Back in Rome

by tiethatnooserealtight

Xibalba's life was much different back then. Long ago, back in his old home of Europe, the young god wasn't even so much a god…not yet at least. Instead he lived a different life alongside his hermanos, Chamuco and Mictlán. But it would all come to change eventually, especially when he met his first love, the Wood Sprite. (Multicrossover AU; Book of Life, GDT Pinocchio and others)

5. Chapter 5

NOTE: hello! Apologies for not cross-posting this chapter sooner from AO3, but ah, real life gets in the way. Praying it hasn't been too delayed to post this, but yeah, here's chapter 3 of Back in Rome!

Fandom(s): Book of Life, Guillermo del Toro's Pinocchio, Maya and the Three, El Tigre, Labyrinth, Nightmare Before Christmas, etc.

Chapter warnings: Implications of sex and non-con.

Pairings: Xibalba/Wood Sprite (past), Xibalba/La Muerte (present), Wood Sprite/Jareth, Chamuco/La Noche, OC/OC, among others.

Summary: With an arrangement on the way and a long celebration held in a secluded area, what's there to do for an angel but to sneak in? Even if the host doesn't like his kind. Only issue is when his hermanos decide to join. Especially one that doesn't have any good intentions.

SIDE: more meetings are had, revenge schemes arise and it seems that a family torn apart has more issues than one can imagine. A strange cloud looms over, but is it good or bad?

---

Chapter 5: "Sneak In" & "It Starts"

She's supposed to be here.

That was the first thought that came to Esteban's mind as he waited for Nicoletta. She was supposed to fly at that place. To meet him there so they could explore more. So they could learn more of one another, so they could have that escape from their lives with each other and—

But the Wood Sprite wasn't there. Where could she be? he wondered. She couldn't have forgotten. She wouldn't. So then…

It hit him. Something of a prince, one of her sisters mentioned. Could it be that…?

Esteban's chest squeezed. The engagement, the princípe — they must have been in the Sardinian area furthering this meeting. This celebration, no doubt. All the fae from both lands would gather and watch as the princípe would try to court Nicoletta. And Esteban would be unable to do anything. He couldn't go there.

…or could he?

It was risky. He would have to use a disguise. Try to blend in with the fae. He would need to be careful. Extremely careful. But it was worth it, to see her.

Esteban began to fly off from his spot, toward Sardinia. He almost made it, almost, until he was stopped mid-flight by none other than his hermanos.

"You two! Why are you—?"

"You're late," Zacarías tsked with a shake of his head. "And you're flying off to Sardinia. Why is that, exactly?" He tilted his head at him, smirking slightly. "Is your little hada there?"

Esteban sputtered. The two laughed. This wasn't supposed to happen, he thought, his brow furrowing. "It's nothing you should concern yourself with."

"Nonsense! I believe we should accompany you," Constantino suggested, grinning. He put an arm around Esteban's shoulders, and the younger angel winced. "There's a gathering, isn't there? For that mujer and the princípe. There'll be lots of fae. It's best not to be alone."

Esteban pulled away. "You'll cause trouble," he said accusingly. "You're going to make a scene."

"I'll keep my fun on the low," Constantino lied. "Promesa."

Zacarías rolled his eyes. "Come now, Esteban, I thought you desired to see her," he remarked. "This is your chance – and besides, I said it before…I would like to meet her."

"You son of a—" Esteban started, but stopped. He paused, thinking of an idea: to get rid of them once they arrived at this celebration. He would lead them away from Nicoletta's range, somehow. He had to. He couldn't let them, especially not Zacarias, near her. "…fine. We'll go together."

Constantino's brow raised in surprise while Zacarías grinned. "Excelente," said the eldest. "This will surely be a night to…remember."

---

"Signora Nicoletta! How ravishing you are."

"Principessa! You look exquisite."

"How lovely she is, isn't she, signore?"

The lords and ladies, reges et reginae, counts and countesses – almost all nobles from Archaia and this land alike seemed to flock to greet her, to drink in her appearance in awe as though they'd never seen anything like her before. Nicoletta tried to smile cheerfully, her neck getting aches from nodding to nearly everyone that shouted at her. This was a routine at gatherings.

She would have thought after years of this – in all her twenty-two years of fae living – her neck would get used to all the turning it had to do. Certainly, she never saw her elder sisters go through this, wincing or rubbing their necks. At the end of fifteen minutes, Nicoletta was doing both. Still, she tried her best to enjoy the unthinking cheerfulness with which the nobles greeted her. It might not last much longer.

"Heavens, Torquato, she's a beauty," another voice said, bringing her out of her reverie.

It was Ignatius, ruler of Archaia – Jareth's father, who came here with his son for this very occasion. A rather tall fellow, inches above her own father, with long blonde hair and pointed ears. His chin carried a long mustache, his eyes almost the shade that his son's was, but darker. He wore fine robes fit for his status, dark as coal, contrast to Jareth's light robes. At the moment, he was sitting next to her father, who looked so different – hues of turquoise skin, large feathers adorning his head, cold teal eyes, one set of wings that'd been scarred from countless fights in his many years – that it was hard to believe they shared similar power.

"She is, isn't she?" replied Torquato, though his enthusiasm seemed half.

"Her wings are so magnificent," Ignatius remarked, eyeing the two sets, and the many eyes that stared back at him. "So mysterious!"

"It's from her mother."

"Ah, of course!" The Archaian ruler grinned. "What a lovely signorina." He looked to his son. "Wouldn't you say, Jareth?"

Jareth nodded from his seat next to Nicoletta. He took her hand and kissed it. "She's radiant," he said, grinning at her.

Nicoletta smiled at this. She could see within him, aside from his bizarre hair and mannerisms, he was a nice fellow. She liked him, though not as much as Esteban. Still, his company was good. She nodded her head at him and said, "And you are rather handsome." Which wasn't a lie – he had a nice structure, after all.

