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The Captain’s sacrifice breathed new life into Natlan, the healing leylines beckoning to the tired and lost souls that clung onto the former war drenched soil. Letting distant loved ones pass on peacefully to the Night Kingdom wasn't a privilege anymore.
The people of Master’s of the Night Wind never feared death as a concept, well, all except one- meeting Ronova’s piercing gaze made Ororon’s blood run cold. That incomprehensible truth, coupled with watching the Captain’s breaths cease as he fell into complete inactivity made him afraid of death, the thing he was ‘so close’ to.
Guthred’s mockery of his condition fell on deaf ears at first. Even after the cries of Yohualtecuhtin ripped through his senses, he still got back up, and he still fought for himself and his nation. After the war, he still woke up every day with words to say to his aphids and plants. He’d find time to spend with Ifa, to visit his commander’s throne, to help Citlali with ferrying wandering souls, to tend to all of his plant children- he had everything. No ‘grand, world changing purpose’, just enough to cherish and protect.
But after a year or so of peace, something changed. It was like a switch had been flipped, his soul had started craving the newly healed warm lagoons of the dead, his body now feeling like a cage keeping him trapped in the overworld. His mind began to drown in dark thoughts more frequently, though he ignored them, thinking it was just some ‘readjustment’ issue.
Each passing month brought something more dreadful than the last- his skin feeling winds as if they were cold, sharp, obsidian daggers. Hunger now felt like jaguars ripping apart his stomach and chest inch by inch. It was safe for everyone to assume that his condition was worsening. Ororon began to burn through the talismans that Citlali would make for him, going from needing to renew it once every month and a half, to once every few days. Despite all of this, he still tried his best to remain strong, strong enough to not worry people he cares for. But worry caught up to them after he eventually lost nervous contact with his right leg. He was close to death- close to losing everything he finally had after so much struggle. And he was scared.
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It was late at night, and Ororon laid in a soft cushion crowded bed with eyes peeled open trying to trace the growing voids in his vision. He moved in with Citlali after weeks of her and Ifa’s insisting. Now needing a new talisman almost daily, being anywhere other than besides his grandmother was meaningless.
His ears picked up a soft knock on the front door, followed by Citlali’s pained footsteps. The door opened to a meek, younger voice breaking the silence-
“H-hi Granny Itztli! Um…” It was Kachina. “I- we’re sorry it's so late, but we were having trouble finding more crystal deposits…”
”Oh youngin… Xilonen, did you have to force her here with you too?” Citlali chuckled, patting Kachina’s head.
”Oh pff-well, she wasn’t listening when I told her she doesn't have to come along. I guess she’s just worried too.” Xilonen’s sleepy voice said.
”Is that so…”
Ororon went from shuffling to sitting upright, his ears locked onto their voices. He grabbed the old staff Citlali had given him to use as support, and pushed himself up until his back was against the door of the room.
“But yeah, Kachina’s right. We’ve pretty much “run out” of these crystal deposits. If we need more, we’ll have to scout all of Natlan again. Even then, at best we’d find a lonely vein…” a small paper packet rustled in Xilonen’s hands, “This is all we got for today… I’m sorry, Citlali.”
Citlali paused for a long moment. “…Ah, um, no no! Don’t apologize! You both did what you could—“ she caught her own breath, “I… appreciate it… a lot, thank you.”
”Get some rest, Grans’, I can tell it's been a long day.” Xilonen said in a light tone. “I’ll go get Kachina back home, I don't want her sleep schedule getting all messed up.”
They bid each other goodnight, and Citlali carefully closed the door.
Ororon’s ears were now trained on Citlali- she tossed the small packet between her palms as she walked towards her study, humming a nonsensical, made up tune. She slowly unraveled the yarn around the paper, letting the sparse crystal chunks clatter against the table.
He heard her rock a crystal chunk back and forth, as her breathing got heavier and more controlled.
“Oh… Noyollo…”
His heart sank as he stood there, listening to his grandmother’s sobs echoing through the walls of the house. Her cries cloaked nearly silent words, all cut off at “my…”.
The cries turned into soft stuttering, before falling to silence as her breath eased itself. Ororon pushed himself off of the wall, and opened the door. He walked towards where she lay, sleeping at her desk with Itzpapa in her arms.
Her fingers were covered in bruises.
—end—