Mort followed the whispers of his goddess, letting her guide his steps while Renata played among the swarm of insects that surrounded her. Though play was perhaps too generous a word. The mischievous doll fired thin rays of divinity at any creature that strayed too close, and the game quickly became one-sided. A wide circle formed around her, empty despite the millions of insects that filled the land. None dared linger for long.

  The journey had been long, but thus far the land had provided enough sustenance for all of them. Still, the many predators they had encountered had taken their toll. His procession had thinned, and with it, his already meager inflow of faith dwindled—small, but noticeable.

  His goddess had already warned him they were close to a settlement. He only needed to find it, and they could finally rest for a time.

  If the settlement lacked the protection of a god, he would offer his own.

  If it already knew safety beneath another, he would challenge it.

  If they proved his equal, alliance would be the wisest choice.

  His goddess had been silent on what he should do if the opposing side was stronger, leaving the decision entirely to him.

  Mort wasn’t sure how he felt about that.

  Deciding had never truly been his role. Not with his mother. Not with the corrupt god. His life had always been mapped out by others, his path chosen before he ever stepped upon it.

  That made his current freedom all the more precious.

  The flowing wind, the layered aromas of the land, the endless company at his back—Mort clung to the hope that this life would not dissolve like a pleasant daydream.

  Lost in thought, he almost missed it.

  The settlement lay ahead.

  The swarm reacted instantly. Chirps, buzzes, and soft cries of excitement rippled outward before the creatures scattered. They burrowed, skittered, and vanished into the surrounding land, hiding themselves until called upon again.

  Mort smiled as he took in the sight.

  A small village bordered a clear, tranquil lake. The water caught the light beautifully, drawing his eye—but what stood out more was the absence of people. It was the middle of the day, the sun warm and high, yet few villagers walked the paths.

  It felt wrong.

  Renata, of course, paid no heed to the strangeness. She skipped straight into the village as if she owned it, her sharp gaze scrutinizing every corner, measuring it against some private standard she alone understood.

  The villagers who were outside watched them carefully. No one approached. No one challenged them.

  Mort braced himself to be chased away, but instead, they only stared—glancing off toward the lake, the forest, the roads beyond.

  As if they were waiting.

  For someone.

  Or something.

  That turned out to be the village’s priest.

  Unfortunately, that likely meant the settlement already lay beneath the protection of a god. Mort suppressed a sigh. If that was the case, he would need to proceed carefully—observe, understand, and decide his next steps with care.

  The added weight of choice brought with it a dull ache behind his eyes. A small headache, but one he would have to endure. Especially since the priest stood alone. At the very least, Mort could try to learn what he could—with the goddess’ whispered guidance.

  Renata had wandered off by the time the priest approached him. Her absence raised no suspicion. Whatever her true nature, the priest—who might have been able to see through her—seemed far too distracted by his own worries to pay her any mind.

  The man wore elegant blue robes, their fabric fine but worn thin by time. His expression was deeply furrowed with concern, though Mort could not yet tell what troubled him. He hoped—quietly—that it had nothing to do with him.

  His goddess leaned close as the conversation began. She whispered impressions into his thoughts, unraveling the priest’s state of mind with unsettling ease. His fears. His doubts. Even things far more intimate than Mort cared to know.

  She giggled softly as she spoke.

  Mort did not let it show. He kept his face composed as the priest questioned him, probing for signs of strangeness, for any hint of danger Mort might bring with him.

  There was nothing to reveal.

  The goddess had washed most of the filth from his being. Of the two of them, only Renata still clung so stubbornly to corruption.

  “I understand there’s a sickness here,” Mort said at last, nodding respectfully to the elder. His voice was calm, unthreatening. “It doesn’t worry me. Quite the opposite, actually.”

  He gathered a small amount of divinity into his palm, letting it glow softly—just enough to demonstrate his capability.

  “I can help cure it, if you would have me,” he continued, the goddess soothing his nerves as he spoke. “And if you permit it, I was hoping to stay for a while. My sister and I have traveled a long way.”

  He scratched the back of his head, adopting the manner of a concerned older brother.

  “She’s… quite starved for companionship her own age.”

  The priest frowned, studying him in silence. His gaze lingered, heavy and searching, allowing Mort a closer look at the ritual paint streaked across his sweat-dampened face.

  At last—whether from deep contemplation or the pressure of his unspoken worries—the elder relented. He gestured for Mort to follow, beginning a quiet tour of the village. What little they had, he offered freely, inviting Mort to partake without hesitation.

  They walked mostly in silence, broken only when the priest greeted a passerby or named a humble landmark.

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  Eventually, they stopped before a small, worn hut.

