Jimena helped with the forge in what ways she could, though her diminished strength left her unable to do much of the heavy work. Still, she watched closely—every pattern in the brick stacking, every layer meant to trap heat and funnel it toward the core. The heat box filled with coal would come later, if the Chantico villagers had any to spare. But even without it, the gifts they'd brought—dense bricks and an air blower made from sturdy hides—were more than she had expected.
Jaime, of course, was enthralled. He hovered around the smiths like a moth around a fire, asking questions about the bricks' creation. The smiths laughed, admitting these bricks were chosen from an especially tough batch that had been more accident than deliberate craft. That didn't stop the group from breaking into a spirited debate about clay mixtures, sand ratios, and whether crushed old bricks could be reused—an idea that earned scoffs and vigorous headshakes.
The forge location had been decided earlier: a bit away from the main cluster of huts, near one of the clay pits. Easy access to wood sealed the decision, and if the green road ever reached completion, being near it would make trade simpler.
Jimena found herself staring at the spot longer than necessary. She could live here. Build her own hut. She was nearly of age, after all—and being beside the forge would give her the freedom to experiment with everything she'd been holding back. Metal, heat, tools… and toilets. Especially toilets. She refused to give up on those without at least trying a few more designs.
The thought settled in her chest, warm and grounding. She nodded to herself before announcing her decision to Jaime, practically beaming.
The smiths praised her maturity and promised to return once she set up. They'd teach her whatever she wished to learn—if the chosen was willing. They even pledged to bring a sack of their personal coal reserves, since Chantico itself relied mostly on charcoal.
Jaime scoffed at her enthusiasm, but there was a distant look in his eyes—either imagining his future bathhouse or already planning experiments with clay.
The atmosphere remained comfortably relaxed as they walked back toward the village center, toward Chia's hut. That place would soon become the true heart of the village once the baths were complete.
Jaime, at least, seemed determined to make that a reality.
---
Marisol helped with the preparations by skewering meat onto wooden sticks. She was part of the dismantling line the hunters had fallen into with only a few exchanged words—after that, it was all grunts, nods, and pointed gestures. Marisol chuckled at the amusing sight, especially when even Sol joined in. The tall, serious chosen looked hilariously out of place while mimicking the same brisk movements.
Everyone already seemed aware of what the others liked, what they could do, and where they fit within the rhythm of the work. They filled in gaps without discussion, passing cut pieces of meat along the chain until they reached Marisol, who staked each piece on whatever wood someone had either brought or carved on the spot. She wasn't sure which. With the crowd growing—men, women, children merging into a chaotic, comfortable mass—she couldn't keep track of who did what anymore.
Tables and chairs were being brought out. Others had hauled over cut tree trunks earlier, and Marisol now sat on one among a cluster of villagers. It seemed both villages had reached some unspoken agreement about how to move, how to work, how to gather. Marisol felt it too—an unexpected calm she hadn't known she was missing.
She focused on her task, losing herself in the shared effort. There was a wordless trust settling among the people, even as their conversation about elders remained unfinished. The many gifts exchanged, the stories traded, the soft dependence forming between their two villages—somehow it all guided them into this quiet, instinctive cooperation.
As the light of the setting sun slipped below the horizon, a cool ocean breeze swept across their gathering, brushing hair back and leaving goosebumps on bare arms. Firelight flickered to life in patches, fluttering across faces and the rising smoke.
Someone—perhaps empty-handed, or maybe simply finished with their part—began to play a melody on a flute. The notes drifted long and smooth through the air. More villagers eased into seats among the already-settled children. Around them rose small mountains of split wood, mismatched tables, chairs big and small, all circling separate fires where hunters and their wives tended the cooking meat.
Farmers passed out sweet corn cobs, freshly roasted over open flame. Children shrieked in delight as they bit into the tender kernels, steam curling past their cheeks.
Clay comales hissed with tortillas—some pale, some rich with strange pigments and herbs. Chiles and tomatoes sizzled in clay pots, some floating in water, others blackening until their skins blistered. The sharp scent stung noses and made eyes water pleasantly.
The final rays of sunlight glimmered through the trees just as a group of men appeared, struggling under the weight of a massive pot. Marisol and many others gasped, half in alarm, half in anticipation, as the men waddled carefully toward a waiting fire. Each step was deliberate. When at last they lowered the pot safely atop the burning wood, Ma Chia and the elders of Chantico arrived, the blind elder guided gently at their side.
A few more tables had been carried out—these rectangular ones placed in a single straight line, with long split trunks set beside them as benches. The arrangement allowed the elders of both villages to sit facing one another as they ate, making it easy for conversation to flow naturally.
Not long after the elders settled in, Jimena and Jaime arrived with the smiths. The villagers of Chantico visibly brightened at Jimena's presence, basking in the soft glow that accompanied her steps—the aura seen by no one but them.
To the people of Bahía Oscura, it was an intriguing difference, but no one questioned it. They merely shuffled aside to make space as the chosen took a spot beside Marisol, who had finished her duties at some point. The air was thick with the scent of cooking meat and warm tortillas.
A pair of drums joined the flute, weaving together into an impromptu melody that danced between the fires. The villagers' chatter softened into a hush when the elders called for silence. The first bowls of salsa were being ladled out along the elders' table.
Chia and the blind elder rose, each guided gently as they turned to face the gathered crowd.
Chia motioned for Jaime, Marisol, and Jimena to stand at her side. The blind elder gestured for Sol to do the same. The six of them stood together before the villagers, framed by firelight and drifting smoke.
"We, as your elders, have decided the following," Chia declared, her voice carrying as far as it could. Listing the agreements they between elders.
Then the blind elder spoke. "I hope we can all prosper together in this chaotic world. Supporting one another, come what may. Let Chantico brighten our night."
With those final words, he lowered himself back onto the bench, already smiling faintly as the scent of simmering food curled around him. The people around him resuming their chattering. Now much louder, due to the exciting news.
The only one glum in this situation was Javier. Who observed his daughter actively growling at Sol. Who made faces as her when no one seemed to pay attention. Pain lanced through his heart at the thought of the coming talk.