Marisol awoke from her short rest feeling strangely renewed. It couldn't have been more than a few breaths, yet her body no longer throbbed with fatigue, and her mind felt clear. She knew the reason before she even looked down.
Her hand, absently rubbing the soft head nestled in her chest, stilled when she noticed her knuckles. They had been raw and bloody from striking the ice in her despair—but now, the skin was smooth, the wounds nearly gone. She flexed her fingers, incredulous, then let out a small laugh and shrugged it off. Another mystery. Another gift. She accepted it as easily as she accepted the small life pressed against her.
Marisol gently squeezed Axochi against her bosom, her joy spilling out wordlessly. The axolotl squeaked in protest, wiggling its tail, but soon melted into her warmth, eyes glowing with quiet contentment.
She rose, determination replacing the earlier panic. The thought of the twins tugged at her chest like a rope, but she forced herself to steady. If she rushed now, if she panicked, she would only fail. Focus on what is in front of you. One step, then the next. It had become her way of surviving grief, and it would serve her here too.
Axochi seemed to sense her shift in resolve. It wiggled free from her armor and clambered up to her shoulder, golden eyes shining with eagerness. At last! its small voice rang in her mind. Let's get out of here!
The work was grueling but purposeful. Marisol cut blocks of ice with precise blades of obsidian, stacking them into rough tiers. Axochi would summon water from the pond, and use it to fuse the blocks together into solid walls. They quickly discovered they could use the environment itself—the frigid air, the brittle ice, the endless water beneath them—as allies.
When Marisol faltered, Axochi nudged her onward. Through their bond, she learned to feel the water locked inside the ice, pulsing faintly like hidden veins. She shaped it, urged it free, guided it into Axochi's waiting hands. The two worked in seamless rhythm: her obsidian striking, his water binding.
It was tedious, monotonous even. Yet with every stacked block, Marisol felt a weight lift from her shoulders. She wasn't helpless. She wasn't lost. She could build a way out.
By the time they neared the shaft she had fallen through, her movements were precise and measured. She had learned from her earlier mistakes. Instead of stabbing into the fragile walls with anchors, she fashioned long obsidian rails that hooked and curved like roots. A platform of dark stone rode those rails upward, carrying her steadily.
Above, Axochi's waters reinforced the cracks before they could spread, freezing into supports stronger than stone. The partnership was almost… playful. Every time the ice groaned ominously, Axochi would chirp, Don't worry, I've got it! and slap a patch of freezing water onto the weak spot. Marisol chuckled despite herself, the bond between them growing with every meter climbed.
At last, a faint glow filtered from the ledge where she had landed before. She pushed upward, platform grinding softly against the ice. Then, with a final lurch, she broke through the tunnel ceiling and pulled herself onto solid ground.
Gasps met her ears.
There they were—the twins, faces pale with worry, standing shoulder to shoulder near the edge. Jaime's owl chattered wildly atop his head. Jimena clutched Xolo's scruff, tears still wet on her cheeks. Even the black panther armor seemed to droop with gloom.
And then Marisol emerged from below, hair wild, obsidian suit gleaming with frost, and a small pink axolotl perched proudly on her shoulder.
"Miss me?" she said with a crooked grin.
The twins rushed forward, relief breaking across their faces like dawn.
Their reunion was filled with clumsy embraces. Jimena threw herself at Marisol with a cry of relief, nearly knocking her back down the icy tunnel. Xolo leapt and licked at her face, whining in delight, his obsidian armor clattering like loose chains. Even the pygmy owl left Jaime's crown for a moment to flutter near her shoulder, curious about the strange pink axolotl that clung there.
Jaime alone kept his distance, shuffling awkwardly with his arms crossed. He gave Marisol a brusque nod and mumbled something about being glad she was alive. His shyness hid the weight in his eyes, the relief he wouldn't dare put into words.
For a short while, they allowed themselves the luxury of stillness. Marisol demonstrated Axochi's odd water magic, laughing when the little creature puffed up proudly at each display. Jimena and Jaime leaned close, fascinated, their own gods' companions unusually quiet as though they, too, watched with interest.
But the stillness never lasted. The chill reminded them, the groaning ice reminded them. After one final squeeze of hands and paws and wings, they pressed forward again.
At Marisol's suggestion, and from the twins' own observations, they decided to move deeper underground. The tunnels, though treacherous, were safer than the open surface with its biting winds and collapsing drifts. Axochi guided them toward the deepest fissures, where Marisol carved rails of obsidian and Jaime reinforced them with keen foresight. Jimena listened and learned, adding her strength when needed.
As they pressed on, their bond grew stronger, not merely from survival but from shared teaching. Marisol told them of her fall, of despair, and of the creature who had answered it with warmth. In return, Jaime whispered of the owl's strange mutterings, of riddles that were sometimes wisdom, sometimes nonsense, but always pushed him to think sharper. Jimena, who had always walked between them, smiled faintly. For once, they all felt less like strangers thrown into trials, and more like family finding their way through the dark.
---
In the heart of the mountain forest, darkness stirred.
Beneath the tangled roots of ancient ceiba trees, the ruins of San Rafael slumbered. Time had choked the once-sacred place, burying its entrance beneath soil and stone, sealing it away in shadow. Only a narrow crack let a thread of light in, painting the interior in dim, shifting beams.
Within that gloom, claws scraped stone. A figure crouched, its blue-scaled body wrapped in ragged hides, the stench of beast clinging to it. Venemaris. Its slitted eyes gleamed as it worked, carving a shrine from broken rock. Before it stood a stone bowl filled to the brim with blood—dark, hot, alive. The liquid boiled without flame, bubbling over the rim to snake across the floor in living script. Latin words twisted and crawled like worms, reshaping themselves with each breath of the candles.
The candles themselves—thick, tallow things of rancid animal fat—spat and sputtered, each crackle feeding the boiling frenzy in the bowl. Smoke rose, black and greasy, clinging to the walls like rot.
"Find the weaknessss in the mind," Venemaris hissed, voice curling like smoke around the stone chamber. Its claws dragged across a wide map etched in front of the shrine—a map of the village. At its center, a perfect circle shimmered faintly, invisible to the untrained eye, shielding the inhabitants surrounding it.
Drops of blood rolled across the stone map, splitting and merging, mimicking the motions of the villagers. Each pulse marked a life. Each ripple a choice.
Venemaris's hand trembled as it hovered above the shield. Its god's voice lingered inside its skull, a constant hum of power and madness. Sometimes it was too much—sometimes the creature lost itself, forgetting what was its own thought and what was command. But when the god's grace surged, the doubt burned away, and the claws knew what to carve.
Venom dripped from their tips, hissing as it struck the shield. The invisible barrier repelled it, pooling into oily black puddles that slid uselessly across the surface. Venemaris snarled, lips peeling back to show sharp fangs.
The candles flared, their last drops of fat sputtering. Smoke and venom twisted together, gnawing at the circle's edge. Slowly, painfully, impossibly, a hair-thin tendril pierced through. Barely visible, it wormed its way into a single droplet of blood. The droplet quivered, then boiled, corrupted from within.
Venemaris's grin widened, jagged teeth gleaming in the firelight.
"Javier Toro," it whispered, savoring the name. "Your grief shall be your undoing."
The blood hissed and spat. The tendril sank deeper. Somewhere in the village, a grieving man's soul shuddered.