  The elder placed a hand on Mort’s shoulder, wished him a good day, and then turned away without another word.

  Mort watched him go, unease stirring in his chest. Still, he took it in stride.

  Inside his mind, the goddess laughed softly, teasing his anxious thoughts.

  “Everything is going wonderfully,” she purred. “I believe we’ll have our first true devoted very soon.”

  She slipped away before he could scold her—vanishing into the deeper corners of his heart.

  Hopping from memory to memory.

  Leaving behind whispered comments.

  And the occasional, unmistakably naughty thought.

  -

  Jimena returned to the forest village utterly exhausted. The enormous meal she had shared with the people of the empire had barely dulled her hunger. If not for the stunned expressions of the soldiers as they watched her eat, she might have continued until nothing remained. Even then, she stopped only with reluctance—half-worried she would consume their entire supply.

  She answered the translator’s questions with simple nods and murmured sounds, her mouth perpetually full. The last morsels she had taken still clutched in her hands as she ate without shame.

  She had been honest—or as honest as her goddess allowed. Soft warnings whispered in her mind whenever a question strayed too close to something dangerous. Thankfully, the men remained respectful throughout. They gave her no reason to bare her power.

  When the meal ended, Jimena kept the exchange brief. She thanked them, but maintained her distance, her body still too broken to invite further attention. She accepted only the blessed ring before departing, using the deepening twilight to hide the way pain bent her steps.

  She had been tempted to keep the horse.

  But its fearful eyes stayed her hand. And the long journey ahead would only be slowed by such a burden. Accepting the excess of their gifts would also mean accepting them—and that was a choice she had yet to make. Still, the food and their reverence lingered in her thoughts, quietly weighing on the decision she knew would come.

  The forest felt unbearably lonely without Xolo at her side. The goddess, too, remained silent, offering neither lesson nor comfort. There was only Jimena, her spiraling thoughts, and the ache that clung to her flesh and spirit alike.

  Then the fireflies came.

  They appeared all at once as night settled in, their soft lights drifting through the trees like living stars. Their gentle glow eased something tight in her chest. Even the strain of walking faded into the background as she followed their wandering dance deeper into the woods.

  Kauyumari awaited her at the edge of the overgrown forest. The massive roots tangled thickest near the center, making her wonder—briefly—how the empire’s horses had crossed so easily.

  She shook the thought away and hurried to the great blue deer. Wrapping her arms around him, she hugged him tightly—both in greeting and in desperate need of comfort. His presence steadied her, calming the storm still churning inside.

  Jimena did not know what her future held.

  She only hoped that acts like the one she had committed today would not become a common part of her life.

  When Jimena returned to the village at daybreak, no one had yet stirred. The stillness allowed Kauyumari to step lightly between the clustered huts, carrying her directly toward her home. He moved with great care, mindful of the tightly packed dwellings beneath his hooves. Curiosity tugged at him as he passed—his head lowering now and then to peer into the small structures, glimpsing villagers still wrapped in sleep.

  Jimena drifted in and out of consciousness, murmuring directions to the giant deer. Most were correct. Occasionally, however, she would startle awake and bark the opposite path, forcing Kauyumari to halt abruptly—once nearly planting a hoof atop a hut.

  He had always seen Bahía Oscura from afar. Never once had he dared step within its bounds. Yet now, seeing it from the inside, he was struck by how alive it felt. The huts near the center were larger, sturdier than those at the edges—built closer together, as if drawn inward.

  Kauyumari knew why.

  From the village’s heart he felt it clearly—Jimena’s boundless divinity saturating the land. Two other presences lingered there as well. Weaker, quieter… yet beneath them slumbered something far older. An ancient power whose shape eluded even him, resisting description no matter how he turned it over in his mind.

  With every step, a tremor echoed through his back—Jimena’s heartbeat, deep and rhythmic like a distant drum. The closer he came to her home, the stronger it grew.

  Then the song of ascension began.

  Light broke through the morning sky in radiant beams, converging upon Jimena where she lay upon Kauyumari’s back. The warmth focused, pouring down upon her. Hidden tattoos surfaced across her skin, igniting as they filled with golden divinity drawn from the heavens.

  Chimes rang. Bells sang. Flutes cried out alongside instruments Kauyumari had never seen nor heard. Their music carried through the dawn, vibrating through earth and air alike. Within the huts, he felt villagers begin to stir.

  It was his cue to depart.

  Kauyumari had long since grown weary of the attention his size and brilliant color drew. With a few final, careful steps, he reached Jimena’s home and gently lowered the drowsy chosen to the ground.

  She stirred, half-awake, startled by the light and sound swelling around her. The chimes and bells rose higher, louder—beating in time with her heart as the morning claimed her.