The district roads where the Tamoanchanese resided had transformed into desolation akin to graveyards by the stroke of eight, and it was already ten, yet the bridge of Izel's nose had yet to cross the camp door. It seemed her relatives were unperturbed by the girl's behaviour, retreating to their fortress of dreams as if that was how tomboyish girls were. All save for one elderly man, who simmered alone by the campfire with a bowl of food on the table capped by another bowl. The Elder Cipac of Otnagochi fought against his burning gaze and any corporeal rebellion, relying on the heat rubbing the skin of his wrinkled hands to stave off the encroaching spectre of slumber.

After all, Izel was a young lady. After all, Izel was a human being. And human beings tend to lapse in vigilance at all times. The elder had felt it before. He was feeling it now.

Soon, the resonance of carpeted steps was heard. At the main camp, the Orange Witch manifested in one piece. Her being was bathed in sweat. Her gait was unsteady. The same old night. She was taken aback to find the chieftain seated solitary in front of the campfire like a lone, dying monarch.

"You must be tired from your journey, cihuaconetl, " greeted the elder in their native tongue.

"Tlatli!" Izel genuflected. "I thank you for fighting the fatigue of waiting for me. Go to sleep. I will be along shortly."

The elder then upraised the bowl beside him. "You missed dinner."

With a subdued smile, Izel accepted the bowl and sat before him. An orison graced the air with no inclination to be faint. She opened the bowl and scooped out a spoonful of maize afterwards.

"Why linger at this untimely hour?" the elder asked.

Izel shrugged. "Training. The usual," she replied upon a swallow.

The elder squinted. "Why not do it during the day?"

"I also train during the day."

"Tlemauayolotli practitioners do not train at night, when Citlalicoatl's eyes are not guarding, and xiuhcoatls are watching."

The motion of scooping up the spoon abruptly halted.

"I need more practice." Izel mustered a fleeting grin, then accelerated her eating pace. The anxiety pronounced the ache in her back.

"You are one of the rare practitioners skilled in both the Way of Breath and the Way of Words. That is on par with your master."

"I must surpass my master."

"...What for? Frequent Exposure to fire magic may have adverse effects on your fertility."

The clinking of bowls struck louder against the silence of the night—either the spoon had indeed slipped in a puddle of maize and meat, or she was intent on sundering the bowl with the utensil in a fit of ire over that one last word.

"P-pardon my presumption, Tlatli," Izel kept her composure with a wry laugh. "But these are times of war. A war to safeguard our home—no, not our home, but at least for the perpetuation of the Tamoanchanese. And you are not my taste, nor my nantli, let alone a tlatli bound by blood. We need not pry into my fertility or marital matters and such."

"If more women were of your ilk, surely the Tamoanchanese would vanish, for none would bear children."

"If we harbour such a narrow view, the Tamoanchanese would vanish, for everyone is dead, and none of the men would father any."

"I... hold concern for you, cihuaconetl, " the elder tried to assuage her. "I hold concern for all of Tamoanchanese's sons and daughters. I seek the survival of us all. However, for that to happen, I also need you and all others to adhere to order. Not to seize more than is allotted to them."

Although her spoon continued its diligent traverse of the bowl, Izel staunchly maintained her defensive stance. "But I follow the order. I have a hand in this battle."

This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

"You're not listening to me. I am aware of your deeds until your untimely return."

And at that moment, there were no more side dishes left in the bowl. Slowly, Izel placed it on the ground.

"Xochitl told me," the elder said again.

Izel's tongue clucked, "You say order when no one talks about Xochitl and his cohort of effeminate males dwelling in the city like spineless cravens. Why should you credit his words?"

"Please refrain from labelling your brothers thus. They are here to protect the women and children."

"They are here because they fear war!"

"War is supposed to be feared. It is supposed to be avoided. Nonetheless, I did send them to ignite courage elsewhere. In any case, this is not what I wished to broach. I invest credence in his words because they hold merit. As I said, Tlemauayolotli practitioners do not practice at night... Except... on extraordinary occasions."

Izel had not spoken a word.

"I need truth from your tongue, cihuaconetl."

Izel were still mute. After a few long breaths and hesitant head shakes, only then did she have the courage to part her lips.

"That is correct. I did it."

