Usually when the night fell, the Tamoanchanese women and children gathered around a bonfire, and this time, Kaito and Tome had the luxury to participate. Sitting closest to the heat, the elderly woman, the one earlier extending her welcome to them, called the fire forth to twirl around her hands. The air around the fire crackled, the tongues of flame morphed into men and beasts, and its embers became tendrils of wind that circled them. A folklore etched in the fiery visages. About humans seeking wisdom from the beasts of the forest, wisdom about the secret of how their kind can get along, while humans are always hunting each other.

Tome had her chin resting on her knees, her round eyes tracing the flickering tangerines in awe. Her brother, Kaito, did not really delve into the narrative; he shifted his gaze radially, realising that none of the three teenagers were present in their place. It had occurred to him that they were forsaken here while Alicia and the others went off to fulfil a greater task, either fighting mujinos or perhaps emigrating to another country.

Then again, he noticed Tome revelling in laughter at the spectacle of a human-shaped fire amid fiery birds. He heaved a sigh of relief. He tried to maintain peace of mind. At the very least, his younger sister felt comfortable here.

But the teenagers had yet to leave the city. In truth, one of the them, Izel, was found by the protest activists outside the capital walls.

There she lay prone, sweat akin to seeping blood. When the paper lantern was brought closer to her, it exposed her body laced with some sort of cuts but blistered and exuded a pungent charred odour.

Just as the men attempted to lift her, their grip accidentally tore through the festering blister. Izel's agonising scream jolted them, and they almost became burnt effigies by her magic staff.

"What are you doing here? " Izel snarled in the tongue of Tamoanchan.

"We should be asking you that!" Xochitl, the apparent spokesperson, snapped back.

"That's none of your business!" replied Izel again. "Stay away from me!"

"You're lying in the Kagatsean forest, on the brink of death, madwoman!"

"I'm not dying!" she spat, yet tears threatened as she pulled herself up. She limped to a tree for support as the blisters on her skin and flesh frightened her muscles and nerves. With heavy gasps, Izel pulled something out of her pocket: a flat glass vial. The image of a human with tired eyes but gnashing teeth was imprinted on its centre and inside blazed a pink flame. She bathed herself in the fire, and the wilderness dazzled with pinkish sheen. Panic gripped the men, darting their glances around the forest. No pair of foreign eyes should see this.

The flames on Izel's body were slowly extinguished, leaving her skin restored to its flawless smoothness.

"So you were the ringleader all along. The Pink Flame Ghost."

"Wh-what?"

"Don't say 'what' to us! Haven't you heard the rumours circulating among the Kagatseans? The Pink Flame Ghost strikes outside Takamagahara's walls at night—especially when you’re in the vicinity. Some suspect looters with Ninshu arts, others even think it's mujinos."

"That's not the worst part," added the man next to Xochitl, wearing a monkey-shaped mask with his true face revealed behind the jaws. "It never happened before a while ago. Some thought it was the work of the Tamoanchanese who were invoking a curse."

"And turns out it was indeed the Tamoanchanese ‘invoking’ the curse!" Xochitl interjected. "Our healers say you consistently deplete the Healing Fire at the clinic. What are your intentions?"

Izel feigned deafness. Immediately she grabbed her staff and brushed past them. Her back bumped into the man, almost toppling him over. "None of your business, pansy. Why are you here anyway? Planning another silent protest? So Kagatsean forest, too, becomes your domain at night!"

Xochitl's lips twitched but no words came out. What was there to say if they were caught red-handed?

"If you have no wish to share anything then how about returning to camp before genuine bandits dismember you all, pansies?"

"Stop calling us pansies!" Xochitl raged. "You're telling us to stop disturbing the citizens with our peaceful actions, while you, yourself, are scaring the travellers outside the walls at night! If you get caught, this will be the concern of all of Tamoanchanese!"

"You certainly have a big mouth to patronise me while you were looting shops in the government quarter!"

"My mouth has grown numb to claim that we never looted any stores!" Xochitl seized Izel's hand. Ignited by reflex again, Izel almost unleashed a flaming whip that would have split and roasted the man's head, but she reined in it, redirecting it into the horizon. "What kind of deed like that would have achieved? We were stopping those who take advantage of an opportunity, and yet we bear the brunt! Some people here don't want us around, Izel!"

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

"You think I don’t know that? You think I want to live here, too?"

"Then what are you doing here? With the Healing Fire every night? You've got mental issues!"

Izel returned Xochitl's gaze with a glare, and before long, shook off the man's grip. "I don't have mental issues," she admitted. "I'm training to befriend pain. But it's harder than I thought. No, it's impossible!" Izel swept away dry leaves with her foot. "Pain can't be a friend. It's hard! Endure it, and you still suffer. Why did warriors in the past keep this secret from every generation? What's the point? Nonsense!”

Xochitl narrowed his eyes briefly then widened them with a revelation. "You trained yourself for Tonatiuh Tlachinolli!" he exclaimed. "You do have mental problems! Why would you do that?"

"Why can't I?" Izel turned around, hands outstretched in a challenge. "I'm still one of the participants!"

"It's been six months, Izel! The ceremony ceased to exist the moment Ginnungagap swallowed Tamoanchan!"

