The three priests drifted as though flying, weightless and half-aware.
They felt the soft embrace of something vast—warm, protective—but their thoughts were too hazy to grasp what held them. They closed their eyes for what felt like a single breath, and when they opened them again, the world had changed a thousand times.
They moved through veils of mist alive with shadows and silhouettes, shifting and spinning like dancers at a festival unseen. Drums pulsed within the fog—deep, resonant beats that shook the air itself. Colors burst from the haze in waves of gold, crimson, and jade. Even here, in this strange half-realm, celebration continued.
Marisol turned, her gaze soft and unfocused. Her eyes gleaming with dreamlike pink light. Her features shimmered, infinitesimaly touched by divinity—almost fairy-like now. She floated upon a cloud of rose-colored vapor, delicate as flower petals, her hair trailing behind like ribbons of dawn.
Then the mists parted.
They passed over Xochitonal, who lay sprawled across his small dominion, the massive iguana's body covering nearly the entire island beneath him.
The creature opened one luminous eye, glaring lazily at the intruders. Jimena and Jaime glowed so fiercely that the god-beast hissed in irritation.
Their lights blazed like twin suns—one molten gold, the other pure fire—comets streaking swiftly across the horizon. Xochitonal snorted once, then closed his eye again, the disturbance already forgotten.
Beyond him stretched a vast lake, its mirrored surface glowing beneath their drifting forms. Along its shores, chinampas thrived—floating gardens bursting with the ripe crops of November. As the priests passed overhead, their divine radiance fell upon the waters, blending with the goddess's sacred flow.
The lake shimmered in answer, its ripples whispering songs of gratitude.
They drifted over mountain forests—sky islands crowned with mist, where jaguars slumbered beneath shadowed canopies. Golden eyes flickered from beneath the trees, silent witnesses to their passage.
Beyond the forests stretched deserts vast and bare, though one burned with strange life: an obsidian forest rising from the dunes, each black trunk gleaming like glass. Vines of emerald and crimson blossoms wound around the jagged forms, lush greenery devouring the sand itself.
They passed over the desolate plain where once arrows had rained upon them. Now only the tall cactus remained—silent sentinels in a land at peace.
Winds rose suddenly, shrieking like spirits. Tornadoes twisted in their path, clawing at them with invisible hands. But divine light—gold, jade, and flame—sliced through the storm, scattering its fury into nothingness.
Ahead stretched an endless field of white, cold as death. Frost glittered like powdered stars, but none of the chill could touch them. Their divine warmth burned steady, a flame that no wind could extinguish.
Then the obsidian mountain appeared—its jagged peak rising from the horizon like a wound in the world. From its surface, shards of black glass broke free and rushed toward them in a glimmering swarm. They encircled the three priests like living things, merging with their flesh, sinking into their hearts.
Within each chest, a gem began to form—dark and radiant, pulsing with divine essence. One facet pressed against the skin, glowing faintly through it. The shards swirled around them like hungry insects, drawn into the forming crystal until all was still again.
They drifted on, past crashing mountains that rumbled in their sleep, between waking and dreaming. Their eyes fluttered—half-open, half-dreaming—catching glimpses of the paths they had once struggled to cross, now merely ripples in memory.
At last, they reached the black flowing river where it had all begun. The place of first meeting, first guidance. Along its shore, countless Xoloitzcuintli and spirits gathered—watching in confusion as divine light streaked past overhead.
Some bowed, some knelt, others raised their skeletal hands in prayer.
And then—
They closed their eyes one final time.
The world slammed back into them. Flesh. Bone. Breath.
Weight. Gravity. Life.
Cool sand brushed against their skin, the scent of earth and salt water filling their lungs. The air was crisp and alive. After the numbness of the underworld, even pain felt holy.
Marisol's lips parted in a trembling laugh.
Jimena exhaled smoke and light.
Jaime, still half-lost to dream, whispered, "We're home."