The college campus—much smaller than in the world they had known—was as worn down and forsaken as the city they had escaped from. Only the oldest buildings Fuega knew on the campus from their timeline stood, though by far lacking the care and renovations they had been given then: Now they were left to waste away to nature's whims. It was a sad sight really, but one she couldn't mourn for with so much still to lose. Pulling the prison carriage in front of what had at one point been a large library, she slowed the horse to a stop.
No sooner had she done so—dragging a semi-conscious Lluvio from the driver's seat with his arm slung across her shoulders for support—the gate of the carriage was thrust open at full swing as a panicked Sasha leapt from its confines followed by the other children towing the Book along with them. "Lluvio!" she shrieked, batting back tears as she tugged on her sibling's arm, "Please, Lluvio, you have to be ok!" The small child gazed up at Fuega pleadingly, "He's gonna be ok, isn't he?!"
"He'll live," Fuega swallowed, yet she couldn't look the other in the eye and instead turned her face toward the building before them. She had no means of guaranteeing he'd survive his injuries. For not the first time that night, she found herself at a loss for answers. "He's going to live," she repeated, this time more so for her own assurance. He had to live: He couldn't die now, when the two of them were so close to completing their bargain with Xibalba and carrying on with their lives as they had been before this mess.
Step by slow step, she began to lead him and the children into the library.
A soft drizzle of running water could be heard beneath the sound of screeching metal as the rotting, wooden doors were pushed open and the group scrambled inside. A glance toward the left of the large chamber that made the main section of the two-story library revealed a steady stream pouring through a large crack from above from where the roof had caved in due to the weather's harsh and constant wear over the course of time. Splintered beams of wood littered the floor directly beneath it, and the aged shelves lined with just as ancient texts were coated in thick layers dust and mold.
"So creepy…" one of the boys muttered from behind while Sasha ducked nervously behind Kate as though the elder girl could protect her from whatever ghoul might leap out from their deplorable surroundings.
With a pained grown, Lluvio slightly raised his head from his chest to examine the chamber himself before exhaling a soft and tired chuckle, "Surprised you're not kicking and screaming right now, Fuega… The shape this place is in…"
"Shut up," she replied curtly. Leading him to a dry portion of the floor, she forced him to lie down flat on his back—removing her poncho and folding it under his head for support.
The shuffling of small feet sounded on the damaged boards behind her, quietly encompassing her in a half-circle as she tended to her companion. She could feel their worried, anxious stares dig into her back and yet she couldn't look around. She couldn't let them see all of the uncertainty in her own eyes.
"Fuega…" Sanjay finally murmured as the silence dwelled on, "What do we do? We can still do something… right?"
No.
They were only children, who were never meant to be put in such risk: She was a top ranked student at a university, but for all her knowledge she had no means of healing Lluvio's injury. Even if she had the right materials, they would've been as useless to her as an engine blueprint would be to a musician. The only thing left for them to do beyond wait for the inevitable approach of dawn was pray for a miracle…
A warm, golden glow hazed across the floor and something solid nudged her arm gently. Fuega flicked her gaze sideways to find the Book of Life leaning against her, as if understanding the full gravity of their plight. A faint, sad grin tugged at her lips and she ran a tender hand along the leather.
And her eyes then widened. They could pray for a miracle. Or better yet, she could demand one.
Popping up back onto her feet—her expression twisting into a determined scowl—she adjusted her glasses back into place upon the bridge of her nose. The Book, as though drained of energy, rested upon the ground alongside Lluvio in her absence.
"Grab whatever cloth you can find," she began to bark, though her harsh orders only seemed to invigorate the children after the period of disheartening quiet, "but whatever you do, under no circumstances are any of you to leave the building. We'll need to wet a few of them to clean that cut: The rest will be used to bind it and stop the bleeding for now."
Fuega began to take a step forward only to feel a hand clamp around her ankle. Looking back, her eyes travelled the arm connected to it to find Lluvio glaring at her over his weariness. Easily shaking off his weakened grip, she shot him a sour look back. As she began marching to the doorway, Joao called after her, "But where are you going?! We need you here!"
"We need to get that horse and carriage away from here before any more of Chakal's bandits can find us," she retorted. "I'll just guide it further from the city and make my way back on foot. I'll be back soon enough."
Her stolen sword rested carelessly where she had left it on the seat of the carriage. Though unsure if she would really need it, she assumed the worst rather than take any risk. She collected it and attached it to the steed's saddle before mounting the creature's back. A click of her heel against its side set it into motion: A look back over her shoulder ensured that—for the time being—the children remained inside as they had been told.
