102 — Teqosa

Author’s Note: Holy smokes. I’ve made it a whole year.

Being a writer, you’d think I would be using exclamation points, with this being an exciting milestone and all. I think I’m too stunned to be excited. But also—if I’m being honest—after making it to the six-month mark, I kind of expected to get here.

I wrote six months ago how I was finding myself getting excited about writing every morning. Fortunately, that is still true. What I find fascinating, though, is that my excitement about Revolutions is different now. Where I was once enthusiastic about writing, now I’m excited about seeing where the story is going next. This will be a bit “inside baseball”, but I’ve got the entire story arc mapped out. I know where this is going. I know how it will end. Except… I don’t know how I’m going to get there.

I mean, I kind of do. Of course, I do. But the characters surprise me. You see, I’ve gotten into this deal where I start to write what my character thinks, feels, does… and then, after they react to the story, my outline suddenly doesn’t feel right. It morphs, adapts, changes, all because my character simply wouldn’t do what I thought they’d do. It’s opened up some interesting dynamics with my writing, and I feel myself growing with each character, with each chapter. It’s one of the most exciting aspects to writing Revolutions for which I’m grateful.

This project has come with its limits, though. For one, I’ve only written within the world of Pachil this entire time. There have been moments where I would’ve loved to write anything else. There have been opportunities to write short stories or develop an RPG, for example. But my backlog of chapters has gotten diminished, and my self-imposed rule to maintain it has made it difficult to take on other projects. Perhaps if I regained my buffer, I could work on more. Maybe someday.

Shop talk aside, I’m elated (and relieved) to still want to keep this story going, to see it through to the end. I’m still writing a story *I* enjoy, of course, but what’s been the biggest encouragement is seeing dozens, and hundreds, start to find my work and share it — people are reading this when all I meant to do was primarily write for myself. That’s one of the rare wonderful things about the internet: when it’s good, it can be an amazing way to connect with so many people you wouldn’t have otherwise.

Where this project will take me, who knows. All I know is that I’m grateful you’ve come along for the journey, and I’m excited to travel it with you!

- P

It would be easy. Just step, then kick out. She would plummet into the abyss. One problem gone.

I look down upon Síqalat, my leather boot resting on top of her whitening knuckles that strain to keep her from falling. I think Upachu calls out to me, but I can’t be certain; muffled sounds that could be from someone shouting is barely discernible to my ears. All I can focus on is the empty, black void behind her, beneath her, surrounding her. Her feet dangle, swaying in the emptiness.

Just one step, I think to myself, kick out, and then she’ll be gone.

It’s her eyes that make me change my mind. I expect her to show fear, or alarm, or anger, or sorrow. I expect her to plead for her life, for me to spare her. Instead, there’s a resolute calm, a serenity, an acceptance of her fate. Without speaking, it’s as though she’s telling me, “do what you must.” Why is she not resisting?

Do it, my thoughts continue to say. Be rid of her.

Something inside me snaps. It’s as though I’ve been awakened from my slumber, from a bizarre dream. I look down at my foot in horror. What am I doing? How could I do such a thing?

Without hesitation, I drop to the ground and grasp her forearms. Her copper bracelets clatter together as I do my best to hoist her up and over the cliff edge. With her waist just above the ledge, she swings her leg out, stretching her toes until they touch the flat stone surface. Together, she’s lifted to safety, catching her breath in sharp heaves.

“Sun and sky, Teqosa!” Upachu exclaims. “What on Pachil were you doing?”

“I… I don’t know,” I answer, honestly unsure what came over me. My mind is in a fog, questioning how I got to that position. “I was overwhelmed by a voice in my head, telling me to do it. I…” I find myself at a loss for words, unable to process what happened. It sounds farfetched — there’s no way I would believe someone who was telling me the same excuse. But, while I may have my disagreements and suspicions about Síqalat, I would never allow myself to commit such a horrible act. Then again, seeing what just occurred, doubt creeps into my mind. Would I do such a thing? Am I capable of going through with something like that?

