Natalia had rejected her gift and the power that flowed through her. She had turned her back on the muertos and had chosen another path. Her choice left her son Milo to take up the burden of the power she rejected. The family gift passed to him on...
Milo Santiago stood beneath the shade of a towering palm tree, his dark curly hair catching the faintest breeze that blew through the quiet streets of Jayuya. His lean, athletic build was a testament to his active life. In the mornings before school and most afternoons upon his return, Milo toiled on his parent's modest farm. When he wasn't tending to the land, he offered consultas or readings to the villagers for extra income. This financial support was crucial when the farm's crops struggled to flourish.
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The town where Milo and his mother Natalia lived was nestled in the mountains, in the center of Puerto Rico, surrounded by verdant hills and the scent of tropical flowers drifting on the air. The sun cast long shadows on the cobblestone streets, and the atmosphere was heavy with the weight of history. This was a place where generations of families descended from the Tainos had built their lives, their stories woven into the very fabric of the town.
People went about their day to day lives, the hum of conversation filling the air as they greeted each other warmly. It was a close-knit community, where everyone knew their neighbors and news traveled by word of mouth faster than any newspaper. But within this tapestry of ordinary life, there were threads of something more – the voices of the past echoed in the streets and whispered from the shadows.
For Milo, these voices were very real. He had heard them since he was a small child, to him they were an invitation to explore the mysteries that lay hidden just beneath the surface, waiting to be uncovered. Milo had a deep connection to the muertos, the dead. It was a bond that had been passed down through his family for generations. In a place like this, where the past and present seemed to merge into one, Milo felt their presence all around him.
As Milo walked along the worn streets, his thoughts turned to his mother Natalia. Their relationship was fraught with tension – rooted in her fear of the power that flowed through their bloodline. Natalia had rejected her gift and the power that flowed through her. She had turned her back on the muertos and had chosen another path. Her choice left Milo as the one who inherited the power she rejected. The family gift passed to him on the day he was born. That day was the last day Natalia saw the muertos, as she held Milo for the first time, she looked over his small head and standing at the foot of her bed were her grandmother, great grandmother, her grandfather, great grandfather, several taino warriors and a magnificent taino chief. Instinctively she knew these souls had been waiting for Milo to be born and their presence was the testament to the power he would soon inherit.
The muertos smiled at her and then her grandmother put her hand over the baby's head as if in blessing and after a moment she smiled and nodded and then all of them faded away. Natalia knew from that day forward Milo's life would belong to the dead. she knew she could not teach him, but her mother could and she lovingly set her son on the path chosen for him by the dead.
Milo never feared the dead and he refused to be defined by his mother's fear. He was determined to master his spiritual gifts, to use them for the betterment of their community and the world beyond.
