Corozal was finally quieting back down after a tumultuous string of days. Juan had been worried that it would never return to normal, but without the ragged army occupying every inch of the town, stinking up the place, the resident profession masters were able to comfortably settle back into their routines.
The fact that it was possible to return to their routines was a testament to the influence that Coop was having on their little town. Before he had come from his Ghost Reef, Fernando and the other more responsible elders had been counting down the days before they would have to take drastic actions. Juan didn’t want anything to do with it. He was happy as long as he was free to fish.
The army that had amassed in Corozal over the past week had been, rather abruptly in his opinion, mobilized under the leadership of Juliana, the region's famous Beast Soul. She and her pet were welcome guests who had eased the burden on the town by defeating trapped Elites so that the locals didn’t inadvertently level up and ruin their survival strategy. She even took out a Field Boss on their behalf in the past. She was one of the four Elites of the Jaguar Sun, and the one that had looked after the local area the most throughout the assimilation. Juan hadn’t personally met the other three, though they were universally known and equally respected. If he asked Juliana, she would share the credit for her successes, but he knew when a girl was being modest.
Tzultacaj the Thunder Axe, leader of the Jaguar Sun movement, was the obvious hero of those opposed to the Cult of Chakyum, but Juan thought he lacked the charisma that Juliana demonstrated. His individual endeavor from Day One of the assimilation had been the inspiration for many in their refusal to surrender, so he held a special place in the consciousness for any that continued the struggle against the Cult. Beyond his unwavering opposition, there didn’t seem to be much to him. To Juan, he seemed like a man consumed by his purpose. It was sad, really, but that’s how it went sometimes. Some people burned with intense brightness.
Then there was his second, Juliana the Beast Soul, who could move through the jungles with the grace of the movement’s namesake, and utilized her strengths to save many, even as hope faded. Sierra the Cloud Dancer was the third. She was known to roam the lands far away, in the cloud forests of Costa Rica, and had been contacted by Juliana in preparation for their next fight. Mateo the Ingenious Guerrilla was the fourth and final Elite who prevented the Cult from comfortably expanding deeper into Mexico. He had been instrumental in transforming Tzultacaj’s simple fight into a proper revolutionary movement, gathering people beneath the black and red banner of the Jaguar Sun to stand in opposition to the shadow of death that the Cult of Chakyum represented.
The four of them had succeeded enough to have their names and reputations known throughout the land, but it seemed like they lost momentum after the siege event for reasons unknown to Juan. It was the sort of thing that Fernando worried about, so Juan might hear bits and pieces, but it wasn’t really his area of concern.
However, when someone used his front yard to organize an army, even he was bound to notice. People had been trickling into the town for what felt like weeks, culminating in Juliana’s appearance as she led a particularly large group that had gathered as she traveled back from the south. But once they had their marching orders, they were off again.
Juan was finally able to take his customary spot on the end of the main pier, free from interference, accompanied only by the regular pelicans, with his trusty fishing rod firmly leveraged between his armpit and his raised knee. The trick was to pull his arm across his belly with his free hand, that way the first bite wouldn’t drag the rod out of place if there was some totally inexplicable reason that he lost concentration. If, for instance, the waves lulled him to sleep, he wouldn’t lose his fishing rod… again.
He let his loose weave straw hat cover his face as he prepared for another hard day of ‘work.’ His loose pants were already rolled up to his knee on his other leg, letting his foot hang over the edge of the concrete pier so that when the high tide reached its peak his toes would get wet. That’s how he knew his shift was over. He wriggled the back of his head into the rolled up poncho until he found the perfect position for a master fisherman to ‘concentrate.’ He sighed in contentment with the town definitely getting back to normal.
His stance may have seemed lazy to those with an untrained eye, but it was actually carefully calculated, optimized through decades of routine practice. Juan had been born in Corozal, and he had been fishing ever since he could walk. One of his earliest memories was of himself and his brothers, covered in mud, after a hurricane wiped the entire town out, fishing among the debris while the elders of the family decided whether to rebuild or leave.