I turn to Síqalat, looking over to her to make sure she’s okay, both physically and mentally. Once again, there’s a steadiness in her demeanor. She’s not reacting like someone who was suspended over the edge of an abyss, with her life on the line. Was she… expecting this?

Upachu shuffles over to her. “Are you alright, child?” His eyes are wide and filled with concern. He seeks to comfort her, hunching over and leaning in to more closely inspect her for wounds. Eyes cast to the ground, she pats his consoling hand.

“I’ll be okay,” she says breathlessly. She licks her lips as if she’s considering whether or not to say something. After a pause, she starts to pick herself up, dismissing Upachu’s offer to assist her.

We eventually make our way to somewhere we hope is safer, walking toward the large mouth of the cavernous tomb. Inside, it’s surprisingly cool, with moss clinging to nearly every surface at the entrance. Our feet slip on the slick floor, while the cold, damp air sticks to my skin and clothes, much like the surrounding moss to the stone. When we determine the ground beneath us is perhaps unlikely to drop into a never-ending void, we take a brief moment to collect ourselves, to figure out what happened.

Síqalat seats herself onto a patch of moss, looking down toward her feet. I can tell she’s preparing herself to speak, to impart some unfortunate news. “The Auilqa tribe,” she begins. “They… warned me of the potential challenges we could face. They spoke of spirits that tempt you to act on your most base desires and horrific notions — the primal, immoral instincts lurking in the recesses of your mind. Toying with your insecurities, your doubts, fears. Something you normally wouldn’t even consider beyond being a fleeting thought. That sort of thing.”

“And you didn’t think to tell us of this before we arrived to the tomb?” I ask, my irritation evident.

“I didn’t think it was true!” she remarks defensively. “I thought it was just some old Auilqa legend or lore. I mean, the Auilqa are more clever and intelligent than the other factions give them credit for, but there are some tales that are too far-fetched to be believable. I thought what they were saying was along the lines of stories told to children.”

“You still should have told us,” I snarl. “That should be up for us to determine, not you and you alone, Síqalat.”

“I get that now,” she says meekly. “I’m sorry. I…” She slouches, and her shoulders sink. Upachu walks over to her and reaches down to pat her on the back. I just shake my head, annoyed, but relieved that nothing terrible ended up resulting from the moment.

“Is there anything else to which we should be privy?” I ask.

Síqalat frowns. “Not until we make it into the center of the tomb.”

“And what happens there?” Upachu inquires, leaning in with anticipation. His eyes widen with a childlike curiosity, belying his age. “What secrets does the heart of the tomb hold? What challenges lie in wait?” I would find the moment humorous if it didn’t involve the possibility of our death.

Síqalat takes a deep breath. “A sacrifice is to be made when we reach the center.”

Upachu gasps. “A sacrifice?” he parrots. “Like the savage ceremonies of the Ulxa? We must kill one of our own?”

“They didn’t specify,” she replies downheartedly. “I was trying to get them to explain themselves, but that’s when they abruptly walked away from us. I’m not sure what happens when we get there, what that moment looks like. And I don’t know what — or who — gets sacrificed, or how that gets determined.”

The memory comes flooding back to me. “Is that why you mentioned ‘this not being the sacrifice’?” The words hit me like an arrow, suddenly occurring to me. But the events just took place only moments earlier, so why does it feel like a long-buried memory?

Síqalat nods solemnly. “Other than occurring when we arrive–no, I mean it, when we arrive at the chamber, I don’t understand what it could mean, to have to make a sacrifice.”

We finally pick ourselves up and resume our trek to the center of this pyramid. We move in silence for a time, each lost in our thoughts. Upachu walks ahead, his excitement tempered by the grim revelation of what awaits us. Síqalat trails behind him with her head bowed, clearly troubled by the unknowns that lie ahead. I find myself walking beside her, stealing a glance at her. I note the slump of her shoulders, the way her eyes are fixed on the ground as if searching for answers in the moss and dead leaves that swirl around the tomb.

