his feet, tugging the llama forward with all his strength. The animal finally responds. Its instincts kick in as it lurches forward, bringing the cart rattling along with it.

Atoyaqtli and Pomacha fall into step beside them, warding off the specters as they press forward. They finally pull clear of the fissures, reaching a more stable and settled patch of ground. Upachu slumps against the cart, breathing heavily, but a faint grin flickers across his face.

“Not the warmest welcome I’ve ever had,” he mutters, trying to catch his breath.

Atoyaqtli nods, the remnants of his blade still clutched tightly in his hand. “Just stay close, and keep that cart ready,” he says, glancing back at the fissures still smoldering in the distance. “We’re not out of danger yet.”

Síqalat dives into the fray. Her spear swiftly slices through the air, leaving trails of heat and light in its wake. She moves like a tempest, vigorously cleaving the conjured creatures. The fire specters snarl as her weapon rips through them, contorting their bodies. They burst apart in spirals of flame and ash, snuffed out like sparks drowning in water.

Pomacha forcefully strikes down a specter with his battle axe, scattering its burning remnants across the slope. Another specter lunges at him, but Saqatli barrels into it, knocking it off balance. His claws tear into the flaming figure, ripping it apart before it can reform.

We’re struggling to redirect the lava flow, Upachu peeks from behind the cart, his eyes searching the terrain. “There!” he shouts, pointing to a narrow ridge where the lava is thinnest. “Channel it toward the rocks! They’ll hold—if you can guide it there!”

Teqosa gives a curt nod, already moving toward the location. He drives his glaive into the ground, grimacing as he carves another trench.

“Walumaq—block the overflow!” he yells.

Walumaq raises her arms, water swirling around her. She sends a wave crashing into the molten river, hardening part of the flow into black rock. But the lava keeps coming in a never-ending stream.

“I need more water!” she gasps, her hands trembling from the effort as she drops to one knee.

“I’ve got it!” I call, though my voice barely cuts through the roar of the storm. I throw everything I have left into the winds, feeling the last reserves of strength drain from my limbs. It’s as if the storm itself is pulling life from my veins. The air trembles under my command, unleashing a wild, relentless howl that whips the steam into spirals. I grind my teeth like a mortar and pestle as I push, sending the gust toward the ridge. It forces the lava to follow Teqosa’s trench.

It’s working. Slowly, painfully, it’s working.

My vision blurs. My muscles strain. My lungs burn with every gasping breath. The power feels like it’s slipping through my fingers, demanding more than I know I can give.

The fire specters surge again, desperate to break our momentum. Through the smoke, Pomacha and Atoyaqtli hold the line. Pomacha roars as he swings his axe, cleaving through two specters in a single blow. Síqalat’s spear carves through the creatures like a sudden rip tide, as each strike is like a wave crashing against rock.

Saqatli shifts back into human form, panting and wiping the soot from his brow as he slowly recovers.

“Stay close,” I say, gathering the wind around me again. “We’re almost there.”

The ground shudders beneath us, the mountain groaning like a beast in its death throes. “Now!” Teqosa orders. “Drive it toward the ridge!”

Walumaq raises her hands, her fingers trembling as she channels the last of her strength into the turquoise amulet at her chest. The stone flares to life, casting an eerie, aquamarine light that pulses against the darkness like a heartbeat. With a sudden roar, water surges forward. A massive, churning wave rises impossibly high before crashing into the molten flow.

The collision is deafening—a hiss so loud it drowns out thought, feeling, everything. Thick steam erupts in a furious explosion, consuming the air in a searing white cloud that blots out the world. The ground trembles beneath my feet, and for a breathless moment, we’re all caught in the blinding fury of it.

When the steam finally begins to clear, I blink against the brightness, struggling to see what remains. The flow redirected away from the villages below. The lava is hardened into a jagged wall of black rock.

We did it.

I turn to where the fire priest stood, ready to lock eyes with him, to throw every ounce of fury I’ve got left straight at his smug face. But he’s already moving. His blood red robes blur through the haze of steam and smoke.

“No!” The word tears from my throat as I start forward.

But something shifts in the air. He steps into the smoke, his body dissolving into the swirling ash like a whisper lost in a storm. The light warps around him, shadows stretching unnaturally long, wrapping him like a cloak. One moment he’s there, the next, the priest is gone, vanished into the murk.