He just didn't hold a candle to Esteban, who had something to him that stood out.

Jareth beamed at this. "My dear Nicoletta, you are too kind."

"But of course," she replied, shrugging. "Anything for you… mio principe."

"Please… it's Jareth," he told her quietly, smiling at her. His eyes shone with an infatuation, one that could be seen by everyone at the table, especially the sprite.

"Jareth," she said his name slowly. Sounded nice, though it didn't have the rhyme that—"How regal."

He grinned widely. "You flatter me."

"Seems this is going well," Ignatius whispered to Torquato, who had his eyes on the two. "They get along nicely."

"So it seems." Torquato's mouth was in a line. "But we must wait and see until then." That girl was stubborn in her own sense. It would take a while for her to ease truly in this. But so far, she wasn't speaking such ungrateful—

"Of course," Ignatius interrupted. "We haven't gotten to the dance yet." The Archaian ruler smiled wider. "Although…my son's never had his eyes set on someone the way they are with your girl," he remarked. In all his years of living, he saw his son be stubborn, having affairs and such – but never did he seem so at ease and … infatuated. Perhaps, this would work out well.

"What a beautiful pair you make," remarked the Archaian majordomo, Geraint. He was older than both Torquato and Ignatius, though not old enough that his dark brown hair could grey. His brown eyes shone with a joy. "If such an event does occur, I believe it will be the ceremony of the century!"

Nicoletta's heart jumped, but she managed out a polite "We'll see," before she looked down. Wedding... it was an innocent remark, but her heart ached. She thought of Esteban. Those crimson eyes, that smile of his, the way they'd flown together, the way he embraced her and stood up for her— he was the one she liked the most. He made her heart thump faster, made her face flush and... there was passion. Where is he now? she wondered. Is he waiting for me? He has to be... he wouldn't give up on me. Wait for me, 'Teba.

She wanted to get up and go there to him, but there were too many fae around. It wasn't like slipping away from family — that was easier, but to slip away during a celebration? It was unthinkable. Someone would notice. Across from her, a little further down the table were her sisters. Crimilde and Dionisia giggling among themselves, talking of her no doubt with scorn, and then Zaira, with her dark brown hair flowing almost past her shoulders. Her little fae wings stilled, dark brown eyes full of curiosity as she glanced at Jareth.

Nicoletta had nowhere to go.

"Why do you look at my sister that way?" asked Zaira innocently, tilting her head.

Everyone laughed. All but Nicoletta, who shook her head.

"Because she's a darling," Jareth replied simply.

"Oh," said Zaira. She looked at her sister. "Do you like him?"

All eyes on her now. "I like him," Nicoletta replied. It wasn't a lie. She just had someone else on her mind.

"Really?" asked Jareth, eyes shining with a prayer. He liked her a lot, so to have it reciprocated was –

"I do like you," Nicoletta told him, smiling a little. She took his hand, squeezed it lightly. "You are charming, in your own way."

"How adorable," Crimilde said cheekily.

Nicoletta glanced at her father. In his eyes was something unreadable. She could only pray he didn't notice the way she would glance away, and that he didn't know of her nightly visits. Their eyes met, and his narrowed while hers pleaded.

A plea that went unanswered.

The rei stood up and cleared his throat. "Thank you everyone for accepting our invitation to graciously come to our ball tonight. Let us begin the introductions."

Nicoletta tried to not grow impatient at the neverending sight of all the nobles being introduced. When would this end?

Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed some masked figures. One seemed familiar, a glint of crimson where the eyes should've been. In noble's clothing, yet shifting differently – like a knight. White hair. Could it be... Esteban?

---

"This is a horrible idea."

Esteban stood outside the castle entrance, disguised as a wingless fae alongside his hermanos – which should seem easy, except the aura of an angel is different from a fae. Especially within the face. So they all work masks, his being black and shaped a certain manner, very long. His ears were pointy at the tips, his height increased, though his hair remained. "It will never work!" he hissed.

Zacarías glared at his hermanito. "Cállate, idiota!" he snapped at him. He swore, this one would be the death of him – except he wouldn't actually die first. No, if anybody would die first, it was going to be Esteban – the little nuisance that plagued his life since day one. Thirty-three angel years of age, and he was already getting them this deep in trouble. Gods, have mercy on me, thought the eldest, of only forty-five angel years. Let the sprite be worth it. "It will work! I've used disguises around humans. It works there, so it should work here," he huffed. "Fae aren't as intelligent as us." Perhaps … that Nicoletta could be an exception, though.

He hadn't expected her to be so … gorgeous. It took a lot to restrain himself when he'd laid his eyes on her. The curves on her body, those hips, that mouth, those eyes - what a sensual being she was! And Esteban wanted her all to himself. How selfish. Zacarías had other plans in mind: to see that fae again, actually meet her and … well, hopefully, she'd realize who was worthy of her company.

"Fae don't work the same as humans, tonto," Esteban retorted, snorting. His eyes rolled. This plan was suicide... and yet, he had to see Nicoletta. He had to. He couldn't go a night without– something about her was just so tempting and– "But pray they are as foolish as you think."

Constantino huffed. "As long as her hermanas aren't able to notice us, we'll be fine."

With that, they walked towards the doors and knocked - well, Zacarías knocked. A servant answered the door, looking skeptically at the three. "More guests? I don't recall there being any extra names on the scroll."

"They're there," insisted Zacarías. "Give it a look over. Three counts' names should be at the bottom."

The servant's nose scrunched up and he pulled out a scroll, checking it carefully. He blinked and looked back at the disguised angel. "So it seems. Pardon me sir, but we hadn't expected late arrivals—"

"Forgiven." Zacarías brushed past him and walked in just as the servant stepped aside. Beside him followed Esteban and Constantino.

"I can't believe that worked," Esteban muttered. "Such mierda."