It strikes me then, how harsh I was with her. Yes, she made a mistake, but haven’t we all? Haven’t we all misjudged a situation, acted on incomplete information?

“Síqalat,” I begin, my voice softer than before. Apologies have never come easy to me, especially in the midst of such tension. She looks up, surprise flickering in her eyes. “About earlier… I shouldn’t have snapped at you like that. This whole journey has us all on edge.”

She nods slowly, her expression guarded. “I understand, Teqosa. It’s just, I wanted to protect you all. I thought I was doing the right thing by not alarming you with what I believed were just legends.”

“I know,” I reply, a touch of regret seeping into my voice. “We’ve all got our burdens to bear. I want us to be prepared for whatever we might face. And that means knowing everything, even if it seems trivial.”

She still looks burdened by something, reluctant to share. Eventually, she says, “You know, I, too , heard a voice.”

My expression is of both surprise and concern. “What did it say? Did it want to betray us, like mine sought me to do?”

“No, nothing like that,” she says solemnly. “But it did play off insecurities. It… was unpleasant. And unkind. When I was suspended over the ledge, it was telling me how I… how I’m…”

She looks pained as she reflects upon the voice. If it spoke as mine did, the realization of what could have possibly happened is unsettling. I don’t wish for her to relive those moments, so I nod and leave the conversation at that. The air between us feels slightly less tense, though the awkwardness lingers. However, we walk on, side by side.

We begin to descend inside the tomb, with the air getting colder and danker the further we go. The faint light from the outside barely reaches us now. The damp conditions means it takes me several strikes with the flint to light the only torch among the three of us.

“Where are we to go?” Upachu asks, sounding a bit nervous.

I think I see Síqalat shrug. “I’m not certain. The Auilqa villagers didn’t provide me with any directions other than how to get to the tomb. They seemed to make a point of reminding me that those who have entered have not returned.”

I sigh, trying my best to not blame her for not receiving the instructions. She got us to the tomb — that is what we paid her to do — so I can’t fault her for our current situation. I reconcile with feeling unsettled and prevent myself from expending that anxious energy by casting blame. I suppose when there’s not much to look at externally, amidst this I can only look internally.

After wandering aimlessly within the cavernous tomb, I find that we’ve traveled in circles. The narrow, stone passageways all look familiar, and it appears the path we’re traveling on leads right back into places we’ve already been. One would think we’d be able to notice when we’ve rejoined an old route, yet the paths appear to seamlessly blend in with one another. How is this possible?

I look back on the previous challenges with which we’ve been confronted — at Wichanaqta and the living labyrinth inside Qantua’s territory. There always appeared to be some test of our ingenuity, something that dared us to solve something if we wanted to venture further and reach our desired destination. Maybe there’s something we have yet to spot, something that could clue us into a solution to this never-ending loop we’ve walked.

“Perhaps,” Upachu says, “we can mark the walls, to see if we truly are traveling the same path.”

“Sure, we could do that,” Síqalat says with hesitation, “however, the markings might not stay visible. The moss and moisture here are constantly changing, constantly growing. Any mark we make could be covered up or erased in a few moments. Plus, if this tomb uses illusions or magical tricks, like the ones playing with our minds, those marks might not even show up where we expect them to.”

Upachu frowns, considering her words. “So what do you suggest?”

“I think,” Síqalat replies, glancing around and stroking her chin, “we need to look for something inherent to the tomb itself — something that can’t be manipulated or erased. A symbol or pattern built into the stone that guides us or shows us the way forward.”

“Amidst all this moss?” Upachu questions. He’s not wrong — every surface is coated in slick moss, despite the lack of any sunlight.

