Salutaris gazed at the dancing group through the surface of his giant pearl. A lucky find, stolen from an unlucky hermit crab. It was one of many trinkets he had accumulated during his endless imprisonment in the abyss.
The mere thought of being lumped together with the minor gods—those dim, witless things that could barely think for themselves—irked him to no end. A god imprisoned with flies. Forced to feed on flies. Forced to snatch and crush whatever pathetic creature wandered too close to his domain. Though this was just one of many spires in the underworld, it was the only place he could call home. His hoard. His vault of lost offerings and forgotten relics.
So he kept the flies away as best he could. Eating the tastier ones, killing the rest. The act might have been tolerable, if not for the fact that all the divinity he should have absorbed from this feeding was being stolen from him.
Not in any honorable fashion. No challenge. No battle. It was taken in the most obscene way imaginable—heartless, thoughtless, hollow.
Arrayed pillars of sentient coral formed a vast forest that blanketed the abyss beneath him. A hidden bald spot. A scar. A cage. Bars of living rock that imprisoned every creature within their reach—each one terrified of drawing karmic attention from the being that lurked beyond the veil of water.
The same creature they themselves devoured like krill.
Their insignificant lives barely satisfied him, even when consumed by the tens of thousands. Their souls were swallowed along with their bodies, their species reduced to mindless husks meant only to breed and replenish the endless abyss. Mighty, majestic, boundless divinity… reduced to blind insects crawling across the seafloor, gnawing at repugnant scraps and drifting waste.
Salutaris shuddered at the memory.
He forced himself still, turning his attention back to the pearl glowing beside him. It shone with scenes of the world above. Where exactly, he could not be certain—he followed only the faint traces left behind by that wretched god. Then, guided once more by the chosen who had stumbled upon one of his emblems—a fading fragment of a past he was proud of, and ashamed of.
With his chosen now vanquished, he would need to coax another fool of a god into doing his bidding. A chosen mortal too much of a hassle to raise and rise from mere insect to divinity.
From the loose marbles clattering around in his mind, a plan finally took shape.
Salutaris slithered out of his coral spire. The giant sea anemone around his base quivered at his descent into the deeper dark. The coral forest reached for him, absorbing divinity bit by bit, draining him, reducing him inch by inch into something closer to the mortals that scuttled across the ocean floor.
His mind would loosen over time—losing direction it once held. Clinging to half-baked schemes, abandoning reason. Until hunger drove him. Hunger, and the last bitter shards of ambition.
---
Back in the village—
The center square, once occupied by the chosen's table, had transformed into a whirl of movement and sound. The table now rested off to one side, pushed aside by the tide of dancing villagers. Drums thundered with a rising sense of liberation, palms striking taut leather in steady, joyful rhythm. Flutes wove through the air, joining the voices of villagers who sang with full hearts and full lungs.
It was a celebration of union—one that would carry into dawn.
Marisol, after watching long enough from the sidelines, finally gave in to the pull of the music. She grabbed a reluctant Jimena by the wrist and dragged her laughing into the crowd.
Nearby, Chia, Javier, and Jaime spoke quietly with Sol. The blind elder was soon guided to rest in one of the huts the villagers had opened to the chosen. Cal and his family took their place beside the elder, while many other families squeezed together a little tighter to offer shelter to their guests.
As the hours passed, families drifted home one by one, and the music softened to a gentle hum. Only a cluster of men remained in the square, still deep in conversation as they finished off the last plates of meat. The villagers of Bahía Oscura shared pulque freely, the air thick with laughter and relief. With the forest's dangers quieted for the moment, the hunters felt a rare peace—a chance to eat and drink as they liked.
Slowly, the night relaxed into darkness.
One by one, the villagers and the chosen settled into fabric cots, hanging hammocks, or simply the ground itself—where a few merry, drunken men had already surrendered to sleep.
When they rose that morning—groggy from the night of merriment, stretching and blinking away sleep—the chosen realized something had changed. Their cracked gems had healed. The bond with their guides, once frayed and sputtering, pulsed with life again.
Xolo and Axochi were still weak, but the faith burning steadily within the cuauhxicalli would feed their recovery. Their spirits would grow. All of them would.
Jimena's hair flared with magenta-tinted flames as she laughed, delighted by the warmth surging through her veins. The heat inside her gem simmered, eager to be unleashed.
Marisol felt just as renewed. Mist curled around her, washing away sweat and oils, her skin drinking in the moisture until it glowed with a soft, dewy sheen. Her whole body seemed to sigh in relief.
Jaime congratulated the girls with an easy grin. Cimi hooted approvingly from atop his head, eyes bright. They would rise again—higher each time. Jaime could already feel his thoughts sharpening, his mind stretching further into the paths ahead as his divinity deepened.
They met Chia and Javier at what had been the party grounds the night before. Many villagers of Chantico were already awake, sharing breakfast and low conversation.
Chia had spoken with the blind elder and with Sol. After the chosen finished eating with the slowly rousing farmers and hunters, they would accompany the Chantico villagers back home—bringing large bundles of flour. Several hunters and farmers also mentioned bringing personal gifts as thanks.
Part of them expected another celebration, though most still looked pleasantly exhausted from last night's festivities. Whatever awaited them, they would face it together.
A few men joked loudly, already thrilled at the idea of visiting the neighboring village for the first time.
As they set off down the green road—with the rising sun to their left, the beautiful ocean to their right, and their home behind them—the recent decisions of the elders lingered in many minds. New couples, new bonds, new movement between their people.
A new rise for both villages.
---
Rising high, near the peak of a small mountain lay a raggedy village. Its people were pale—almost colorless. Famished faces and hollow-eyed stares seemed to be the norm here. Each figure was little more than skin stretched tight over bone, their bodies so thin that the rapid beat of their hearts thudded visibly beneath semi-transparent flesh.
They looked deathly sick. But anyone who mistook them for harmless would not live long enough to learn otherwise. Beneath their frailty lurked something feral. If their pale skin and skeletal frames weren't warning enough. Their red, blood-hungry eyes that offered the clearest hint of danger to anyone foolish enough to approach, Perhaps was.
These distorted beings appeared in the folklore of remote communities—creatures too weak to stray far from their mountain dens, yet dangerous enough that when they did wander, entire villages trembled. Sometimes they brought with them a terror that consumed everything in their path.
"And why do I speak of them?" the hunter said, pausing for dramatic effect. The group leaned in as they rested along the green road, snacking on fruit plucked from the abundant growth around them.
The hunter cleared his throat—ahem—and ignored the loud munching as he swung his arms wide, mimicking claws. His stomach growled loudly, only adding to the flair of the tale.
"To warn of this ferocious creature, feasting on mortals!" he declared, nearly losing his balance in enthusiasm.
"Alright, everyone—get ready to leave in a few minutes!" Sol called from farther up the path, standing with the chosen of Bahía Oscura. His voice cut cleanly through the hunter's theatrics, drawing the group's attention forward once more.