Jimena reached the gathered hunters and farmers while lost in her own spiraling thoughts. Toilets. Her bond with Marisol. The aching, flickering pulse of Xolo in her chest. The little flame had dimmed to a fragile ember—barely staying lit. And Jimena blamed herself relentlessly for it. Though she knew things would eventually go back to normal. The feeling of it never happening was a constant thought in the back of her mind.
She had argued with Jaime when she woke up. About having left him behind, something she still regretted. Every mistake felt heavy, the kind that stuck to a person's name and reputation for years. And she had seen the way her father couldn't look her in the eye. The way his fists clenched, wordless and tight.
She didn't need him to say it.
She felt like a failure.
The only thing she hadn't ruined was Marisol—her bond with her, the fragile comfort of her presence. She stayed close to her almost constantly, clinging in a way she knew was embarrassing, but it was the only place she felt steady. Thankfully, Marisol hadn't pushed her away once. They had even slept beside each other at night for "safety."
Jimena had been mortified at first… but Marisol didn't mind. And the warmth of it—the safety of it—felt like having a real older sister. Someone who saw her, soothed the panic she hid beneath every smile. Someone she could depend on.
It made her feel even more dependent than before.
She blew out a frustrated sigh, loud enough to jolt the chatting group of villagers she had unintentionally snuck up on.
"Jimena!" several called out, laughing at the unlucky few who jumped the highest.
"I'm planning to tag along," she said, putting on her best pleading expression. "Can I?"
Tico—the tall, bald hunter who had taken over leadership after her father stepped back—looked at her with a weary, defeated expression. Jimena had helped them too much, fought for them too fiercely, for him to say no when she asked like that.
He scratched the back of his head, sighed, and shrugged.
"Stay close," he said in a firm tone, ignoring the cheers from the other hunters.
And just like that, they were off.
They packed small rations in sacks slung across their backs and grabbed others for collecting fruits and vegetables. The autumn forests were lush but quiet.
It surprised her that the hunters weren't actually going out to hunt. Several explained that Tomas had overhunted the area in his frantic, corrupted state. Most deer and larger animals had fled far from the village.
The forest was full of herbs now—but painfully short on red meat.
This trip was specifically for gathering avocados, the rich, buttery fruit that grew abundantly in the volcanic soil. And if they were lucky, they'd find vanilla vines along the way.
Jimena followed, trying to focus on the task ahead instead of the tangle of emotions gnawing at her heart.
---
Marisol reached the beach and the fishermen's huts just as the men were gathering around their boats. Most were small canoes carved from single tree trunks—simple vessels that took far more effort and skill to create than she truly understood. But she had always watched the fishermen return from the waves, sunburned and tired, and wondered what their world felt like.
The fishermen formed a community of their own. Though part of the village, they carried themselves with the quiet cohesion of wanderers who had found a place to settle—so long as peace and rules held. The shoreline had been empty when Marisol was a child. Now it was alive with people from distant places who never spoke of their pasts, only of tides, storms, and fish.
Her own parents—or perhaps her grandmother—had come from somewhere else too. That gave her a faint sense of kinship with these coastal families. As she chatted with the fishermen, her thoughts drifted like the waves.
Not much had occurred by the shore after the entrance to Mictlan sealed. The waters returned, and with them, the fish—eventually. But they weren't alone.
Several fishermen had reported seeing enormous fish offshore, unlike anything they recognized. Some bore faint glowing markings along their scales, and the usual predators kept their distance. The fishermen took that as a warning, choosing to watch from the shoreline or from canoes that stayed within the shallow comfort of the bay.
Marisol didn't know what prompted her—restlessness, maybe, or curiosity—but she asked if she could accompany them. Her request made several men uneasy; the sea was too unpredictable to promise her safety.
It wasn't until Lucas arrived that a decision was made. The old fisherman—practically a captain with his age and authority—agreed to take her out on one of the larger canoes. He commanded a group of five, and though her added weight meant they wouldn't be able to fish, he said they could at least guide her to some of the deeper coral reefs.
So they boarded, and the canoe slid across the water as they paddled out of the bay. They crossed sudden underwater cliffs that dropped into dark blue nothingness, then drifted toward small rocky outcrops where coral forests grew beneath the surface. Lucas kept his sharp weathered eyes on the horizon, watching for sudden swells or shifts in the wind.
A few other canoes followed but remained in the shallower water, wary and observant. They watched the waves for any sign of movement—above or below. Sunlight pierced the bay's clear shallows, illuminating dancing schools of fish and drifting kelp.
But between the coral outcrops were deeper crevices, places where the sunlight thinned and shadows gathered. Whatever truths hid in those dark fissures remained unseen.
---
Jaime had gotten the idea to use his divinity to dig out clumps of clay—much to Cimi's displeasure. The results were lackluster, even after he expended a considerable amount of energy. The villagers who had come along to gather clay ended up digging faster than he could manage with power alone, leaving him discouraged.
He might have given up entirely if one of the villagers hadn't asked where they should dig next after clearing out the shallow layer he had exposed. Jaime blinked, realizing he had forgotten the simplest advantage he possessed: he could see through the earth well enough to spot veins of clay. The realization made him chuckle.
With that in mind, he walked the area, pointing out the most promising spots—patches where the ground was more compact and the clay denser. He used his abilities only to clear loose surface soil, leaving the real digging to the villagers. In the process, they uncovered a few new springs. Most were little more than trickles, nothing close to the steady flow they would need for the bathhouse, but still useful.
And so they continued, chosen and villagers alike, working shoulder to shoulder to shape their home into something better.
---
Javier and Chia worked tirelessly to fill the sacks they'd brought. Chia, unsure when she might return next, planned to harvest as much as possible. She intended for Javier to carry the bulk of it anyway.
She moved from copal tree to copal tree, collecting resin from the clay bowls she'd set beneath each incision. Bees buzzed all around, darting unpredictably as they sought out their favorite flowers. This forest was full of stingless bees—so many that it frustrated her. She had tried cultivating vanilla before, but the seeds always spoiled, and despite her efforts she had never found the bees' hidden hives. The tiny creatures were nearly impossible to locate in such an immense forest.
Once she finished her rounds, Chia turned toward where Javier was supposed to be—only to find herself staring at one of the many thieves that roamed this part of the forest. A coatimundi stood in his place, sniffing aggressively, its long ringed tail flicking in annoyance. They stared at each other for a long, silent moment before the coati suddenly squealed into the trees.
Birds scattered skyward as a whole band of coatimundi dropped from the branches above. It seemed she would have to fight for her herbs as usual.
With a resigned flourish, Chia retrieved two bags from beneath her cloak—one with a strange smell, the other sweet. The coatis immediately began climbing her in excitement, claws scratching at her clothes as they tried to reach the treats. She simply dropped the bags to the ground, letting the horde swarm them.
It wasn't much of an offering, but it was enough to keep the troublemakers tame. Oh, how many times they had dug up her herbs looking for worms. Chia huffed as she watched them happily stuff their mouths with dried insects and fruit she had gathered from her garden.
Javier returned at some point, two heavy sacks slung over his shoulders. Chia gave him a brief glance before turning to walk back toward the village. Javier set his sacks down for a moment to watch the coatis feast, then sighed and hoisted the sacks again. There was still plenty of toil ahead.