It’s that thought that gets my mind racing. “Despite the lack of any sunlight,” I mumble aloud, which startles Upachu and Síqalat; up until now, I’ve been relatively silent. “The walls, the paths — they all look the same, but there must be something unique hidden among the uniformity. Perhaps there’s something already there, shrouded by the moss.”

My eyes search the familiar walls once more, my gaze lingering long on the moss. The single torch casts flickering shadows, and I notice something peculiar about the way the moss grows. It’s not uniform — some areas seem to have a slight indentation, as if the stone underneath is not flat.

I step closer to one of these indentations, brushing aside some of the moss. Dirtying my fingers, I trace the grooves of a spiral carving, previously hidden by the thick growth.

“These spirals,” I say, stepping even closer to the wall until my face is practically planted into it, “they’re hidden by the moss.”

Síqalat tilts her head, intrigued. “What do you mean?”

I run my fingers along the carving, feeling the subtle, weathered grooves. “The moss is growing over the spirals, but you can see where the stone dips. If we find all of them, we might reveal the true path.”

Upachu looks puzzled, examining another section of moss-covered wall. “But as you observed, there’s no natural light here. How can the moss be growing?”

I think for a moment, overcoming the frustration that’s starting to grow within me. “Maybe there’s a way for light to seep in. Maybe if we follow the spirals, they might lead us to a part of the tomb where light can reach us.”

“Like a map, to show us the right path!” Síqalat exclaims. Upachu and I nod, hopeful to have found the answer.

We move through the passageways, searching for the remaining spirals and clearing the moss to reveal them. There doesn’t seem to be a consistent way these spirals appear; some have the tail of the spiral start at the bottom, some at the top, and others in various points between. Could it be positioned based on where we are within the pyramid? I’m uncertain of the significance of their placement, yet I note it nevertheless.

The three of us continue making our way, progressing slowly while following the faintly visible spirals. The chill is almost equal to a winter in Qantua, with a breeze freezing my bones. Upachu isn’t wearing the thick robes of the Great Library, and his frail body is noticeably shivering. I remove my fur shawl that lines my armor, handing it to Upachu for warmth. He’s grateful, graciously accepting it. The armor is stiff and rough upon my shoulders, but I’ll handle the uncomfortable conditions if it means Upachu won’t freeze to death in a tomb in the Auilqa jungles — a possibility I never would have considered.

Something about the path we’re on gives me a quiet confidence that we’ve made positive progress. The torch starts to flicker, as though a gust of wind occasionally tries to blow it out.

“We must be near a place that has access to the outside,” I declare, growing eager to find our way out. No sooner than I make the observation, we arrive at a significantly larger spiral, as tall as a couple of people placed on each other’s shoulders, with the moss etched deeply within the crevasses of this stone wall. Small notches sporadically mark around its edge, yet they’re big enough to slip my fingers into. Could these be grabbed? Does this spiral turn or move?

When I inspect the holes, there’s a faint glimmer of light seeping through the cracks around the stone. I point at it emphatically. “The light source must be behind this stone!”

“But how do we access it?” Síqalat wonders, staring inquisitively at the surface.

I place my fingers within the notches and begin to tug and pull at the spiral. However, it doesn’t budge. I strain my muscles to move it, trying to open this door to allow us to pass through, yet it remains still.

Frustrated, but not defeated, I step back, investigating the spiral and hoping a solution will leap out at me. I think back to the smaller spirals on our way to this location, recalling the position of each spiral’s tail. I mention this to the others, talking out what I’ve noticed.

Síqalat frowns. “So they’re all different. What does it mean? Is there something significant about that?”

“Maybe it’s a sequence,” I note. “Each spiral’s position might indicate a step in the process to align the larger one.”

“So, we have to travel all the way back to determine the sequence?” Síqalat complains. “Do you know how many spirals we’ve seen? We could be here for the rest of our lives!”

I shake my head. “Let’s think about it. There must be a way to determine the sequence without retracing every step.”