“‘61.” He muttered. “Now that was a year.” He said to himself as he let his mind wander. That hurricane had been a pretty big deal. It defined the future of the town in major ways, but he didn’t think it held a candle to the impact mana was having. Both events had threatened the continued existence of Corozal, but he never really believed it would truly disappear. He figured Fernando would come back and start things over if the worst ever happened.
His brothers hadn’t stayed in their hometown after they were old enough to strike out on their own. Juan imagined that they had passed away even before the apocalypse came. They were certainly old enough, but then again, maybe not. They might be enjoying life as old geezers just like he was in some other place. He wondered if they still fished.
That’s how Juan’s days went, just idly catching fish, keeping them in a bucket, and snoozing in between idle thoughts. When the bucket filled, he’d go to one of the restaurants and trade the day’s work for a good meal, or he’d head to one of the seaside parks and grill them himself for friends that always seemed to be around. The restaurant and parks were empty now, but the spirit of his toils was the same. People paid good money for the kind of experience that had become routine for him, and he had been able to enjoy it everyday for almost 70 years. He pitied the people who hadn’t figured life out the way he had.
Juan lived a life of contentment, hurricane or apocalypse be damned. The key was his personal philosophy. He accepted that the past was gone, and never had any regrets. There was no way to redo past decisions, that was just the way things went. On the other hand, the future was uncertain, so there was no sense in obsessing with worry. No one ever truly knew what tomorrow would bring, and that was a fact even before mana had complicated the world. All they truly ever had was the present. Juan lived for the present. He savored the feeling of the sun on a warm day, the sounds of the breeze passing through leaves, the taste of a prepared meal, or the laughter of friends. They were all precious experiences. Tomorrow’s disorder didn’t matter, and yesterday’s tribulations were already in the past, easily forgotten.
Corozal was settling down now that the Jaguar Sun had begun their campaign. Other than a handful of scouts, only the warriors from the Crossroads remained with the profession masters, and they were agreeable company, unobtrusive and diligent, the way he imagined he was. They deserved plenty of credit for helping the town settle down.
A few of their new benefactor’s companions came and went as well, but they didn’t interrupt the routines of the crafters. Juan appreciated that the members of Ghost Reef hadn’t been insistent on asserting their way of life onto the local residents. He even thought he’d take a trip to their settlement simply because he liked their attitudes. If he enjoyed the island enough, maybe he’d stay for a while. The pirates had indicated the fishing was excellent, and Juan wouldn’t turn down a small holiday from his lifelong vacation.
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He had the sense that even though the army of warriors had left the town, the impending conflict wouldn’t be so easy to avoid. They had left in a hurry, led by Juliana as they sought to disrupt the Cult’s plans by hunting the Priests that lingered at the edge of the Yucatan’s settlement territory. Tzultacaj had sent word that he wouldn’t be returning directly, but had instead connected with his allies in Chiapas and was starting his own campaign on the opposite side of the settlement. The Jaguar Sun was rising after a period of dormancy, and this time, they were circling the Yucatan settlement from two different angles. The idea seemed to be to create a net that trapped the Cult inside the settlement, allowing new allies to reinforce them with each victory before they struck at the center directly.
At the same time, Coop was on the hunt for the individual that led the Cult: Chakyum himself. No one had seen Chakyum, as far as Juan knew, and he was one who doubted his very existence. If he actually was a real person, he figured the Yucatan settlement was as good a place to look as any. If he was the strategizer, he would have made sure Coop was leading the way. Even Juan would feel comfortable following strength like that into battle.
He thought Coop was a good kid. He could have destroyed Juan and Fernando when they first met, but he had graciously held back. Juan chuckled at remembering how Fernando had bounced off the palm tree Coop used as a club.
“Good times.” He muttered to the pelicans, conveniently forgetting that he had bounced just as far. Good thing they had invested all of their points into defense, or they might have been turned to paste even with the Champion holding back.
He dozed in the sun until a strange bird call disturbed his daydreams. Each trill was almost like a deep whining of slurred notes. The sound was different to the normal bird songs in the area and was being carried on the ocean breeze rather than originating from inland. “Kwahh.” Juan imitated, lifting his straw hat above his eyes to lazily look for the culprit.
