Miguel, Tulio and Chel were all bundled up and watching their daughters play when a messenger-boy brought them the horrible news; the forest is burning down! The animals are being shot! White people are invading our land!

Tulio shot up, and in his eyes burned a fire so magnificent that the curtains on either side of him were set ablaze. Chel stumbled backward while Miguel summoned water to extinguish the fire, and Tulio growled before stalking towards the place he kept his warrior armor.

"It's Cortes," Miguel said, but Chel shook her head.

"Cortes is long dead," she whispered, and called for her daughters. "It might be the Spanish people but it's not Cortes."

Miguel kissed Chel's cheek, told her to stay in the temple, and ran after Tulio to dress himself up.

As they stalked out of the temple that had become their home, Tulio gritted his teeth in absolute fury. This city, this island, its people and its treasures – they were his! His and Miguel's and Chel's and their daughters', how dare anyone take it from him? How dare they try and harm the locals and their farms and their homes?

"Come, Miguel!" he shouted, and all but ran down the stairs. The people in the streets parted, for they recognized anger when they saw it and knew it was best if they moved.

When they returned to the temple four hours later, the sun had gone down and the moon had risen, but Tulio was still as tired and bloody and bruised as Miguel. Chel greeted them with a loud cry, and their daughters wrapped themselves around their feet, and the three women fussed and smiled and brought them all into their one gigantic bed again.

Neither man could sleep, that night, and they cuddled up against each other to find comfort with another murderer.

When their daughters were 20 and also ten, Luna asked "are you really gods" and Miguel and Tulio shared a pained look and said "We don't know," followed by a hurried "Don't tell the villagers!"

But the Spaniards kept coming.

"Is there nothing you can do?" the current chief – they'd lost count – asked, a worried frown marring her quite beautiful face. "At all?"

And there were tears in his eyes when Tulio said, "Gods can only do so much."

Miguel asked their daughters if they had any ideas, and Luna scoffed and replied, "You're an idiot, pops. Just move everyone. Build a boat, find an island, and settle down."

"You can only run away for so long, honey," Chel chimed in, and Luna's scoff turned into a sad frown and she said, "I know."

"Build a boat," Miguel said, to the chief, whose eyes lit up with hope. "A huge boat. Fill it with the people and tons of food. We'll do the rest."

"What about – about tribute?" the chief asked, because she had heard the stories about how the gods loved gold and money, but Tulio only shook his head.

"Forget the tribute," he said. "We want to get out of here alive."

The chief nodded, determinedly, and decided to sneak in some gold anyway.

The boats – ships, rather – were done within the month. Tulio and Miguel held a speech by the chief's side telling the citizens of El Dorado to pack their things and go – as little as necessary, gold even less – and the villagers, who loved their gods more than anything, willingly agreed.

And so it was, that before two months had passed, the city of El Dorado was stripped bare – and two majestic wooden ships were setting sail. For how long, no one knew, and if the trip would prove successful, no one knew –

but anything, anything, was better than the future they knew were coming.

One of the first nights Tulio returned from star-gazing and found Miguel comforting a sobbing Chel. Alarmed, he dropped his cape and rushed to their sides, always their sides – "What's wrong?" he asked, the words mere gasps of breath in the fire-lit room.

"It's nothing," Chel muttered, tears streaming down her cheeks, "I'm just stupid."

Tulio looked from Chel to Miguel, who was watching the scene unfold with a terribly soft frown. "Nightmare," came the answer to the unspoken question.

New tears welled in Chel's eyes. "We don't know what's going to happen!" she cried, slapping her hands over her eyes and heaving after breath. "Are you – are you going to dry out and blow away on the wind, like – like the ashes from flames, or – or salt flakes from water?"

"You're being too dramatic," Miguel murmured, leaning over to rub her shoulders.

"I don't want to lose you," Chel whispered, moving her hands to look at them through eyes clouded with horror yet clearer than they'd ever been. "I can't take that – "

"Ma?" came a soft voice from over by the door.

The three of them started around, only to see –

Luna and Caro, side by side and hand in hand, 22 and eleven and illuminated by the soft douse of moonlight that snuck in through the door.

"Oh, sweetie," Chel breathed, and Tulio saw the look in their daughters' eyes, saw the tilt in their shoulders, and moved aside moments before the two girls threw themselves into Chel's arms.

The crying began anew, and Tulio's heart broke, shattered into pieces at his feet, because he loved these people, the four people before him, Miguel and Chel and Luna and Caro, and now their immediate future was, for the first time, unclear.

He and Miguel had the same thought at the same time, both moving in to engulf Chel and the girls in a hug – and as they sat there, on the bed, crying into the night and each other's arms for a future that might not even exist – Tulio's heart beat a little slower, a little harder, a little fiercer.

If the flames within the lanterns flickered, no one saw or cared.

The third week on the main ship – a ship that which they had named Esparanza – Luna stumbled over the edge of the ship and sunk into water. There were shrieks of terror and fear onboard the ship, even cries for someone to help her – but they stopped, when they saw Luna, bright hair sticking to her cheeks and dark eyes shining, being held afloat by a creature of stories.