Upachu examines the notches closely. “Look here — there are faint markings next to each notch, almost worn away, but still visible if you look closely. I’d say they match the positions we saw on the smaller spirals.”

I nod. “That’s what I had thought. The sequence isn’t random — it’s been laid out for us. We just need to match the notches to the positions we remember.”

We try turning the larger spiral, thinking back to the positions I noted from the smaller ones. I start by aligning each notch in a certain sequence — one where the tail starts at the top, then at the bottom. Nothing happens. I try a different position to start, and still, nothing happens. After a few more attempts with little results, I begin to wonder if the solution I’ve observed is leading us down a false path.

Sensing my frustration, Síqalat steps forward and squints, placing her face close enough that her nose grazes the moss. She makes a few grunts and mmhmm as she stares at the spiral. When she suddenly jolts and jumps with excitement, she startles me and Upachu.

“The notches are different sizes!” she exclaims. “I would bet the next several rounds of chicha that the sequence involves spinning the spiral to position the tail, starting from the smaller notch and going to the larger notch! Or the other way around. Whichever. But still!”

Upachu and I shrug. It’s worth a try, most certainly. Starting with the smaller notch, I use all my might to turn the spiral until the tip of the tail points to it. Nothing happens, but I’m undeterred. I move on to the next-largest notch, fighting the stone that’s resisting my efforts to move it. The muscles in my arms burn as I struggle with the large structure, but I persist, clenching my jaw as I force the stone to turn.

Once the tail meets the second notch at the bottom, light seeps through the cracks. I feel my breath shorten from excitement — it’s the first positive, encouraging sign. Locating the next notch roughly at the upper right quadrant, I twist the spiral around and around. Moving it has gotten much easier, and when it reaches the next mark, the light intensifies, seemingly growing brighter with each correct alignment.

After the fifth position, the smaller stones around the spiral symbol begin to shift. The dimly lit passageway is bathed in a bright, otherworldly light, forcing us all to shield our eyes. A concealed door slides open, revealing a passage that is entirely a blinding white. It’s as though we’re entering the sun or the heavens, as the floor nor the ceiling is visible — just an endless room or space that is all light.

We look at one another nervously, considering whether or not to cross the threshold. When I return my gaze to the bright light, I find it surreally and inexplicably comforting. It’s as though the light calls out to me, welcoming me in. Having had the intrusive thoughts before, I question whether this is another trick of the tomb, some illusion toying with my mind. But staring into the white void, my thoughts travel to the peaceful moments when I’m visited by Entilqan, as though whatever lies beyond is something lovingly crafted by the gods. Not a threat, but a greeting.

I take one deep breath, exchanging a glance at Upachu and Síqalat, then step through the newly revealed passage. As I enter the space, I’m filled with an inexplicable warmth, as though I’ve been wrapped in a dozen blankets, or I’ve entered my home on a warm summer day. I turn to look at my companions, who stare back at me with a look of wonder fixed to their faces.

Síqalat smiles. She extends her hand, reaching out for Upachu. He clutches her hand, and together, the two enter this empty space in which I find myself. We all take in the beauty of this vast, warm light that extends on forever. A peace settles within me, and I feel a comfort I haven’t felt since… I don’t think I can say. Since I was a boy, in my mother’s arms?

A scene comes in focus before us: jagged columns of crystal-clear ice rise from the floor, shimmering like frozen spears of light. The air is crisp and biting, each breath creating a visible plume of vapor. Ice sculptures of warriors line the walls, and the floor beneath is a patchwork of glistening ice and stone, both treacherous and beautiful.

But the scene suddenly turns to one that is startlingly disquieting. Before us, clad in a tattered, hooded cloak made from an aura of relentless frost, a deity exudes an imposing chill that seeps into the marrow of my bones. Jagged shards of ice form a mask over their visage, obscuring all features except for piercing, glacial eyes. Their form is encased in what appears to be a mantle of perpetually falling snow, each flake sharp as a dagger.

