Marisol spent several days deliberately ignoring the pull that now followed her everywhere. Instead, she helped prepare the village for their coming absence.

  Today would be the last day Jaime and Jimena worked alongside the adults. They had started before dawn, finishing the communal latrines—one of the final projects the entire village had taken part in together. The air buzzed with effort and laughter, a fragile normalcy Marisol lingered in for just a little longer.

  But by midday, she could no longer ignore the call.

  She was the first to set out.

  Marisol followed the signs as they revealed themselves—not as commands, but gentle invitations. Fireflies appeared even during the daylight hours, drifting ahead of her like scattered stars. They guided her down strange, winding paths that led to hidden springs, half-dead groves, and places the forest seemed reluctant to reveal.

  Monkeys trailed her for a time, mimicking bird songs with uncanny accuracy. She paused often, watching ants of every size and color build and dismantle their worlds with tireless purpose.

  Faith hung thick in the air.

  Pure motes shimmered through the forest, visible only when Marisol let her thoughts flow freely—when worry loosened its grip and the weight of responsibility slipped from her shoulders. In those moments, the world felt lighter, kinder.

  She smiled at the memories of those she would leave behind, however briefly. Faces full of warmth. Shared laughter. Small, silly habits that made each person unmistakably themselves.

  The children had taken her departure the hardest.

  Unable to animate dolls in the same numbers the chosen could, they had gathered one last time, arms full of clay creations. Marisol had laughed in disbelief at how many dolls now scampered through the village after breathing life into the final batch.

  They had become an amusing hazard.

  Neither children nor dolls enjoyed it when adults accidentally stepped on them—tiny voices crying out in melodramatic “death throes.” Of course, no real harm ever came to them. Their strange, divinity-forged bodies made them remarkably resilient, as long as the small core within remained intact.

  Jaime had discovered that particular detail after investigating one especially mischievous doll.

  Their inner cores functioned as heart and siphon alike, drawing in ambient faith with each rhythmic pulse. The energy repaired their clay bodies and strengthened them in subtle ways. A fascinating miracle—one Jaime had many plans to study further.

  For now, the children were content to test the dolls’ limits.

  With Jaime too occupied to supervise closely, Marisol had taken it upon herself to observe them. Though more often than not, she ended up joining the games instead—learning less about divine mechanics and more about the dolls’ quirks and personalities. She decided that was knowledge worth having too.

  Today, she had left the clay mound in the care of the elders.

  She hoped they could manage the chaos—especially with the dolls added to the mix. The long-term goal was for them to become helpers rather than troublemakers, but that future was still uncertain.

  Animating so many dolls had been part of a larger plan of Jaime’s. At first, the process had been exhausting, but repetition had changed something within her. Her divinity felt denser now—thicker, more resilient. Not stronger exactly, but steadier.

  Marisol bit into a particularly sweet mamey fruit as she walked, sampling plants she encountered along the way. Axochi shared the sensations eagerly—except when she tasted something unfamiliar and it turned out sour or bitter.

  The worst was when it was both.

  The spirit threw a small tantrum at the offense, making her laugh aloud as she continued along the green road. She paused now and then to observe birds or insects so perfectly shaped they seemed carved from the forest itself.

  By late evening, she reached the place the whispers had led her to.

  A small settlement sat atop a hill, encircled by massive trees whose roots formed a tangled labyrinth across the ground. Navigating them had taken effort and care.

  It was strange they had never encountered this place before, given how close it was. But Marisol did not linger on the thought.

  She approached what appeared to be the main entrance, a few pieces of fruit cradled in her hands—an offering, and a greeting.

  -

  Jaime barely registered Jimena’s absence. He knew his sister well enough to understand that she could not remain still for long—not now, not with everything stirring inside her. He didn’t take it personally. Instead, he focused on the work in front of him.

  The largest stones had already been laid, forming the rough outlines of what would become the latrines. In the end, no one had been able to agree on a single design, so the village had settled on compromise through abundance—everyone built what made sense to them.

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  Two separate buildings stood apart: one for women, the other for men.