"That's the problem with you pansies!" Izel shouted again. "You yielded sooner than the nightfall. Hopeless. Thrall-minded! Behave like that, and before long, all of Tamoanchanese will cease to exist, killed by mujinos or losing their identities in other countries."

Izel retraced her steps home, yet five paces into her journey, she pivoted back. "Once, Xochitl, we were a mighty nation. Without black magic. Without Arcane. A bastion of stability. The Eternal Empire thought twice just to deal with us. Such our privileges were our due as a nation of fire. The land of embers and machines. People are afraid of fire, and indeed, the revelation of the enduring Tonatiuh Tlachinolli, our legacy spanning generations, would have wet their pants. But look at us now. All that glory is gone just because of Ginnungagap. Men, instead of fighting and striving for greatness, make demands. We should be out there fighting! We should be taking!"

"Those days are past, Izel. Move on," Xochitl replied. "This is the cycle. Tamoanchan weathered such tribulations, and others will in turn. Our sole recourse is to initiate afresh.”

"Hark at the tongue of a pansy feigning a sage. How, I ask, shall we initiate afresh? We possessed not even a patch of land." Having said so, she traipsed once more amid the dry leaves. "I refuse to allow the others to die in the Darkness while we start a new life. I have the same chance as my ancestor, Tonatiuh. Tonatiuh Tlachinolli is all I have. I shall resurrect my people. I will not forsake the call of Citlalicoatl, even if you choose to forget. I shall be seen worthy in his eyes..."

Xichotl, however, was disinclined to indulge her patience. "Tonatiuh Tlachinolli is not the only one you have! Where are your people on your list of possessions? And acquisitions anew, like a husband, are within your grasp. Your obsession with the ritual mirrors that of a tzitzimitl! Tzitzimitl, are you? They devote their lives to agony and fire to steal the sun, never entertaining thoughts of men until their fertility expires—”

Xochitl found himself reeling by the rocketing Izel, crashing into a tree then hurtling skywards, suspended momentarily before the magical exhaust initiated its dancing descent, and Izel compelled Xochitl back to the earth!

"Repeat those words! Utter one more syllable about tzitzimitl and my fertility, that I may broil your tongue!"

"Never!"

"Say it again!"

"No!"

"Own your words, Pansy! Say what you said one more time!"

Stubbornness dictated Xochitl’s defiance. Izel's blunt draconian staff raked hard on each side of his head with unrelenting force. If a bruise had yet to manifest, Izel would ensure one. If it had, then the witch would make it darker. If it was already as dark as night, then at least a tinge of blood must ooze out.

Some among Xochitl's companions stood paralyzed, nerves gripped by panic. The monkey-masked ally proved the most valiant, tugging and grappling with all his might to extricate Izel by the arms.

"Izel, please, you're poised to end his life!" implored the friend behind the monkey mask. However, there was no stopping the lady. She alone dictated the rhythm of her actions, so she ceased only when she saw fit.

Xochitl was mobbed by his friends, a chorus of entreaties to persist in breathing. One of them looked up at Izel’s still-fuming face with an expression contorted in disdain. "You're violent! Cruel! I curse you're not worthy of Citlalicoatl's eyes."

But Izel was not influenced by curses from feeble men. "Be grateful for Ginnungagap, for I could have reported the verbal abuse to the Tamoanchanese Civil Guards and individuals of your ilk would have been eradicated," she declared. "Truly, Tamoanchan condemns your demeanour. At least, mind your tongue."

They all went back inside the walls and ambled towards the Tamoanchan community district. Izel led the way, while Xochitl was borne by his companions some distance behind. When they neared, Izel's eyes met Wisesa, who was sitting on the ground before the door’s mouth, a horse horn pipe held between two fingers.

"Long Live Queen Tamoanchan," the lad hailed. "I see you’ve brought many warriors with you."

"Don't lump me in with them." Izel passed Wisesa, then halted in her stride. The tranquil nights, the fairy-tale chants she had expected under the blanket of stars were replaced by the din of noise—children running and shouting as if daylight persisted. "Have you found her? Your bookworm friend?"

"Haven't you heard?"

Izel rushed into the tent, leaving Wisesa to engage with Xochitl and his retinue.

"Who are you?" questioned Xochitl's friend donning a monkey mask.

Content with the dishevelled countenance of Xochitl, Wisesa exhaled a languorous smoke, smoother than his bruised visage. The blangkon-sported lad replied calmly, nonchalantly, "The one who met your mother last night."

"Foolish boy, do you find amusement in greeting the battered with such words?” scolded Barong inwardly, acting as a conscience for Wisesa.

Xochitl's friends were poised to bark out similar words, but the dying chief quashed their intention. "No. He must be a friend of Izel. Just ignore him."

They brushed past Wisesa unceremoniously, while he quipped once more, "Come on! I'm just kidding! My name’s Wisesa. What's wrong with your face, huh? Just had a fight with mujinos?"

Wisesa, eventually, addressed the night spectre.

"Well, quite the introduction, Foolish Boy," remarked Barong.

"Halah! Their mentality is as weak as their lithe bodies," Wisesa retorted. "I'm sure whatever's gracing that guy's face, Izel is preventing it from getting any worse." []