"Which way do you think the ballroom is?" asked Constantino, looking around the halls.

Zacarías pointed to a large opening where a light shone. "There - where you can hear voices."

"Besides our own?" Constantino rolled his eyes and glanced there. There, he could see shadows of fae, wingless and winged alike. "Strange how they can celebrate such a pathetic thing and her prince."

"She's not pathetic," Esteban spoke defensively of the sprite. "She's-" he halted, as they begun entering the ballroom. There in the center throne, he saw her, dressed in fine white silk robes. Her head feathers were adorned with jewels. Her neck was adorned with a pendant of stars.

She was the pale jewel amongst pebbles.

"She's perfect."

---

Present day

"How did you not get caught?" asked La Muerte with a cocked eyebrow.

"The same way we didn't get caught at the human party, all those centuries ago," Xibalba responded, smirking when he saw her flush at this.

(Their first meeting had been in their disguises when they were at a celebration, one held by the capitán under his own false hopes that the peace between the people of the lands and the 'newcomers'- inwardly, the tar god had to scoff; what a load of mierda- would occur. That was when he'd laid eyes upon her. Even in a human form, she had been gorgeous- still was to this day, even more so.)

"Still...you snuck in a would-be engagement party, posing as the actual counts that were just late." La Muerte's nose crinkled. "And- and you say Chamuco had a fancy for Nicoletta, too?"

"Fancy isn't right. It was lust," Xibalba scoffed and rolled his eyes. "The only one he's ever really seemed to give a damn about is Noche. She's the jewel of his eye."

Deep down, he cursed the fact Chamuco had it easier moving on, because he'd never really loved prior to La Noche. Xibalba had loved before, had experienced actual loss, so he had taken a while to truly move on... even now, it was difficult.

"Just like you have eyes only for me, right?" La Muerte asked suddenly. She felt prompted to by those words, knowing of Chamuco's devotion to her sister. Was Xibalba's devotion to her really as deep as it'd seemed prior to this revelation of a lost love? Or was she just his second choice? All those centuries, all of those moments- what did they mean to him, truly?

Please say yes.

"Of course." There wasn't a moment of hesitation from the tar god. The question- the idea of any doubt- sounded preposterous. Why would he have eyes for anybody else? She was his wife, the mother of his children - it was her he chose, and her alone. "My heart belongs to you alone. Nicoletta's hold was lost on it long ago. You are the only one I could spend my eternity with." He brought her hand to his mouth, kissing it. "My dearest Catrina."

That should have been it for La Muerte. It should have calmed the harsh feelings boiling inside. But it didn't. Those cruel questions taunted her. A worry expressed by Micte long ago, when los tres hermanos had still been angels, when they'd begun courting.

"What if you are not his only?"

"What do you mean?"

"Hermanita, I know you really love him, but his nature is hard to understand—"

"Because you don't know him."

"But I know how his hermano mayor works." Micte's expression turned to something unreadable. "There's secrets these three hide. This one you chose, he has his own."

"I don't like what you are hinting at." La Muerte scowled at her oldest sister. "I don't like it at all."

Micte sighed, patting her younger sister's shoulders. "Just...please, don't let those flowers within you get pricked by thorns." She turned away, standing up to leave the room. "And don't be surprised if you are just second to him."

Muerte's heart tightened. She missed her eldest sister so much. The one that would try to look out for her. The one that played with her when she was little, helped comb her hair and put flowers in her dress when she wasn't satisfied with how it'd look. She made bad choices, many of them, but she always tried to right her wrongs - and now the ruler of the land of the remembered could only reminisce the past. Wonder about what that advice meant, if it was true to an extent.

I hope you're wrong, Micte, she thought, trying to ignore she pains she felt, thinking of her husband's loyalty and her late sister, and of the exiled child that would be returning soon. I hope you're wrong.

"Ay, Balby..."

---

"I don't know if this is such a good idea, your majesty."

Nicoletta turned to Geraint with a raised brow. "Why not?"

The majordomo looked at the sprite with concern. "The prince is quite young. He still doesn't quite understand the world of mortals. If he wanders too far, he will get in trouble."

"And what makes you think that?" asked Nicoletta, frowning at him. She couldn't believe he was trying to hint her son was going to get in havoc. Enrico was a good lad. She raised him well to know he would stay on a clear path. He promised her that.

"The Goblin King was once the Archaian Prince, so full of promise." Geraint had a wistful look on his face. "King Ignatius was ready to give him the crown... but then your exile happened—" he caught a flinch from her as he mentioned it "—and then suddenly, something changed in him. The prince went a little too careless and as a result, he was banished, sent on a journey through these lands here. The labyrinth claimed him as a ruler." He let out a sigh. "It's a strange twist of fate that you two found each other again. But I fear fate might not be as kind to our Goblin Prince." He pursed his mouth in worry. "The champion and him might have won that race on time to save the babe...but will fate be kind to let him linger in places he doesn't know? You did, and what happened to you—"

"Halt in those words of yours, Geraint," Nicoletta ordered, her tone now cold and harsh, her eyes hardened. The majordomo shrunk back under her harsh glare. "He will not follow in our footsteps." Especially not mine, for what I've done … it cannot repeat itself. "He will act accordingly and stay within boundaries - and if he doesn't, you will guide him back to the confines. Is that understood?"

Geraint gulped. The queen's harsh tone and glare was enough to send him cowering. In all his years of serving the Archaian king and prince, now the Goblin King, and seeing their fury... nothing truly added to the amount of fear he felt when the Wood Sprite would get cross with him. The mysterious looks and nature of her - it was enough to make him obey instantly. "Yes, my lady," he spoke accordingly, bowing slightly. "I will see to it that he gets through his visit to earth with no issues."