  Each long structure was made of packed clay and stone, its interior divided into two rows by reed partitions woven by the women of the village. One row was meant for adults, the other for children. Practical, simple, and—Jaime hoped—effective.

  Two narrow canals ran beneath the structures, angled carefully to guide waste away into the large pits they had dug beyond the buildings. None of it had been tested yet. That uncertainty sat heavy in Jaime’s thoughts.

  If they miscalculated, the waste could seep into the soil and contaminate the crops.

  That fear was the reason for the careful spacing between everything, and why Jaime intended to monitor the latrines closely once they were in use. Several farmers had volunteered to help, offering what knowledge they had about turning waste into fertilizer. It was a long-standing idea, one they hoped would eventually support what Marisol was already achieving with her sacred water.

  For now, it was an experiment—like so many things they were attempting.

  Unlike Marisol and Jimena, the pull of whispers had not pressed so insistently against Jaime’s mind. The gods had not demanded his movement. If anything, it felt as though they believed he still had work to finish here in Bahía Oscura.

  That unsettled him.

  Jaime knew there was always more to be done, but he could not yet see what task still waited for him. And until he did, he would stay where he was—hands in the earth, shaping something meant to last.

  -

  Jimena returned to Kauyumari’s shrine once her part of work was done. The public latrines were nearly finished, and they no longer needed her to bake bricks for the foundation. With nothing left to anchor her, she finally relented to the pull of her goddess and followed the whispers here.

  The evening sky bled across the horizon, deep reds and purples fading into night. Fireflies danced in the air, moving in time with the symphony of croaks and insects rising from the lagoon. The water itself seemed to awaken, shimmering with dozens of shades of blue and green.

  A few fish bearing blessed markings swam lazily near the surface—alebrijes that gathered the natural faith of the lagoon, growing slowly, patiently, until one day they might become something like Kauyumari.

  As she always did, Jimena sat after placing her offering of cornbread at the shrine. She watched the creatures of the lagoon go about their nightly rituals and let her flaming hair dim to a gentle flicker, no brighter than an ember. Some of the fireflies dared to approach her, hovering close as she waited for the giant blue deer to appear.

  Ever since meeting the Wixárika, Jimena felt incomplete if she did not speak with Kauyumari. It was a strange comfort, one deepened by the steady presence of her goddess’s whispers. A ritual she needed before sleep—especially now, with the gods urging them forward once more.

  She welcomed that push, even if it came wrapped in pain.

  Pain had been a constant in her life. What was a little more?

  A single tear slipped free, falling into the lagoon. She evaporated the rest before they could fall, drawing her knees to her chest as she let herself drown in the swell of emotions she’d been holding back.

  Kauyumari arrived soon after.

  His steps were light, barely disturbing the water as he approached. His voice came as a quiet murmur in her mind, and he nudged her gently with his nose, trying to comfort her.

  Jimena smiled and hugged his broad snout, letting the last of her tears go as she stood.

  “I’m ready,” she said softly. “Take me wherever I’m needed.”

  She straightened, forcing resolve into her posture, pumping herself up for yet another journey into the unknown.

  Kauyumari lowered himself into the lagoon, startling the fish that had paid him no mind moments before.

  “I will take you where you are needed most,” he replied. “The whispers of your goddess fill my mind as well.”

  Jimena settled onto his wide back, finding her balance as his power thrummed beneath her. Her goddess’s guidance flooded her once more—not words, but impressions. Directions that grew stronger when she faced the right path or lingered in the wrong one.

  It was a strange sensation, one Kauyumari seemed able to sense through her. Perhaps it was his antlers, etched with ancient pictograms, that allowed him to understand. She had often traced them with her fingers in quiet wonder, feeling the current of power flowing through them.

  Stretching out, Jimena lay back against his soft fur and let the night carry her. She would spend the long hours like this, trusting Kauyumari to guide her to where she was needed. His speed was the only way she could hope to reach her destination in time.

  She just hoped one night would be enough.

  With everything stirring inside her, Jimena didn’t want to be far from home any longer than she had to be.