“Itzatlix,” Upachu says with wonder. Could it be? The ancient deity formed from the union of Wiqamasqa and Iolatl? But… how? In the Tomb of Inqil, surrounded by the lagoon in which Iolatl formed all living beings, why is Itzatlix present?

The glowering, massive figure looms over us. At the sight, Upachu immediately drops to his knees and bows down, casting his gaze to the ground. Confused, Síqalat and I eventually bow, as well, though the image of this superior being leaves me baffled. Am I actually seeing what’s before me? Is this an illusion, another trick of the mind?

“Rise,” the voice rumbles, a low, trembling sound that reverberates in my chest — so deep it’s almost inaudible. We follow the being’s command, still fixing our eyes to the floor. “Why have you infiltrated the ancient pyramid in the lagoon of the goddess, Iolatl?”

Upachu attempts to speak, visibly trembling, “Great Itzatlix, we seek… we seek the knowledge, and… to protect Pachil… the amulets… to–”

“Silence,” Itzatlix interrupts, the command resonating with an air of finality. Upachu falters, his usual composure shattered by the presence of the divine being.

Seeing Upachu struggle to find the words, I realize that this moment requires a courage that, possibly, no human could ever possess. My heart pounds as if it’s trying to escape my chest, to escape Itzatlix’s presence, but I know I must speak. I take a deep breath, stepping forward, and meet Itzatlix’s gaze.

“Itzatlix, we have come here with pure intentions,” I say, trying my best to steady my voice. “Our land is threatened by those who seek to corrupt and destroy Pachil. We seek to understand the legacy left by Sualset and the Eleven, to protect our world from the growing threat at all costs.”

Itzatlix’s eyes narrow, studying me intently with an unyielding glare. “And what makes you worthy of such a burden, mortal?”

I take a another deep breath and step closer, feeling an otherworldly chill nearly numbing my bones to the marrow. “We are not perfect, and we do not claim to be. But we are determined to protect Pachil, to honor the legacy of the Eleven, and to ensure that the power of this amulet is not misused. We stand here, ready to face whatever you set before us, to prove our worthiness.”

At this, I retrieve the lapis lazuli amulet, displaying it over my tunic for the being to see. I can only hope Itzatlix knows of Sualset — I would hope, being formed from the union of Pachil’s two creator gods, it would know of Sualset and the Eleven. If it recognizes me as being worthy of possessing this item, perhaps it will allow us to pass. To where would it grant us entry? Who’s to say.

Itzatlix remains silent for a moment, and I feel his eyes inspecting me and the lapis lazuli amulet on my chest. “To prove your worthiness, a sacrifice must be made.”

Upachu’s face pales. “A sacrifice? You mean one of us must die?”

The guardian’s gaze shifts to Upachu. “No, mortal. It is something personal that each of you must offer, something of yourself that holds deep meaning and significance. Only then will you show your worthiness.”

Relief washes over Upachu, and a crack of a smile creases his mouth. Sacrificing a personal item? What have we brought with us that would be worth sacrificing to this guardian? Would Itzatlix view it as an acceptable sacrifice? My mind tries to search through our possessions to find something that could be delivered as a sacrifice, but nothing comes to my mind. Other than our lives, what could we give that would not be taken as an insult, and lead us to our doom?

Upachu takes a deep breath, then reaches into his satchel and pulls out the precious papyrus we’ve been safeguarding. “This… this is what I offer. It contains knowledge of great importance for our journey and understanding our past. They contain the wisdom and secrets of Sualset, a guiding light in our journey and a key to understanding the history and destiny of Pachil. For a seeker of knowledge from the Great Library of Hilaqta, these are my guide, my purpose.”

I gaze at him, wide-eyed. “You’re willing to part with that? But what if we need it, to decipher any of Sualset’s clues?”