"Good," Nicoletta huffed. She turned away, gesturing for him to go. "The prince is at the entrance of the castle. He is waiting for you to accompany him." Geraint gave a weak nod and hurried out, leaving the sprite to sigh and rub her temples. Must I always be reminded of my mishaps? she thought to herself, scowling slightly. Haven't I been punished enough for my misgivings? For my forbidden passions? Aren't I still being punished with the very memories of him that linger on? The answers were obvious, though that didn't soothe the fae at all.

Not that she could ever really be soothed. Temporarily, yes, but that's all happiness ever was - temporary. The most permanent form of happiness in her life was Enrico, a gain she was most happy to have, and would do her best to make sure he never stepped onto the dangerous path she once took.

Jareth was...complicated. She liked him a lot, but her heart would always profess its adoration for the first love, Esteban. But Esteban wasn't the father of her son - Jareth was, and Jareth was always there to give into every whim and call she had. Every tear she shed, he wiped it away. He was there when she woke up. He lay beside her when she went to rest. He was the bright spectacles of gold to the hues of blue, yet it never felt… whole.

The unfinished business between her and Esteban made it more difficult. How could she proclaim her love for another when she never got to tell the first how much she truly loved him? In the end, her life never truly seemed to settle down into a completed puzzle — always fragmented, never whole.

"I suppose you've sent Geraint on his way to accompany our boy."

Nicoletta turned to see her husband. "Well, you insisted on it," she pointed out, letting a smile form. "So overprotective for someone that spends his time belting out tunes to wished away children while kicking around goblins and such."

"He's our son," Jareth said simply. "Of course I am protective. But—" he held a finger up "—I'm not overdoing it. I let him go up there. He has company, yes, but that's a royal's thing. Not all can go alone like you did."

I wasn't alone, though, she wanted to say. I had him. But a look at Jareth silenced that thought. "I know," she hummed. "But I just find it amusing." She grinned and reached out a hand to cup his cheek. "You can be so silly sometimes, yet you're willing to get serious for us…" She leaned in, pressing her nose to his. "It's touching."

That wasn't a lie, not at all. It was the truth. She found it touching that he cared for their family enough to put aside his demeanor and try to look out for them. It made her not regret choosing him, even if—

"It's just as how you were willing to put up with me for all these years," Jareth told her, a not-all-happy smile on his face.

Nicoletta's heart ached. Did he think she assumed so lowly of him? "Jare, I don't—you've never been an issue for me…" she started, slowly. "It's true, these years haven't been easy, but I enjoy my time with you. I enjoyed raising our son."

"Do you mean it?" he asked her, hesitance in his tone. A hint of skepticism. Raised brows and all. "Or do you say this to make me feel better?"

She pressed her mouth to his briefly, stunning him to silence. She let herself linger, her hands moving to his collar. This intimacy—it wasn't unknown to her, many nights having been spent doing this, and more. But if she closed her eyes, let her mind wander, she would often find herself touching the collar of a conquistador's amor and—

The Wood Sprite pulled away, her eyes widening when she felt her husband's hand wander down to her … more private spot. "Jareth," she breathed.

"Let's not worry of the boy." Jareth leaned in to her ear, to whisper huskily, "Let's have some…alone time."

The Wood Sprite's eyes met the Goblin King's and by the time that happened, he'd begun swallowing her whole.

(But even in that state, she couldn't help but think of how more clumsier Esteban had been...how she missed that aspect of uncertainty and- oh, what was wrong with her?)

---

Dazed red and green eyes stared down from a rooftop as their owners tried to lose herself in a daydream. Life had become painfully difficult for the past several decades as Amparo found herself seen as a piece of glass rather than a regular daughter or niece, though her uncle and aunt hadn't been afraid to actually speak to her normally this time.

Her parents only meant the best for her, she knew, and she could never be mad at them but…ever since the incident and Sartana's banishment, she felt like a prisoner in her own land. At night she heard the whispers of concern, of how she had taken decades to age again—that it was a miracle she was even twenty-nine now, and not still sixteen as she had been when she lost her arm—and that it was clear even though she was next in line for the position…she could never take the throne for the Land of the Remembered. Amparo wouldn't mind this, not if they didn't bring up how Jack had left—to become a Pumpkin King in Halloween Town, and the further additions of his own family meant any chances of his return were long gone—and that Sartana, rightful heiress to the Land of the Forgotten, was a lost cause.

Although Amparo convinced herself that her heart was too numb to hurt any more, she always found herself tearing up in the middle of the night. As if to add onto her heavy heart, Victor often glared at her whenever the family gathered to eat together. He would say quietly to her ear, "If you two hadn't touched the book, she would be here still," as if accusing her of the entire ordeal.

She felt lost. She recalled the pain of losing a limb, but it wasn't like the aching pains of losing a sister. The one that played with her, the one she talked with, her close friend—a piece of her puzzle, gone forever. She had her other hermanos y hermana, but they weren't as close. Sartana was the eldest, holding them all together like tape – and when she was banished, they all fell apart. Hugo moved out entirely just a year later. Jack pursued Halloween Town. The twins, Dario and Thiago, kept to themselves. Montserrat always looked so low on her… Matias' pitiful stares did nothing to console, and Victor—he had been so young, so he turned cold.

Amparo's family was broken. And she had no one to turn to. Her parents wouldn't understand, not when her father's favorite was always Sartana. He didn't have to say it aloud for anybody with a basic understanding to know that the wayward hija's banishment did something to stir a distance between him and his other children, besides Jack and Amparo, but the latter felt smothered. Mama? She tried to understand, but Amparo still felt lost… holding back tears she could only shed alone.

Jack couldn't get caught up in her woes. She couldn't do that do him, not when he had five children of his own and his wife. He was the Pumpkin King, and she was just the undesirable. To put herself on his doorstep was an admittance of the obvious. It was cruel to depend on him, or anybody beside herself.