Dust wore over the terrain and she spat away the clouds that flew at her mouth. The young woman assumed the harsher weather was another consequence of the changes made due to the damage the Book of Life endured, just as how the land had been stripped of much of its promise due to the heavy industrialization and pollution of the city under Chakal's reign. On one hand it was promising, as the storm of debris would cover any tracks left behind in their wake: On the other, depending on how severe the storm grew, it would leave her fumbling against the wrath of the elements and slow her pace back to the campus.
She would return, but by all the realms she was not going to come back alone!
"But I'm telling you the truth!"
"And I'm telling you that you're nothing but a dirty, lying, good- for-nothing maggot on a ravaged dog!"
Hours had passed before Xibalba managed to speak to La Muerte in private once more. The longer the night had dragged on, the more she had seemed to busy herself with tending to the people taking refuge within the ruins of San Angel's church—tedious and careful with each and every task presented to her. However, he found her actions were more so for brushing him aside than for any degree of thoroughness: Being a deity, most of her work could be done with ease even without risk of revealing her true identity. Only after the final candle had been snuffed out, and the last person not working sentry duty had fallen asleep, did he successfully pull her away from the masses—atop of the roof of the building where she had attempted to excuse herself of further business for the night.
His words, however, had fallen on deaf ears and were instead returned by her fiery glare as transformed back into her immortal self—her once radiant aura and vibrant colors faded into dull, somber hues and the marigolds that once decorated her person withered dry, and the candles upon her sombrero flickered in hopeless light. Nothing could convince her of the damage done to the past and she bore no memory beyond what changes had been made. Even the young mortal pair that had sought the return of their lives only just that day had been erased from her mind.
"I know that you don't believe me," he began to plead, "I know that you hate me for whatever you think I've done—but it's not true! Not really!" Xibalba motioned to the city below, wings flustering outward and loose feathers falling from his form as though the weight of his desperation were dragging them down. "In the world I know, San Angel is still standing! In the world I know, there was a happy ending for Manolo and Maria! And in the world I know, we never split apart! Chakal was destroyed, the town was saved, and everything turned out fine! La Muerte, I am begging you to look into my eyes and see the world that I knew! If you did, you'd know I'm telling the truth!"
He reached out for her hand, but it was only slapped away in repulsion. "Enough lies!" La Muerte barked back, a mixture of pain and rage etched into her features. "Just enough, Xibalba!"
"Remember the rift in the realms we made to guard the Book of Life!" he pressed further, grabbing her this time by the wrists, elongated fingers trembling. "Remember the children you loved to tell stories to! Remember anything—just one thing!"
"Enough!" she finally screamed, her fury escalating enough that, for a moment, the flames of the candles burst to a terrifying height. This time, the shout was so wrenching that it finally quietened the dark-winged deity. When she gazed at him a second time, he found the glow of the sunlight in her eyes glazed over with resisted tears. They flickered searchingly in his own red irises: confused, and hurt, and longing.
"I want to believe the world that you say exists, but I all have to do is take one look around to know that it doesn't," she finally whispered, her tone kept steady with the concentration of her anger. "And that you're the one who made this world the dark reality it is. I've never stopped loving you, but I could never love all the pain and destruction you've let happen because of your own ego."
How much longer was he really going to try? His wings dipped low in recognition that nothing would change until all was set right once more. How could he dare to hope that his La Muerte would stand before him and remember that bright future that was supposed to hail from the events of the past?
As his hold fell limp, La Muerte slipped herself free from his grasp yet took no step back. Hand still trembling Xibalba reached to a lock of her hair and ran it through his fingers with a ghost of a touch. "I… I'm trying to make things better again..." he hushed as though he were a small child, "Can you at least believe that?"
La Muerte remained silent, biting her bottom lip and lowering her gaze to the ground at their feet. He felt his chest grow heavy as he waited for an answer he knew wouldn't come, feeling that even if she said 'no' he would prefer it over her saying nothing at all. Gliding away from her, he rested his form against a cracked pillar with his head resting in one of his hands.
Minutes passed. He didn't hear her leave but wondered if she had. He himself didn't move until a soft light filtering through sealed eyelids shone before him. He blinked his eyes open, brows furrowing wickedly against the light that dared to pester him when he wanted nothing more than solitude if the woman he cherished refused him as the vile thing that was reflected in her stare. His features morphed to shock, however, as the light began to build.
