Revolutions

127 - Paxilche

The battle is over, but there's no feeling of victory in the silence that follows us. Indifferent to our suffering, the jungle is alive with its own sounds: distant calls of countless creatures, the rustling of branches in a breeze that barely reaches the rainforest floor. The dense weave of leaves overhead lets through only thin shards of light, like the sky itself is too exhausted to care anymore. My muscles ache, but it's not the kind of pain that makes you feel alive—it's the kind that grinds you down, makes you question why you're still moving.

With no time to slow down, we reluctantly push forward. Each of us is locked in our own thoughts, replaying the nightmare we barely escaped. Naqispi's death is a fresh wound, one that bleeds into every glance and word exchanged. Yet we carry on, knowing that whatever lies ahead will demand even more from us, even as we're unsure how much more we have left to give.

My mind keeps circling back to Analoixan, the images of the battle still raw and vivid. We may have claimed victory, but it feels hollow—at what cost? The city lies in ruins, its once proud streets reduced to rubble, and the Eye in the Flame continues to spread like a blight, unchecked and relentless. And now we're trudging through this cursed jungle, on our way to Qasiunqa, where possibly even greater danger awaits.

Saqatli walks ahead, eyes sweeping the underbrush, constantly searching. His lips are pressed into a thin line, and anxiety simmers just beneath the surface. Noch is still missing, and without her, Saqatli is as mute as the trees around us. His silence hangs heavy between all of us, and it's a tangible reminder of all we've lost. Naqispi, the city, any sense of direction—all of it buried beneath the ruins of Analoixan.

The rhythmic crunch of boots and sandals against the jungle floor fades into the background as my thoughts drift to a memory I haven't visited in years. It was just before the war with the Timuaq, back when Limaqumtlia and I were still boys, though we fancied ourselves warriors even then.

We were standing on a cliff overlooking a wide valley dotted with sage green bushes and shrubbery. The wind whipped through our hair as we watched the sun dip below the horizon. Limaqumtlia had that fierce look in his eyes, the one that always meant trouble. I always looked up to him—not just because he was my brother, but because he had a way of making the world feel bigger, more dangerous, but also more alive.

"Do you ever wonder what it would be like to be in charge?" he asked suddenly, his voice almost lost in the wind. I remember how I hesitated before answering, staring at the endless stretch of land below us. At the time, the idea of being a ruler felt like a distant dream, something too big for me to even comprehend.

"Sometimes, I guess," I admitted, though the truth was, I hadn't thought about it nearly as much as he had. I'm sure all Qiapu dream of the day they have an opportunity to perform in the ceremony for the Tempered at Xutuina. Limaqumtlia was the one who always dreamed big, who saw the world as a place to be conquered, while I was content simply trying to keep up with him.

He beamed, looking out upon the landscape. "I think I'd be great!" he remarked. "The greatest to ever rule this land!"

I chuckled, mostly as a reaction to his immense and almost exaggerated sincerity. Looking him up and down, I took in the lanky boy whose arms are barely thicker than those of a young sapling. "And what makes you think this?" I challenged.

He looked at me, his expression serious in a way that was rare for him at the time. "It's not only about being the strongest or the fastest, you know," he says, as if sensing my judgement. "It's about making the tough choices that no one else can. It's about being the one everyone looks to when times get rough."

I didn't fully understand what he meant at the time. I thought he was just talking about the games we played, pretending to be warriors and kings. But now, standing in this gods forsaken jungle with the mission pressing down on me, I get it. I understand the burden he was talking about, the way it can hollow you out from the inside if you're not careful.