So she kept to herself. The last she broke this silent vow was when she spoke to her uncle and aunt, but that was only to let them know where she was heading. To make them promise they wouldn't tell. She would go alone to the mortal world, to try and find a place… and from there, well, only time would tell.

Now Amparo stood at a rooftop, unsure of what to do next. She let out a harsh breath as she ran her hands through her long licorice hair, always in a braid. Shall I disguise myself as human? she wondered. Or should I remain in the shadows as my father and mother would? Such a tough choice. Either way, it was a new world, new place, new people - and she was at a loss.

The air filled with a strange scent. Steeling herself to not recoil, she quickly shifted to a human form, now tan skinned with dark brown eyes, though still skull-shaped if someone looked close enough. Her arm issue remained, a stub where the lost one once was. She quickly rushed down the building, brushing past several startled workers.

Once outside the building, Amparo recognized the streets—San Angel, the town where her father and mother's story of reconciliation began about ninety-eight years ago. Where a musician, Manolo, went on a journey to return to his beloved Maria after tragedy tore them apart…for a second time. The first time being a previous life, where Maria was once a demigod princess: Maya, and Manolo was once a demigod prince, Zatz.

The bat and the eagle, a story her mother told of her prima, one she never knew, and her brave journey to defeat Lord Mictlán. A story of how a pair enemies became lovers over a course of months, journeying for a similar cause. A tragic tale where death tried to tear them apart, and succeeded for fleeting moments... until triumph, and rewards- the sun and the moon, always circling each other.

Until the gods granted them a second chance. Then suddenly, the eagle became a passionate mujer, and the bat became the guitarista. Inavertedly, the reincarnation of La Muerte's sobrina and her beloved were what brought the tar god and his sugar-skull goddess back together again. But that was a story for another time.

The last Amparo saw of this town, it was in the late fifties. Still old and appearing akin to how it was in the days of the revolution. Now it was all...different.

She tried to head to the marketplace, always finding that it was easier to blend in there. So many people gathered, grabbing at stalls for fruits and vegetables, meats and pastries and the like. Some vendors began making offers as she walked on by.

"Would the hermosa lady like a figurine?" asked a craftsman, holding out a tiny sculpture of a chupacabra to her. "Made of the finest wood!"

Amparo looked at the figurine, admiring its intricate cutting. But then she recalled how Jack used to carve a sprite that would dwell within the wood trees of their garden, and she recoiled instantly. "That's a lovely work you have there," she said. "But I must refuse. I haven't room for it." And besides, Papa had a pet chupacabra named Mateo. The real thing wasn't as grand as these mortals thought it was.

She continued walking down. Next, a vendor of pastries came to her. "Pan dulce! Fresh from the oven!" he cried out to her. "Take a bite, and your savory senses will be overloaded!"

Curious, she took a bite. Her mother often had this dish served when it was time for sweets, and while this wasn't as sugary... it was still delicious. She grinned and tossed a sack of gold to the vendor, making him cry out in delight when he opened it. "Gracias, señorita, gracias!"

Then came a jewelry vendor her way. "A fine necklace for a fine dama," he suggested coyly, holding one up made of emeralds.

Amparo smiled, feeling charmed by this, but still refused apologetically. "I'm afraid I can't." I have enough ancient jewels at home. Gifts from her aunt back when she wasn't...

"FRESH EMPANADAS!" shouted another food vendor loudly, startling the goddess. "Fresh empanadas for half percent!"

"I-I don't think so..." Amparo backed up, accidentally against a magician as he was about to do a fire eating act. "Oh, I'm sorry..." Then she patted him on the back and made him cough up fire, though luckily, it didn't burn anybody.

A magician... almost similar to a certain rooster wizard, thought the young goddess with a slight smile. This town brought back memories, in a way. Though said memories were of stories Mama would tell her, rather than something she experienced herself.

Little did she know from afar, she was being watched.

—0—

Enrico had decided to disguise himself as human, his ears now shaped regularly while he wore baggy clothes akin to what he saw some pedestrians wearing. With him was Geraint, dressed a bit more sophisticatedly. They sat in a booth at a little shop nearby, dining on a snack.

"Isn't it great, Geraint?" asked Enrico, popping a prickly pear in his mouth. "It's all a new experience to behold! Every turn and corner, you see something different! The people are so lively and the animals—"

"The coatis bite and scratch if you feed them too much. Gives them ideas," Geraint said, watching as an unlucky person at the shop knelt down to one. He winced as the coati leapt and looked around to notice some others staring, perhaps due to their foreign looks...and talking. "Not to mention, they stare at us."

"Well, we aren't exactly local," Enrico said with a shrug. He lowered his voice as he added, "They stared at us when we visited other kingdoms too, back underground." The majordomo opened his mouth but the prince cut him off. "And I know, that's different, but they still gawk at us almost akin. So why should it matter now? Especially when they don't know my title. I find it more refreshing to be treated like a regular foreigner than a prince doing diplomacy, for there's no pressure on us."

"There's always pressure," Geraint insisted, rolling his eyes at the perceived ignorance. "You could be discovered."

"I won't get caught," Enrico said confidently. He stood up, placing a sack of coins on the table. "I will be fine, Geraint. Trust me." He walked out of the shop booth, with the majordomo scrambling to follow behind.

"Your majesty—"

Of all the people I was asked to take with me, it had to be him, Enrico thought, rolling his eyes. So strict the majordomo was, though it was understood partially. His father had gotten in trouble often centuries ago, before he was crowned king of the goblins, so it made sense. The majordomo put up with a then Prince Jareth's bullshit, so maybe it made a lick of sense why he was like this now. But still, couldn't he cut him some slack? It wasn't like he would get off track and—

Enrico's eyes settled on a fine lady, helping out some bloke that was choking on a botched magic act of his. She was beautiful, from head to toe, even in her movements. What stood out was she had only one arm, and yet it didn't seem to bother her at all- which was something he admired, as he'd heard stories of how most humans were treated when it came to such things. But she took it in a stride, so it seemed.