Just as he sat up, the line on his fishing rod was pulled taut. The line whirred as it shot through the guides. Juan grunted, grabbing the handle before the spool was exhausted. He had baited his hook with some of the special bait only he could craft and that was meant to only attract rare fish. In order to prevent his bucket from filling too quickly, he had to restrict his catches. That meant whatever he caught was likely to be influenced by mana.
When he engaged in the fight, he was shocked at the pressure being applied to his rod. The tip bent as he resisted the pull and he strained to maintain the line. He had let both feet hang over the edge as he sat up, but he was forced to brace one leg against a cleat. Whatever he had caught was strong enough to threaten to drag him into the water. He growled at the resistance. No ordinary fish would fight so hard.
“This is it!” He grunted. “Finally, got the big one.” Juan predicted, digging deep as he engaged in his daily personal battle.
As he struggled with his quarry, the bird call grew stronger and more insistent. He eventually spotted the bird and was surprised to see a resplendent quetzal traveling over the sea directly toward Corozal. They weren’t local birds, but they were distinguishable even to someone like Juan, being prominent in other areas of Central America. The bird was traveling so fast it was actually leaving a depression in the sea, with a wake that expanded behind it.
He didn’t let the elegant bird distract him from his fight, doubling down on reeling in his catch. Juan prepared for a long battle. This was where he earned the right to be a bit arrogant with the youngsters. However, the quetzal’s emerald plumage traced a bee-line directly at his pier. The pelicans that paddled around made flapping escapes, taking to the air as if spooked, ignoring the chance at a free meal, causing him to wonder what was the matter.
A gust of air slapped Juan in the face as the bird flew above his head, forcing him to grab his hat to prevent it from being carried away. The moment of distraction caused him to lose his position with the fish, and the line was pulled even faster. Smoke escaped the spool before finally running out. The rod shot from his hand and flew into the sea with a sad splash while Juan was stunned.
“Run for your life!” A voice shouted and he spun around to face the sound.
A cloud of mana was dissipating as the resplendent quetzal transformed into a human girl. Juan wasn’t sure where to go. He didn’t need to be told to run for his life more than once, but was he meant to run from the girl? When he glanced back at the sea, deciding if he should dive in or not, he saw what she meant. A mountain of water was growing in the bay, approaching Corozal at a speed that would certainly spell their doom.
He turned back to the girl, and before she could tell him again, he started running straight past her, gripping his hat against his head with one hand as he pumped his other arm.
“Warn the others! A High Priest approaches!” She shouted after him, apparently satisfied with his slightly delayed, but decisive, response.
Juan crossed the coastal road, imagining his legs were 20 years younger. “40 years younger.” He corrected himself, gasping for air as he ran straight toward the mana pylon, regretting how the system didn’t offer them a stamina attribute to dump their excess points into.
“High Priest? Gah! Why did I put it all into Body?” He griped to himself as he desperately wished for more speed after being happy about his choice earlier. “‘Nando!” He yelled between breaths. “A High Priest! ‘Nando!”
“What, what, what?” Fernando came out of one of the open buildings, pushing the hanging cloth that acted as its threshold.
“The quetzal said a High Priest is coming.” Juan doubled over to lean on his knees. “We gotta run. Tidal wave.” He concluded as he sucked air into his lungs.
Fernando just looked at him like he was nuts. “Quetzal?” He double checked.
“That’s what I said!” He pointed back toward the pier, worried that they were wasting too much time to escape the incoming tsunami.
As Juan pointed and the pair of old men stared at the warped horizon, blocked by an extraordinary quantity of water, something tore through the air from the opposite direction, low to the ground. At first, he thought it was an extremely fast jet that was leaving a contrail as it crashed. He counted four separate blooms of condensation along the trial, as if it was splashing through invisible layers of the atmosphere itself. Before his mind had a chance to catch up with his eyes, the first sonic boom reached their ears. He flinched at the sound, but the next three booms didn’t surprise him quite as much.
What did shock him was the massive splashing explosion that erupted far off the shore when the object collided with the wave. It was more of a missile than a jet. The tidal wave that had risen across the horizon was split in half and lost its momentum. The water crashed back toward the ocean as if the missile had killed whatever was driving it forward, but white water continued to rush in all directions.
“Let’s take shelter.” Fernando suggested.
Juan thought that was probably a good idea.