The jungles of Tecota had never been a calm pce. Death was everywhere. In the canopies, in the bushes, in the ground… but they knew how to overcome it. If you knew what could lurk in the darkness, you needed not to fear it, only prepare against it.

  But that changed. Well, that had changed well before he was born.

  Elders would rattle and sing about the old ways and how they had been one with nature, but decades ago the people had come from the sea. How they did it was beyond him, but they were conquerors. Vilges like his weren't used to conquerors. He had heard of big cities and kings deeper into the jungle, but not here. Here it was a free-for-all, vilge against vilge, all caring for their own and only their own survival. Small skirmishes of scavengers, very far from the concept of conquerors.

  The vilge was family. Those were the only ones you could trust.

  But sometimes, when harvests were good, other vilges were good too. Mostly to keep the blood fresh, like the elders said. He knew not why those conquerors had arrived, but they took great interest in the nd. Or more exactly, what was beneath it. Metals were only trinkets to them, stone or obsidian was more valuable, but these conquerors hungered for it.

  Their first approach was one of peace. They brought gifts, mostly in the form of knowledge. That was how he, Xochipilli, learned about the world beyond.

  The missionary of Sulnaya was ecstatic about them, and for all he knew, he had been there since the beginning. He loved to preach about his own mysticism as the belief seemed to be dying in his own nds, and whilst the elders didn't like the man's words, they didn't chase him out. The missionary's knowledge was very valuable, and it helped many people to survive.

  Xochipilli was gifted from the gods a bright mind, and perhaps he didn't accept the missionary's mysticism, but he did welcome the man's knowledge. He learned the foreigner's nguage at the same time as his own, but he never understood the concept of writing. His ancestral tongue couldn't be put to paper – it was in the name, after all, tongue – but the same wasn't for the missionary. The man's knowledge could linger if it was written.

  But as the boy was starting to learn those recorded words, they came. The conquerors.

  Their second approach was one of war.

  Even the concept of war was incorrect. Too tame. For war was only possible when both sides held an equal footing, like a skirmish between vilges.

  No. It was a massacre.

  "You can't do this!" The missionary had protested as he stood between the vilgers and the conquerors.

  "Oh, but we can." The conqueror with the bloodshot eyes spoke. "Tecota is too ripe. It holds too many resources, and these people are just in the way. They can only act as manpower. Either here, or back home."

  "You are a monster!" The missionary protested. Most vilgers didn't understand the discussion, but some had spears in hand at the sight of the conqueror's torches and sheathed weapons.

  The man with the bloodshot eyes chuckled. The next moment the missionary was set abze. "Never said I wasn't."

  And then all hell broke loose.

  Yet Xochipilli still lingered there, hearing the guttural cries of the missionary screaming in pain, his life being consumed by the fires and transformed into death. It had been one instant. In one moment, the missionary was speaking. In the next, he was engulfed by fmes that seemingly spawned out of nowhere.

  "Kill the elders! Kill those who resist! Only let survive those who are healthy!" The man with the bloodshot eyes hurled his commands to the rest of the conquerors, and they moved like the wind.

  Even though their metal weapons were no novelty to the vilgers, their might certainly was. Some of the conquerors moved faster than thought, killing some of their warriors before they could even raise their spears. And for those that managed to get out of the way and raise their weapons, they would get cleaved in half by shining weapons as big as them.

  It was impossible to comprehend how such massive weapons could move that fast.

  As the conquerors had advertised, they only killed the old and those who resisted. It didn't matter if they were young or if they were women. Those who fought back weren't even considered to be left alive.

  It was almost a statement. If you raised your arms, you were dead. Perhaps they didn't kill you if you ran away, but they ran faster, so it was useless.

  Screams filled the pce. Screams of pain. Screams of loss. Screams of maniacal joy. Xochipilli didn't know whose he was hearing. It all blended together. He just knew that he was drenched in blood. He just knew that his parents were armed hunters.

  And he just knew that they y dismembered on the ground.

  He couldn't recognize his mother. Father at least had been killed with a swift strike to the heart and fallen to the ground, but Mother had been bisected by one of those colossal metal weapons. The puzzle was simple, two pieces only, yet his mind was unable to connect them together. It was as if they weren't meant to be joined.

  Ah… He finally noticed. I am the one that is screaming.

  Bckness overtook him.

  By the time he woke up, his head hurt a lot. He was in a dark celr of some sort, and it moved a lot. How amusing, that was exactly what he desired not to do. There were many people in the celr with him, none of them were chained, but it almost felt like it with those crestfallen expressions. They knew what would happen if they tried to do anything.

  But he couldn't recognize those people, not yet.

  It took three days before they let them out. There was water in the celr, but no food. Most people struggled to get up when light appeared. Not that it mattered to Xochipilli. His head still hurt, and he didn't want to move. They had to carry him out.

  After that, the conquerors took them out to a weird pce. A cold pce. Not cold as the nights of winter. Far colder. The frozen air threatened to cause his very bones to crack as his breath became white as clouds. Fortunately, the conquerors didn't let them linger in the outside for long. They loaded them inside of something that also moved.

  As affected as he was, the cold woke Xochipilli up. He had thought that nothing could affect him anymore, but the cold proved otherwise.

  The new room they pced them in was far more crowded than the celr, but at least now they have given them food. Crumbs, but food was food, and the cold reminded him that he needed to eat. That he was dying.

  But what gave him a second breath was seeing a known face in the multitude of strangers. Tecotans all, yes, but from other vilges, and not ones he could recognize. It was obvious that his vilge hadn't been the only one assaulted.

  The wrinkled face he saw was familiar. Almost simir to his father.

  "Oh, Xochipilli, thank the gods!" His uncle embraced him. "It makes me happy that you survived…" It almost didn't feel real, so much so that his mind didn't fully process it.

  They spent the next days in the moving room. The longer it moved, the warmer it got, but the more the precariously loaded boxes threatened to colpse on them. Some did get very hurt. Maybe he already did. From time to time, the room stopped moving. The conquerors always closed the door out of the room whenever the room was stopped but left it open when it was moving. Almost like a challenge.

  He couldn't remember why, but he overheard the conversation of two of the conquerors. They said they were going to stop again, but now they would need to switch "trains". It was a vague memory, but he made it out unnoticed. Or at least, unnoticed for enough time to get a head start.

  It all was a slog. It was hard to recall, mostly because he didn't want to, but also because his mind hadn't been working properly for a while.

  He trod into the woods, simir to the jungle he knew albeit different. He gave it his all, yet it took only a few hours before he found his pursuer – or rather, he found him – and before when he finally saw death catch up to him, there she was.

  A goddess.

  She saved him from certain death. Reminded him what life was.

  And then he was back at the pntation. Uncle was in front of him and her goddess was squatting at his side. Tears poured out of his eyes.

  "I'm sorry." Those words were the first thoughts that appeared on his mind. "I'm sorry for lying!" The child cried with all his might. "I'm so sorry for lying, Aloe!"

  He had lied to his goddess because he had been too weak to properly remember. He deserved to die. He should have died right there. Back in their nd along with Father and Mother.

  "Oh, Xochipilli." Her goddess wrapped him in an embrace and pushed his head into her bosom. "You need not to apologize for anything."

  The child looked up to find a motherly smile and a couple of emeralds shining with the warmth of the sun. Yes, that was what she was. Warmth.

  Warmth eternal.

  Epsilon_Twilight