Jimena tried her best to imitate what Jaime did with his dirt diagrams, but no matter how she squinted or tilted her head, the messy scribbles before her refused to form anything meaningful. She had technically marked where everything was in the village… but compared to Jaime's clean, purposeful lines, hers looked like a confused creature had wriggled around in the dirt.
Marisol's soft chuckle drifted over her shoulder. Jimena ignored the teasing—mostly. She wanted the company. Every breakthrough Jaime had ever made seemed to have someone around to witness it, and afterward the whole group would praise him. Jimena glanced at the smiling girl beside her.
Maybe she could borrow Cimi, she wondered. The bird had a good eye for the layout of the land. But she quickly dismissed the thought; Cimi would probably screech her head off at being used for "such nonsense."
With a sigh, she stood and brushed the dust from her huipil. The garment was beautifully embroidered—flowers of every color trailing along the long dress. A gift from Chantico village. Some grandmother there had clearly poured her heart into it; the lively spring scene fluttered around her legs, even though it was out of season. She didn't mind. It matched Marisol's long green cloak and her pink huipil, both stitched with equally vibrant patterns.
Standing beside her, Jimena felt unexpectedly like Marisol's little sister. Everything they had endured together had forged an almost familial warmth inside her. Whether they were resting in silence or fussing over something silly like her crooked diagrams, being near Marisol filled her with a deep, grounding comfort. And yet, the ache of lost years and the thought of how things might've been if they had never drifted apart squeezed something tight in her chest.
A tear slipped down her cheek. The breeze brushed through her hair, calming her for a brief, euphoric moment. Her gem pulsed—light flickering through her hair in a fleeting phantasmal glow—before the ache returned sharply.
Marisol stepped forward and wrapped her arms around her, resting her head against Jimena's shoulder. Jimena melted into the embrace, holding on for a long, quiet minute. The stress she'd been carrying seemed to be wrung out of her chest with a shuddering breath.
They were alive. They were together.
"Are you okay?" Marisol asked gently as she pulled back. The taller—but younger girl had seemed weighed down lately.
"Yeah." Jimena nodded and gave Marisol's hand a small squeeze. "Want to go see what Jaime's up to?"
Marisol nodded, and together they walked off hand in hand.
Jaime looked up as Marisol and Jimena stepped into the half-finished bathhouse. Water wouldn't flow in for a while yet, but the delay had given them room to dream bigger—especially after the traders from Chantico taught them more about proper brickmaking. Everyone had known about bricks, of course, but after the damage their village had suffered, the craft had fallen quiet. Now it was waking again.
The girls joined Jaime, one on each side, watching the organized chaos as villagers dug out large square pits. Those would become the soaking pools once they were lined with clay, tiles, and bricks. A lot more clay than Jaime had expected, actually.
He rubbed the back of his head, brow furrowed. Cimi, perched on top his head, hooted irritably each time he shifted her feathers.
"Do you need any help?" Marisol asked softly from his left.
Jaime only shook his head, deep in thought. The numbers weren't adding up; he'd need to use his divinity to speed things along somehow.
"Are we useless to you now, brother?" Jimena teased from his right, her grin wicked as she pinched his side. She danced away laughing when he tried to swat her hand.
He sighed, though a faint smile tugged at him. "The fishermen and the hunters needed my help with something earlier. Go ask them—you two will be useful there."
He waved his hand dismissively, not unkindly, returning his focus to the problem of clay and how to gather it faster as the girls drifted away. Cimi hooted again, unimpressed at his slow progress.
Marisol waved goodbye to Jimena. They had agreed to go their separate ways for the afternoon—though only after Marisol insisted on visiting the beach. Jimena had little interest in that; the hunters were far more likely to turn their tasks into an adventure. Marisol was tempted to join, of course, but she needed rest. Her body still ached, and she missed Axochi terribly. The bond between them felt faint, muted as he slept within his small egg. Seeing this didn't make her feel up for a great adventure.
Jimena hadn't wanted to separate. She'd grown quieter, more withdrawn ever since their divinity slipped from reach. The power would return—Marisol knew that—but the uncertainty of when must have been eating at her friend. It worried her. Yet Jimena's path to healing was one she had to walk herself. Marisol could support her, but she couldn't solve that ache for her.
They both felt it: their gems would only recover with true divinity, something painfully scarce in this world. The villagers' faith, warm as it was, barely filled a grain of the vast empty space inside their broken cores.
Going separate ways meant doubling the chances of finding that missing spark.
So, with a final lingering look and one more long wave, Marisol headed west toward the distant shimmer of the sea, while Jimena walked east, toward the forest's edge where the hunters were likely gathering. The breeze tugged their clothes in opposite directions as they drifted apart.
---
Chia walked behind Javier with slow, steady steps. Her pace seemed leisurely, yet every movement was precise, calculated—deceitfully quick despite the thick brush around them.
Javier swung his machete at anything that dared block their way. Vines, branches, saplings—none were spared. Chia scolded him with growing exasperation.
"Cut only what you must. Vines strangle everything anyway, but you—ay, Javier—look at you chopping down saplings." She wagged her finger sharply. "And many of those are fruit trees! Ay yayay…" The old woman sighed, shaking her head as though mourning a tragedy. "Truly hurts my heart. What will you do when we reach my herbs? Stomp them to death?"
With a dismissive click of her tongue, Chia moved ahead and guided him through the brush herself.
Their pace improved dramatically once Javier stopped trying to carve a highway through the jungle.
"Chia…" Javier began after ducking under a fallen tree resting against another. Its underside was carpeted with soft green moss. "I need to apologize—"
Chia cut him off with a firm gesture.
"Just take care of yourself, Javier. I don't need your pride." She huffed, picking up speed despite her small frame. "Those two kids need you."
Javier nodded, accepting the rebuke with the heaviness it deserved. A moment later he tried again.
"What about Marisol? Shouldn't you stay home and rest? Let her help instead?"
The old woman burst into loud laughter, startling him so badly he nearly collided with her.
"I've already prepared that girl to take care of herself. Something you should've done by now." She jabbed a finger into his chest, and though the poke barely had force, Javier winced—emotionally, not physically. "Yet here you are, still avoiding certain talks with your children."
They continued their banter all the way to the clearing.
There, tucked behind a natural ring of meticulously tended copal trees, lay Chia's hidden herb garden. Years of care had shaped it into a thriving, secret grove. Even so, she still had the occasional thief to deal with—something she grumbled about often enough.
But the sight of her life's work, vibrant and fragrant in the filtered light, filled the little clearing with a quiet sense of sacredness.