It was a glowing orb, travelling toward them from across the sky at a breakneck pace. He turned his gaze to find that La Muerte hadn't vanished, and that she too watched on in amazement as the shape drew nearer—and with it a very familiar voice.
"Guuuuuuuuuuuys!" drew out a loud baritone. The light came to a sudden halt before them along the surface of the roof before manifesting into a hulking figure of golden warmth, candlewax, and gossamer clouds.
"You won't believe what's just happened in this realm!" the newcomer began with a heavy breath, snapping back and forth as he switched his gaze from one ruler of the dead to the next—all the while waving a hand in a flurry of motion to make a mirror-like cloud appear alongside him. "I wouldn't have even known about it if some of the candles in the Cave of Souls hadn't started swearing, but then I sensed something and then—!" He paused in his hasty speech as he finally took the time to fully examine the scene before him. "D-did I come at a bad time?"
"Candle Maker!" La Muerte exclaimed, dumbfounded. "Xibalba I can understand—but what are you doing here? It's been decades!"
"It's the Book of Life!" he began again with fervor. At once an image began to play within the mist of a serious of figures racing away with the large relic in tow. "Someone actually managed to steal to from Chakal! And that's not all—!"
"The Book of Life!" La Muerte echoed, eyes widening as she turned her face to Xibalba, "Y-you weren't lying?" Slowly, a small grin twitched at the corner of her lips. "You weren't lying…"
Xibalba smiled as well, though with more relief than joy. So those mortals actually managed to retrieve it… he mused. Dare he admit it, he was a little impressed. However, he still held spite over them for breaking into the rift in the first place: He would not grant them their lives if they didn't complete their bargain and meet it by sunrise.
But… that didn't mean he couldn't even the odds a little. If they had stolen the Book, then surely they were being pursued by Chakal's forces.
"Candle Maker, given that it is the Day of the Dead," he grinned, plan in mind, "What's say we aid these little upstarts? If we brew a storm, they can't be followed."
The blistering winds had grown stronger, and with them came the harsh beating of sand and dust. Even with glasses, Fuega was forced to shield her eyes from the conditions that threatened to blind her, and even then it was hard to see much more than a foot before the steed she rode—which stubbornly refused to listen to her directions amid the weather.
The young woman gave a frustrated cry as she kicked her heel against the horse to get him moving again, around the city limits and then back within it to reach the museum. She had to make it! If Xibalba was waiting for them there, then she could use the Book as leverage to make him follow her back and heal Lluvio. She had to! She had to…
All of a sudden the groan of metal sounded behind her over the winds and both horse and rider were rattled as something apparently broke from the carriage: A wheel, most likely, seeing as how not even a moment afterwards their weight shifted sideways and they found they could no longer trudge onward. With a gasp and a hacking cough, Fuega blindly began fumbling for the strap binding the horse to the carriage and after struggling through several attempts broke them free. She kicked the horse again, which began to run a little further before slowing his pace once more to look for cover.
This was so stupid! She knew it was stupid but what choice did she have?! Is she didn't do something than Lluvio was going to die! It wouldn't matter if they returned the Book or not because he would still be sent to the Land of the Forgotten! And why did she care?! This wasn't her fault: She hadn't made the deal with Xibalba! If he had just used common reason for once than he wouldn't have even died the first time in the first place!
She remembered his glare before she left the library. He had been trying to force her to stay. She was the only person among them who had even a minor chance of repairing the Book and time was running out: He knew that and that's why he didn't want her to go. That was all she could hope to do in order to save them both, but if he died first…
"What am I doing out here…?" she whispered into her chest in despair. What hope did she have anymore of making it back to the museum now? The storm was so blinding that she doubted she could find her way back to the city before sunrise: Even if she did, there would be no chance of making it back in time unless it cleared soon. "I'm so stupid…" She couldn't save Lluvio: She was just desperate enough to make demands at the Lord of the Dead so he might. Who was she trying to fool? She knew from all her research that unless they succeeded in returning the Book intact, he would do no such thing. Lluvio knew that, and she had charged away from her only real use. She would only succeed in dragging them both into a dismal netherworld.
Though the horse kept running, Fuega threw herself from its back and began marching at her own pace back to the college campus. She had not gained so much distance to too terribly lose her way: She could make it.
She only hoped that Lluvio had enough in him to pull through long enough for the whole, agonizing matter to be settled. Long enough to get back to the museum together: Long enough to get back to life.