Before he disappears entirely, his voice slithers through the smoke, sounding as if he’s standing just behind us.

“This was only the beginning,” he taunts with a chilling certainty. “A small taste of what awaits you. When the fires rise in Pichaqta, when the heart of this land beats with flames… even the strongest will be consumed.”

And then he’s gone.

I stand frozen, the storm inside me crackling at the edges, desperate to release. My fists shake, not from exhaustion but from the sheer rage boiling inside me.

Walumaq’s eyes drift beyond the mountainside, to where the distant city of Pichaqta lies shrouded in smoke. She doesn’t speak, but I can tell something’s wrong. Something’s pulling at her. Her amulet pulses again, this time a little brighter. I watch as her hand brushes against it like she’s trying to silence whatever it’s telling her.

“You feel it too, don’t you?” I mutter, unable to keep the bitterness out of my voice. “This isn’t over.”

She doesn’t respond right away. Just stares at the horizon. It’s like she’s hearing something we can’t, like the land itself is speaking to her. And I can’t stand it—the quiet, the uncertainty. The priest escaped. Again. And here we are, standing in the aftermath.

“We’ve only delayed him,” Walumaq says finally under her breath, almost like she’s speaking to herself. “Whatever his plans are, he’s got more in store for us, for Pachil.”

Something inside me snaps. “Then why didn’t we stop him?” I bark, my voice louder than I intended. The wind stirs around me, the storm clawing at the edges of my control. “We had the chance. Someone could’ve gone after him. We could’ve ended it, and now—now we’re standing here like fools, waiting for whatever disaster he’s got planned next.”

Teqosa straightens, leaning heavily on his glaive, his eyes catching the faint red light of the fading flames as he surveys the cooling rock. “We did what we had to do,” he says, with that same edge to his voice he’s had all day. “We saved the villages. We stopped the flow. You saw how close it was—“

“I don’t care about ‘close.’” My hands are shaking, lightning sparking in my veins. “He’s still out there. We should’ve gone after him!”

“Paxilche, enough,” Walumaq snaps. “We made the right choice.”

“Did we?” The words taste like ash in my mouth. “Because all I see is him slipping away—again. And now what? We wait for him to burn down more villages? To raise another monster?”

Saqatli shifts uncomfortably, his gaze lingering on the hardening lava, as if he’s searching for something—anything to avoid watching this confrontation. Síqalat looks over, clearly caught between the impulse to intervene and the wisdom to stay silent. Atoyaqtli appears to be suffering some strain, as though he’s waiting for someone to give a command he can act on. Pomacha grunts, his war axe hanging loosely in his hand, but even he seems unsettled by what we’ve just been through.

Upachu takes a few steps closer, watching Walumaq with a look of veiled concern. He gestures toward the horizon, his hand trembling slightly. “Pichaqta,” he murmurs, like he’s saying the name of something long lost. “If he’s truly after it… we’ll find nothing good there. But we have nowhere else to go.”

Walumaq nods slowly, her fingers wrapping around the turquoise stone at her chest. “It’s a trap, that much is certain. But we’re not going to stay put. We can’t.”

Bitterness rages inside me. We’re playing right into the fire priest’s hands, following him like a line of fools. Every step toward Pichaqta feels like sinking deeper into quicksand—something pulling us in, eager to watch us struggle.

Pichaqta was my city once. Now it feels less like home, more like a snare. It’s a place where Saxina waits with open arms and hidden knives. He’s a ruler in name only, bending his knee to a cult that twists minds and corrupts souls. He’s forgotten what it means to be Qiapu, to feel the pulse of our traditions, to carry the stories that anchor us to who we are. His influence seeps the city like rust in an old blade, spreading through the metal until it’s too brittle to be reforged.

The priest of the Eye in the Flame is drawing us back into the heart of that darkness. Back to where Saxina’s watching, waiting, ready to see me fall. He’s let Pichaqta slip into the hands of these cultists, welcoming them like some warped alliance. Undoubtedly, they’ll be ready for us.

Yet a sick satisfaction gnaws at me, thinking of the fire priest, Saxina, all of them. They think they’re on the cusp of something great, something that ensures their inevitable victory. But I’ll take every one of them down with me, if it comes to that.