"Wow..." He was fascinated by the beauty. Utterly fascinated.

Noticing the prince's eyes were caught by something or someone, Geraint waved his hand in front of the lad's face. "Your majesty? Hello?"

Amparo came to a fruit stall, where she saw a young boy standing by with a sad look on his face. She felt a twinge of sympathy. He must have been hungry, but had nothing to pay the vendor with.

("Despite the fact he had no idea who I really was, and that I appeared as a mere old lady asking for bread..." La Muerte said, pulling her young children close as they gathered around to listen to the tale. "Manolo, sweet little Manny, plucked the bread from the family altar and gave it to me."

"That's so sweet," said Amparo, letting out a little coo.

Dario rolled his eyes. "Silly..." he muttered, only to get shoved by his twin, Thiago.

"You're silly!"

"Boys, stop fighting," Xibalba said, pulling the twins away from one another with one hand pushing back Dario, while another held Thiago's shirt scruff.

"So was that when you chose him as a champion?" Amparo asked her mother.

La Muerte smiled and nodded. "Si, mija, it was.")

Recalling this, Amparo plucked a banana from the stall and handed it to the boy. "Here you go," she said quietly. The boy's face lit up and he gave her a "Gracias," before running off with the banana. She smiled as she watched him leave, before feeling someone grab her arm roughly.

"Paying for that?" asked the vendor harshly. "Todo debe ser pagado. Nada es barato."

She winced and tried to break free. "I'm sure I can find something in my pockets," she said frantically. "Just let me go—"

"Excuse me, sir," a voice said, with a strong English accent. The two turned and saw a man with pale skin, scruffy black hair tied up, and strange clothes. He had the most bright blue eyes, and there was something about him that seemed off. Not because he was foreign, though there was that, but something else - something Amparo sensed. "Let her go."

"She stole from me," accused the vendor. "She has to pay for it!"

Enrico's blue eyes narrowed and he rummaged in his pockets. Then he tossed out a spare sack of coins at the vendor, who shoved Amparo aside. The disguised goddess stumbled but steadied herself while the disguised fae ran to her. "Are you alright, miss?"

"I- I think so," Amparo stammered, glancing at her arm to see if there was any bruising. There wasn't, thankfully. "Thank you...for helping me," she said as she stood up. She brushed herself off and began to walk away. Nice going, she scolded herself. A burden already.

"It's no issue," he said, following after her. He noticed the way she tensed up and felt a pang of empathy. How many incidents like this had occurred? How often did she find herself in such cases? He couldn't stand the thought of someone mistreating her like that again and again. "He has no right to do that to you." He turned back, his fists balling up. "I shall go back and make sure he-"

"No," she said firmly, grabbing the stranger's arm. She'd seen him out of the corner of her eye. His empathy for her...felt different than most. It felt sincere and didn't feel like pity. He seemed to want to confront the vendor on her behalf because of honor, or something like that- because he wanted to stand up for her. "Don't get yourself in trouble because of me."

"It's not trouble. It's making sure no one gets away with hurting you like that." Enrico's brow furrowed. "Whatever you did, it wasn't something that warranted such actions." Was this the decay his mother warned him of? Such injustice, such pain and woe? If so, he understood her wariness. But such wasn't something to focus on – no, it was the strange beauty's issue that was to be focused on. "What did you even do?"

"There was a hungry child," Amparo explained. "I gave him a banana, since he had no money to pay for it. The vendor caught me and then grabbed me, saying I'd have to pay. But I couldn't grab my bag because…" She shrugged. "I've faced worse though, for most of my life." Much worse.

"That still gives him no right." Enrico's nose crinkled. "You deserve good treatment."

Amparo paused. "That's – that's kind of you, but…I don't like when people get in trouble on my behalf." The last it happened, it was Sartana, and she could never forget how her wings were chopped off—

"I had it happen before. It ended horribly. I don't need you getting in some issues."

Enrico grabbed her hand in his, gently. "If that's what you want, miss…"

"Amparo."

"Enrico."

They smiled at each other, a strange sensation coursing through. This felt…right. Somehow, it felt like it was meant to be this way – that they were meant to cross paths.

"Amparo," Enrico began. "Would you like to join me in a walk around this place?"

Amparo grinned. "Yes!" she exclaimed.

His hand squeezed hers gently and for the first time, she felt safe.

---

The land of the dead was much different than she remembered. Sartana recalled there were always fiestas at night – always lots of lights and such – but it was darker tonight. It was dim. This area she chose – had she gone astray? Or did the locals know of her arrival and shut out early? That'd be rich.

It had taken a lot of her strength to get here. That guitar could raise an army of dead, it could bring her to life, it could do almost anything – but it couldn't send her home. So she had to take extra measures: an old spell, one she recalled hearing from when she was younger. One the gods advised to never chant, old tongue in Latin – a curse if not done right. But Sartana was once a death goddess. She knew her way with magic.

It nearly knocked the wind out of her with each word chanted. Her body felt more pain than it had when the executioner's blade sliced through her wings, when they'd burnt away her hair as they cast the banishment chant. But the pain was nothing to the heartbreak she felt, reliving said memories – the day her family turned their backs on her.

"I will have my vengeance! This I swear!"

She'd shouted those words when the chant was over, before she'd gone unconscious. Next she knew, she woke up in the land of the dead, her head aching. She hadn't been alone though, not entirely. Over her had loomed a familiar face: Maria Posada.

("Ay, pobrecita…" murmured the lady, putting her hand over her mouth. She looked to her husband and Joaquin, who stood by in shock. "We must help her."

Manolo shook his head. "Maria, mi amor," he started, hesitantly, "that is not any mujer. That is Sartana of the Dead. Hija del Xibalba y La Muerte."