Upachu nods solemnly, his eyes never leaving the papyrus. “This sacrifice is not made lightly, Teqosa. But we must part with what we hold most dear. My life has been devoted to the pursuit of knowledge, and this papyrus represents the pinnacle of that pursuit. To surrender them is to surrender a piece of myself. Yet I believe that in making this sacrifice, we demonstrate our unwavering commitment to our cause and our trust in the greater path laid out before us.”

He turns to Itzatlix, holding the papyrus with both hands. “I offer this gift of knowledge out of reverence and faith. May this act of devotion prove our worthiness to receive your blessing and guidance, and may it pave the way for the answers we seek.”

Itzatlix nods, acknowledging and accepting the offering. “Your sacrifice is received.”

The daunting figure now stares at me with a hardened look. What do I possess that would be accepted? I can’t allow myself to concede the amulet; it is too powerful and must be used to protect Pachil. Besides, Itzatlix said it must be a personal sacrifice. It accepted the papyrus from Upachu — was there something personal contained within the glyphs?

Shaking my head, I return to the present moment. Suddenly, the item to be sacrificed occurs to me. It will be painful, knowing its history with me and my family, but it is all I have to give that would be worthy.

I step forward, unfastening the glaive given to me by my father, Xiqa. The weapon feels heavy in my hands, and I gaze upon it one last time. I place it before Itzatlix. “Before departing for the Maqanuiache, this glaive was given to me by my father. It’s been in my family and passed down from father to son for generations. It is what helped me achieve victory on many battlefields, including that of the War of Liberation, allowing Pachil’s freedom. I offer it now to protect Pachil once again.”

The spirit’s eyes flicker with understanding as he extends his enormous hands, radiating an ethereal glow that forces me to squint from its intense brightness, and accepts my offering. “Your sacrifice is received.”

Itzatlix now looks upon Síqalat. She steps forward hesitantly, drawing a plain obsidian sword from the harness at her back. “Here, I offer this mighty blade that has been in my family for generations. It’s what I used to learn how to fight as I was taught by my father.”

The towering Itzatlix’s expression darkens. “You lie!” he shouts, pointing an accusatory finger at her. “Do not mock the sacred act of sacrifice. This item holds no personal value to you. You all shall perish at her insolence!”

Upachu and I exchange worried glances. Has she compromised our mission? Are we to be struck where we stand for her attempt at deceit? Hoping it’s not too late, I step forward, placing a hand on Síqalat’s shoulder. “This is about proving our commitment to Pachil. You must offer something that truly matters to you. It’s the only way.”

“But I have nothing to give!” she pleads, her eyes wide with concern. “All I have is this sword, and the other weapon is one I purchased in Qiapu. I don’t have anything that is ‘personal’, I swear!”

Upachu frowns. “What is that, there?” He points to the large disc dangling from her neck. The compass, the item she regularly regards as she seeks our destination.

“Yes, what about the compass?” I ask.

“It’s another item I purchased,” she says. “From Achope. Again, no personal items! So what else do I give but the sword from my father?”

Her voice quivers, and I detect her nervousness isn’t from disappointing a supernatural being — which, I would think, would be the aspect that would cause myself to be worried. No, this is the result of something personal, something close to her. She is worried about the significance of losing such an item.

“Síqalat,” I say, softening my voice, “what is the importance of the compass?”

Her lips form a tight line, chin quivering from suppressing a sob. With eyes cast downward, she answers, “It’s all I have of…” Her voice trails off as she’s flooded with the somber thought. “It’s stupid,” she eventually says. “I just can’t.”

Upachu leans over, hugging her with one arm. “It’s not stupid, my dear. It holds a personal meaning to you. Sometimes, the things we cherish most are the hardest to part with, but they are also what make a true sacrifice.”