The elder's limp eyes fell. It was his turn now to let out a prolonged breath. "You must not do it again."

"Why not?" Izel hissed.

"What if the guardian samurais catch you red-handed? What if you commit an error and set the Kagatsean forest ablaze?"

"Why fret over such trivialities? I'm as careless as a fledgling pyromancer if I accidentally set the forest ablaze!"

"Your actions could potentially bring about a breach of our treaty with Kagatse. A disaster for our entire community!"

"But we direly need this power more than anything!" Izel insisted, growing increasingly recalcitrant. "We always invoke it on golden days and times of peace! It seems foolish to me that we should not do so in times of danger."

The elder refused to stay mute. A fresh argument was thrown at once. "Yet you cannot continue the ritual! The ritual is grand, demanding resources and many priests for Citlacoatl to come."

"We don't need many priests," Izel contended. "I know how to do this alone. I gleaned the knowledge from the annals of yore. Tota the Two-Toothed Turquoise, the Ancient Chosen One did this to quell strife during a civil war when the priesthood was split!"

"That is a very, very rare exception. Will Citlalicoatl heed your ritual? What makes you Tota’s equal?"

"I emphasise my respect again, but what do you mean by saying that, tlatli? I should have asked you that, because the funny thing is..., I've barely heard the psalms from our lips since Ginnungagap. No one deigns to remember Citlalicoatl with a simple but worthy ritual. They merely open their mouths to the sacred name the way Westerners speak of Silent Divine." She quickly realised her impudence. "Forgive me. I overstepped," she continued, head bowed. "But... my stance remains unaltered. I still believe the sun is yet Citlalicoatl's eye, and he desires his other eye bequeathed to the chosen one!"

The elder's eyes slowly focused on the tongues of fire that were swaying freely regardless of the confrontation between them. The words just now tickled his head, gradually morphing into a white noise that hummed and clutched at his thoughts. It dawned on him; their days were like the dimness they saw now. Pleas and prayers wafted like aimless paper in the void. The old man dared not say on his lips that he was the wisest of the faithful. Izel, though wisdom was not in her, possessed a faith as untamed as the bonfire before him.

"Mayhap Citlalicoatl bestowed this as a trial unto us," the old man posited. "He wants to know if we endure as a strong nation when we truly enter hard times. For we are not like other people—weak men that create hard times, then the hard times forge strong men, and the strong men realise good times, just so the good times weaken them again. We are a nation whose fire never dies out no matter how many seasons we've lived through, eras witnessed, or eclipses surmounted, as per Zopteclaliqla's tablet. However, it's been a long time since Tamoanchan lived in peace. I question if our fire yet dances with wild abandon."

"We are indeed a resilient people, tlatli", Izel approached the elder, kneeling and holding his wrinkled hand. "And because of that, we shall be deemed worthy again by the eyes of Citlalicoatl. His gaze will once again grace us all, so long as none forget.”

The elder's reply, however, resonated like a thunderclap. "Even if we are all true believers, we cannot perform the ritual. We can't even openly practice magic here except for combating mujinos. Think of what is most tangible and easiest for your senses to reach: your own family." the elder clapped Izel's hands back and felt them warm to the touch. So too did her face, tinged with resentment. "Do not do that again under my watch. We already have another helper: your friend who possesses Arcane might. With her aid, the origins of the mujinos will assuredly be unveiled, and we shall eradicate these monstrosities at their roots, prevailing to stride into the unknown another day.”

Izel was utterly sick of that one keyword. Arcane. There were still those who held hope for it when it brought nought but misfortune to the battle. The same force that nearly brought them to their knees at the Battle of Onogoro. The force that made them blind back at the past waves.

Thus, the Orange Witch released the elder's hand and returned to her place, gathering her used bowl of food.

"Don't forget to take a bath. You're soaked with sweat," the elder added, then got up and walked towards his tent. "And don't break the bowl," he turned again. "Extend sympathy to the women who tend to the kitchen.”

It was not a jest he suggested.

***

Midnight had passed. Yet, Izel still had not sought refuge within the confines of her tent. Instead, she sat back by the campfire and lingered there, staring into the flames.

"Don't let me come to you," Izel murmured. "If I come to you, your bones shall turn to ash." []