"Those two have helped us before. Helping their hija is a service." Maria noticed the way her husband's mouth opened to object. "I know, her padre is a trickster - but her madre...she was our guide when we were younger. Alive."

She was my aunt once. Words went unsaid. How could she say she remembered it now? It had been centuries. She knew that he knew, but no one else did - not Joaquin, not Manolo's parents, not the twins, not their children; no one but them and the gods. The gods that would never really say a word, not since -

Señora Posada shuddered. "We can't just leave her lying here." She ran her hands through her dark brown hair, now streaked with several white strands. Many years spent surrounded by those she loved, much longer than she had the first time - though she was always grateful, no matter which lifetime. Still... she glanced at the former goddess, seeing the baldness - how she had aged so fast in the past fifty-six years when the last time they'd met, Sartana had been only few god years older than Maria had been when she'd been married. What happened in such a short span of time? At least, it felt short - when burdened with the knowledge of a past life, memories so clear yet vague all at once, it was hard to find a few decades longer than the centuries she spent as the sol.

"But what if she attacks us?" Joaquin asked, raising a brow in concern. "She struck her own sister once. Who's to say she won't do—?"

"She won't." Manolo glanced down at the stilled form. His eyes narrowed in an unreadable look. "She looks as though she used up all her magic not long ago."

"Ay," Joaquin sighed, shaking his head. "Why would she return here?"

Maria's teeth clenched. Vengeance, was an easy answer, but she couldn't say it aloud. She felt there was something else, something her prima - could she call her that? In this life, she had different parentage, though she still recalled Lady Micte's gentle embrace - was hiding. But it was not for her to know.

She wasn't allowed to intervene, not much. But she could offer a hand.

"No lo se, Joaquin. No lo se." Maria's arms wrapped underneath those of Sartana, whose eyes flew open. The former death goddess let out a weak utter, one that sounded like a why to which Maria smiled sadly. She looked to the two men. "Ayuda?"

They nodded and went to help.)

So she found herself in the care of the three amigos, though she often suspected something else. But she could never speak. She couldn't say why she was there. They would have told someone and then she'd be discovered. Silent she remained for her stay, until she recovered enough to leave. A quick recovery.

Now she wandered the streets, lost and trying to find her way around. These lands had changed so much that she was no longer at home. She was foreign to her own birthright.

Sartana wondered who would inherit this place once her parents stepped down. Amparo had been so young and damaged... Juan wanted to leave to do his own thing... Hugo wasn't cut out for it, and Dario and Thiago butted heads constantly. Montserrat, Matias and Victor were remaining options - none of which sounded right. These lands were promised to her. She was the eldest. She should be able to inherit them. But no, she was being replaced for one mistake she made… how was she supposed to know her spell would backfire? How could she predict the future? She wasn't a fae! Not like the … the bitch that cursed her! When she found her, she would blast her with her mystic guitar and –

"Disculpe, señorita, pero parece perdida."

Sartana turned around, eyes wide when she recognized that voice, saw the face behind it. Ernesto de la Cruz, the one she had fondness for when she was a teenager. The one she gave her first death touch to. He whose music could always put her in a decent mood, make even the toughest times seem slightly easier – he was there, right in front of her.

Well, he stood at the entrance of an abandoned shop, more like – but still, he was there. Her heart raced, and she felt sweat roll down her dulled sugar skin. "You!" she cried, pointing a clawed finger at him. "You – what – how – I don't…" she sputtered, unsure what to say. What could she say? It'd been seventy-six years since they last … and he didn't even know … hell, he didn't seem to recognize her for her status in these lands.

"If you come to scorn me, don't bother," huffed the disgraced musician. He turned away from her, arms crossing. "I've dealt with enough mierda from people enough as it is in the past … eight months? I live with nothing but the clothes on my bones. Don't throw angry words at me – they mean nothing anymore after so long."

Sartana remained tense, though her facial expression shifted to pity. She heard of his crime, yes – poison and theft – but quite frankly, her view didn't sower much. She had been a death goddess once. She gave people the death touch. In her exile, she rose the dead – zombies and skeletons – and robbed more than he ever could. She could have – almost did – killed the Riveras several times… and hell, her father was a murderer, back in his angel days; a secret only she knew.

(He had told her eventually, days after she got the omen. A bet set between hermanos, one that resulted in a victory with an innocent teenager's blood spilt while the fae responsible for the boy was left in a sobbing heap… later exiled. Tragic tale, though her pity for the fae wavered long after she'd been banished herself.)

"I don't come to scorn you," Sartana said in a low voice, eyes darting around. "I come here … lost." A step forward, careful and hesitant. "I don't know my way around here…it's been years since I've been here, actually."

Ernesto gave a skeptical look. "You surely didn't forget your surroundings after coming here from the town nearby, did you?" he asked, taking a guess that was the case. Though she didn't seem old – not by much; only seventy human years, though her way of dress was reminiscent of Porifiato era. But she had these eyes that weren't human, more reminiscent of a certain god. Her head shape, her bone textures, those claws - actually, looking at her, she was a strange macabre beauty that only could descend from the rulers of these lands themselves. Wait, beauty? Get a hold of yourself - you don't even know this … one. "…though you don't really seem to be human…"

"Neither do you," snorted Sartana. She rolled her eyes and as he was about to retort, she said, "No I'm not human, I am a god – or I was, until I got banished for an accident." That of which burdens me to this day. Her shoulders stood up. "I am Sartana of the Dead… daughter of—well, I'm sure you can guess." She grinned, not all happy. "And I know that you've been disgraced almost as I've been…"

"I don't think it's comparable." Ernesto shrugged, raising a brow in intrigue and hesitance. "You were royalty and got stripped of everything after … an incident, and my secret was revealed and I got booed offstage." And crushed – which made him shudder.