Síqalat hesitates, her eyes brim with unshed tears. “But it’s all I have left. I don’t know if I can…”

Upachu nods, his expression kind and understanding. “I know it’s difficult. But this is about showing our dedication, proving that we are willing to give up something precious for the greater good of Pachil. By offering it, you show your true commitment to our mission and to the future of our world.”

She looks longingly at the compass. “But without it…”

“You have us,” Upachu says gently. “We’ll find our way together. You are stronger than you realize, and your strength doesn’t come from the compass, but from within you.”

I step closer to her. “Upachu is right. We’re in this together. We will help each other find our way, no matter what.”

Síqalat’s eyes dart around, noticeably searching for an escape. Finally, with a heavy sigh, she looks down. She reaches for the compass around her neck. Her fingers tremble as she unfastens it from around her neck and holds it out. “This compass… belonged to my father, Nahuilin. It’s my last connection to my family, and has guided me through all of my journeys. I offer it now.”

Understanding the difficulty of her sacrifice, I return a consolatory hand to her shoulder. “We’re all in this together, and your strength will honor your father’s memory.”

Síqalat nods solemnly. I’m sure it’s not what she wants to hear right now, with the relinquishing of something precious wounding her deeply, but I am confident she will be stronger having made this sacrifice.

Itzatlix’s gaze fixes to the compass as he collects the item. “Your sacrifices are accepted. May you carry the wisdom and resolve to protect. Proceed, and may your path be guided by the strength of your hearts.”

The guardian’s form shimmers, then fades, leaving us standing in the frozen chamber. Slowly, another passage of blinding light beckons us toward it. Cautiously, we approach the newly revealed opening. Though a little suspicious, we step through the threshold. As we cross it, our breath catches in unison as the ethereal garden reveals itself. Inside the heart of the pyramid, a lush and verdant world thrives, bathed in an otherworldly glow. Vegetation from every corner of Pachil mingles in a chaotic harmony, each leaf and petal pulsating with life. Vines thick with emerald hues twist around ancient stone pillars, while flowers of every imaginable color — crimson, violet, and sapphire — bloom in rapid succession. The sweet scent of blossoms mingles with the aroma of rich, damp soil.

Above, the ceiling of the pyramid appears to vanish, replaced by a colorful sky that shifts between dawn and dusk, casting everything in a surreal light. The tranquil waters — perhaps the actual lagoon from which Iolatl birthed life itself — sparkles with an iridescent sheen. Within the lagoon, lilies and lotus flowers drift serenely, their petals opening and closing in a rhythm that mimics the breath of the garden. Time here moves differently, seasons changing with each step, leaves falling and sprouting anew in a perpetual cycle of rebirth.

At the center of this verdant paradise stands a grand tree, its bark shimmering with a silvery luminescence. Its branches stretch outward like welcoming arms, adorned with a variety of fruit that glows faintly — marañon, pitahaya, chirimoya, lucuma, guayaba, papaya, and granadilla, all appearing on the same tree. Beneath its canopy, the grass is a carpet of green that’s softer than any bedroll.

At the base of the tree, there’s a familiar sight to Upachu and I that greets us: a chest, made from lumuli wood, carved with intricate shapes and symbols. They don’t appear to be glyphs like that from the papyrus nor the other locations, but I’m certain they must be of particular significance. The two of us revere the prized item, staring at it in awe.

Confused, Síqalat glances at us as though we’ve lost our minds; perhaps we have. “So, you’ve traveled all this way for a box?” she asks, perplexed. “I’ve seen better craftsmanship from the Aimue, and they’re simple farmers. What’s so special about–“

Ignoring her, Upachu opens the chest. On a golden chain is an ornate turquoise stone, carved into the shape of a bird — a condor? An eagle? More papyrus fill the container, and Upachu clutches at them as though he’s in possession of precious stones. We share a smile, relieved to discover the contents after such an arduous journey.

As soon as the amulet is in my grasp, there’s a tremor at our feet, just moments before the floor of the garden begins to drop around us.