The mermaid helped her back onboard the ship, and said, with a voice that sounded like waves and salt and rough rock – "I know of a place where you will be safe."

And onboard the Esparanza there were exchanged gazes of hope, gazes of surprise, gazes of unbelievable faith – and the gazes were turned upon Miguel and Tulio and even Chel – and the three of them, who would've denied it any other day, raised their arms and cheered.

The mermaid disappeared down into the dark abyss, returning later with two others of her kind to help steer the ships in the right direction. And they sailed for four nights and five days, through storms and sun and mists of stardust. Luna hung over the edge of the Esparanza, calling down to her friend below, her voice somehow breaking through the roar of the crashing waves. The others onboard couldn't bear the voice of the mermaid, but Luna told them it sounded like a soft harp being played by calloused hands, and no one dared stop the blooming friendship.

Then, on the fourth night, when Tulio and Caro were standing together and looking up at the stars, the hopeful light reflected in their eyes, Caro huddled underneath Tulio's cape and Tulio's hand pointing out the constellations – yes, then, the island towered up before them, magnificent and dark and looming.

Tulio's hand fell, as well as his jaw, and Caro let out a delighted gasp before running to fetch her other parents and sister.

The five of them stood, shoulder by shoulder and hand in hand, and watched as the island approached.

"We're still alive," Miguel said, and the words hinted to lightness but his tone spoke of something grave and dark and solemn.

Chel raised a hand to her face, wiping effortlessly at the silent tears, and nodded slowly. "This is home," she whispered.

Tulio had to wipe some tears himself. "No," he said quietly. "This is hope."

After the string ladder was thrown down the side of the ship, the chief made a thumping gesture towards the crowd – but before she could start climbing, a voice rose from the audience. "Let the gods go first!"

It was followed by others, a chorus of agreement sweeping through the villagers of no city, and Tulio and Miguel exchanged looks before turning to their daughters.

Caro, ever the fair one, nudged Luna in the side and pushed her towards the ladder. Luna, bright hair framing her face like sunlight, climbed down the ladder. She was with water up to her waist, marched determinedly towards the shore – and when she found her place there –

she stood there, clothes wet and bare feet covered in searing sand, and in her chest her heart swelled with a golden glow.

She turned towards the ship, raised her fists into the air, and gave a loud yell of victory. She basked in the echo from the ship, dozens of voices crying out with her, and on board the greatest ship of them all, four faces shone down at her – her sister the brightest of them all.

They all walked unto the island the same way: with water up to their waists, fists raised in victory and awe, yells of hope spilling from their lips, bare feet covered in sand. And they begun to explore – for several days they walked, split in teams of four people each, and after six days and five nights they all returned and compared knowledge.

A spot was chosen for their new city – a beautiful dale nestled in the crook of a gently curved mountain, green grass tall and soft, sunlight licking down through the light forestry. The building begun, first the houses and afterwards larger and more important buildings – and Miguel distributed the water, Tulio lighting bright flames when the sun dipped into the horizon and painted the sky red.

Day by day the town grew, brick by brick, house by house – and clay was found, and the stone mined, and while all this was happening, four maybe-gods and one non-aging human found a cave behind a waterfall, and, upon seeing this hidden beauty, decided it was to be their temple. They build it themselves, cleaned the walls and brought in inventory, chipping away at the harsh rock until it resembled a home.

Luna was not often of help – no, indeed, she was often to be found by the beach or even in the water itself, by her merfriend Clarima's side, chatting with her in bright voices about things no one understood. Chel followed her, one day, and hid behind a tree as she watched them interact. She noticed the way their touches lingered and their voices rose and sunk like the tide, and knew, deep in her heart, that one day they would become lovers.

And there were troubles. Of course there were troubles, nothing comes for granted. They had problems finding food, people got lost in the woods, the local wildlife was nothing like what they knew –

but the gods were there, and their powers never dwindled, only rose and sunk in perfect synch, one strong when the other weak –

and one day Tulio climbed to the top of the tallest mountain on the island, and he stood there, feet firmly planted on the ground and wind whipping at his cape and hair – and he realized, goosebumps crawling down his arms, that he could see both sun and moon at the same time.

And it was then he realized that there would be no Spaniards coming for them any longer, for Luna's friend Clarima had brought them across borders he hadn't even known existed.

He came back down from the mountain and fell into his waiting lovers' arms, was bombarded with kisses and laughing voices, and knew that he would never again leave.

(And when he and Miguel one day would fall, thousands upon thousands of years later, in defense of their home and their love and their hope –)

(they would be surrounded by stars, shimmering in the distance and even further away, a terrible echo rumbling through them –)

(and a voice would greet them, a genderless voice belonging to a genderless deity with many names)

(Odin, Zeus and Allah among them)

(and the voice would say)

(it would say, words trembling with affection and pride –)

"Welcome home, my children."