Salutaris snorted at the heap of charcoal that Venemaris' body had become. The vessel, driven through the thick ceiba trunks, had turned to mush on the inside. Once divine power had run dry, the chosen's altered body could do little against such overwhelming force. Even with the changes he'd inflicted on Venemaris, a mortal shell was still a mortal shell. Something to account for next time.
From the abyss, the sinister god smiled—already calculating his next move.
Marisol staggered upright, just as Jimena's legs gave out and she dropped to her knees. Steam lifted off her body in slow waves, and the remaining pink mist drifted toward her with soft intent. Whatever faint sentience lingered within that mist, moved on pure instinct, gathering around Jimena in a gentle swarm. Burnt skin melded back together; bleeding stopped; the boiling, cracked patches sealed. Jimena let out soft sobs of relief, her exhaustion unraveling all at once.
Marisol felt the last ceiba tree cry out through the roots beneath her feet. Its massive trunk trembled, struggling to hold the fractured ceiling aloft. The falling debris grew heavier—fist-sized clumps turning into boulders that punched through weakened branches.
Large cracks spidered outward from the impact crater where Tomas' blackened body had drilled into the earth. His twisted mass, brought a nauseating discomfort with it—an echo of a man long lost and hardly remembered.
At the far side of the underground chamber, more cracks spread. Thankfully, this was opposite the direction they had entered. Here, some trees still held strong, their lingering divinity catching falling stone and keeping collapse at bay—if only barely.
Marisol reached Jimena just as the last of the pink mist dissipated. She looked far better than the torn, bloodied figure Marisol had glimpsed earlier, though patches of scorched skin still clung to her like angry red brands. Marisol winced at the sight.
She placed her hand gently on Jimena's shoulder and drew deeper on life than she ever had before. Her gem throbbed painfully with every patch of skin she healed. Jimena, eyes closed since striking the final blow against Tomas, gasped sharply as her injuries mended completely. Tears streaked her soot-covered cheeks.
"We did it," Marisol whispered, pulling her close. "You did it."
Jimena sagged into sleep the moment the words were spoken. The sudden calm washed over Marisol as the adrenaline bled away, her whispered affirmation sealing the end of this nightmare.
Then, with a deafening groan, the ceiling gave way.
Moonlight from the distant crescent sky pierced the collapsing chamber for a single breathtaking moment—before a torrent of earth followed. Marisol tried to summon her power, to call forth an obsidian shield, but agony lanced through her chest and shattered her concentration.
So she did the only thing she could.
She threw herself over the sleeping girl, wrapping her protectively in her arms, as the world above them fell.
---
Jaime arrived alongside the smoky owl apparition just in time to see a wide stretch of sandy ground give way. The earth sank with a thunderous groan, collapsing into a yawning pit and sending a choking cloud of dust into the air. His heart seized as the smoky owl dove headfirst into the debris, its shape flickering with urgency—Marisol and Jimena were inside.
Jaime didn't hesitate. He plunged in after it.
Golden light flared from his owl-helm eyes, cutting through the swirling dust as if it weren't even there. Two sweeping beams scanned the ruined chamber below: the rotting husks of fallen ceibas, smaller trees still clinging to stubborn life—and beneath several feet of displaced earth, two faint forms.
Two shallow breaths.
Two girls still alive.
Calling on Cimikora's power, Jaime summoned obsidian in a spiraling swarm. Razor-sharp shards whirled around the buried space, carving away dirt with surgical precision. Clumps of earth rose and flew aside as divinity burned through his veins, accelerating their movements. Within moments, he reached them.
Marisol gave a weak groan, her body collapsing fully atop Jimena as the dirt shifted away. Both girls looked dreadful—pale, coated in grime, divinity flickering faintly like dying embers. Jaime said nothing. Worry knotted his chest, but panic would only slow him.
He lifted them carefully with divinity, then formed obsidian harnesses to secure them to his armored body—Jimena attached to his front, Marisol attached to his back.
His obsidian wings ignited with golden veins of light. They strained, trembling under the weight of two unconscious chosen and the burning power needed to lift them.
But Jaime pushed off the ground anyway, wings beating furiously.
He didn't know how badly they were hurt.
He didn't know how much time he had.
He only knew they had to fly—now.
---
An unknown amount of time later, a large clump of black scales cracked open. A thin, fleshy membrane tore, and a small head pushed through the impossibly oversized egg—an egg far too large for the foot-long serpent emerging from it.
Wide eyes—each nearly the size of its head—glimmered with a green, emerald light, intelligence swirling deep within. The strange little snake was sheathed in dark-green scales, each one tipped with a tiny tuft of feathering that rimmed its edges like decorative trim.
It wriggled upward through several feet of loamy soil with surprising ease. Murmurs drifted through the air as the world greeted it, but with a simple shake of its triangular head, it dismissed them.
Peeking out from the tall grass that framed its low vantage point, it scanned the newborn forest. Butterflies as large as its body drifted past, their colorful wings glittering like scattered gemstones in the sun. Noisy birds darted after one another overhead, playing beneath the bright morning light. Dew clung to the snake's feather-rimmed scales as it wandered, each cool droplet calming the heat of its tiny new body.
With slow, lazy movements, it slithered onto a sun-warmed rock and settled there, basking in the gentle gold of the growing day.
---
A little over a week had passed since Jaime had carried Marisol and Jimena home. That night beneath the crescent moon felt distant now—blurred by exhaustion, recovery, and the steady hum of village life.
Both girls had damaged their gems, leaving them unable to channel divinity until the fractures mended. Physical effort was fine so long as they rested, so they remained in the village, helping Jaime finish his long-promised bathhouse project—a project that had taken far longer than he'd proudly claimed it would. To his embarrassment, of course.
No one teased him. Instead, everyone simply pitched in more. Clay for the canal and baths was baked in ovens and small kilns that had begun appearing in several homes—thanks in no small part to the frequent visits from the neighboring Chantico village. Trade had flourished in the week after Tomas's defeat: food for crafted goods, tools for produce, a rhythm of quiet prosperity returning to the land.
On this particular day, Jimena crouched over the compacted dirt of the village floor, scribbling a series of odd diagrams. Her brow remained deeply furrowed as she tried to make sense of the intersecting lines and curves.
Marisol, lounging beside her, watched with open amusement. Her friend had been chattering nonstop for the last half hour.
All about toilets.