"Well, we became pariahs, didn't we?" Sartana stepped closer to him. "Don't be like us, they say. A wayward daughter and a talented killer. Doesn't sound fair that we're cast away to nothing."

Ernesto looked down, absorbing the words in his mind. He shut his eyes, trying to push away the bad memories. "No, it doesn't…but what can I do? I don't want to face them again," he spoke in a quiet voice.

Sartana smiled and placed a hand on his shoulder. "And you don't have to," she said quietly. She tilted his chin up, and his eyes opened to meet hers. "But … perhaps, I can help you get back to your days of glory if you help me with something."

Ernesto paused. "What does this involve?"

Sartana gave a wide grin. "There must be an eye for an eye on what my family did to me. My parents … and this fae …"

"Fae don't exist." Ernesto shook his head. "It's all stories made up –"

"Then what's this?" The former death goddess held up a blue feather to the former musician's face. A special feather, with the outline of what was once an eye on it.

"It – it can't be …" Ernesto's eyes widened. All those stories he heard as a young lad, of blue fairies and bad boys – kid's tales, that was all there'd been to them. At least, it should have been… "It's not – they're real?"

"Si." Sartana pulled the feather away. "And you…you are going to help me chop off this parasite's wings, and make her rue the day she gave me an omen." Her voice raised with an anger known only to a goddess scorned. "And when I get my vengeance on her and mi padre y madre, I will be sure to grant you your greatest desires…" Her hand went under his chin again, the claws tickling the surface of bone. "… so what do you say, de la Cruz?"

Ernesto gulped and shut his eyes again, flashes of the old days of glory in his mind. To relive those days would be a dream come true, even at the cost of his beliefs being shaken up – of teaming up with a banished goddess. She offered him so much, asking for what seemed like … not much in return, as he had killed before. What worse could he do? Besides … she had this strange charm to her. A bizarrely macabre beauty.

How could he say no?

"Tenemos un trato… señorita."

Sartana tutted. "Ay, call me Sartana, por favor. I may be twenty-five years behind you, but…"

"Very well then…Sartana."

---

"Tío Chamuco, where's Sartana and Amparo?"

"Amparo's in recovery. Sartana is … being interrogated."

"Interrogated? What for? She's not a criminal."

"Actually, she is. She attacked Amparo earlier. Blew her arm off with a powerful spell. It's a miracle the poor girl lives."

"¡¿Qué?! …no, no! ¡No puede ser!"

"Sí ocurrió. Tus padres están con Sartana ahora mismo. She has snapped completely, all thanks to her foolish love for a human. Not even your padre when this insane when that hada bewitched him... such a pity."

"¡Estás… estás mintiendo! ¡Mientes!"

"Compruébalo tú mismo, chico."

"Hugo!"

Hugo blinked, snapping back to reality to find a human male – with shaggy hair and a thick mustache, dressed in a painter's outfit – looking at him with concern. "Lo siento, José," he said, backing up.

José looked at the skeleton with a raised brow. "You were deep in thought again. What was it this time?" he asked him.

"You wouldn't be pleased," Hugo muttered, stuffing his hands in his pockets. "It's about my family again."

He lived on his own since Sartana's banishment. He'd grown up too fast, they said. Became too reclusive. Montse helped him move out, said it wasn't for his sake though – "It's because Sartana would have done it, but she's not here, so you're stuck with my help." Nevertheless, he appreciated it. He had his own quarters in the far end of the Land of the Remembered. His parents visited sometimes. Brief visits, as he wasn't a talker – just to check up on him. His uncle did similar, though often pried about his paintings – a hobby of his, though as of late he'd gotten a muse that … garnered some scrutiny from said uncle. He understood why but still, it stung slightly, to hide the reason why he was enamored with humans…

And now Hugo stood in the house of one, in his natural form. If they knew, he was sure to be a goner.

José sighed, running his hands over his face. "This again? Ay, Huguito, you still worry of your uncle finding out about—"

"Excuse me for being scared!" Hugo interrupted, irritation in his tone. "Do you understand how fucked up my family is? My eldest sister got banished, my second sister's got one arm, my eldest brother went off and married a doll and lives in a town full of freaks, and my uncle and dad resent mortals! How do you think they'd react if they knew I was seeing you?" He backed away, burying his face in his hands. "I'd be cast away."

"But it's different," José said quietly, eyes narrowed. "You know that."

Hugo looked at the human, sighing. "I know…I just—I don't want to be thrown away. I don't want what happened to Sartana to happen to me."

"Your sister got banished because she took her love for a human to a level where … her sorrows clouded her judgement." Jose paused, trying to word things right. "You never hurt anybody. I know you well enough."

In more ways than you should, Hugo thought, a sad smile on his face as their hands entwined, flesh and bone alike. "Lo se…mi amor."

José leaned on him. "Come on, bone boy. You've got some paintings to finish," he said teasingly.

Hugo nodded. "Alright..." Though his mind lingered on the memory of the day he lost his sister, and he had a strange feeling inside him. Something was off, and it had to do with her - he just didn't know what.

---

Being the grandson of Sartana, Django didn't have a lot of amigos. No one wanted to get caught - dead or alive - with someone related to Dama de los Muertos which would be understandable, if Django hadn't grown up knowing the bullshit his grandmother went through. The hell she endured for the sake of his father, for the sake of their family - all of it thanks to some prick that had to leave her at the altar. But not everyone knew of Sartana's tale of woe, so often Django was burdened with being alone...up until Zoe entered his life.

Since he was a fellow young villain and the grandson of the greatest villainess within Miracle City, she gave him a chance. Of course, they'd joined together as per their own scheme, but that didn't mean there hadn't been some actual bond there. Eventually she introduced him to some other young villains, the ones standing out the most being Dr. Chipotle Jr. – or Diego, as he was actually called – and Sergio. Both of whom had grown a lot over the past eleven years.

Sergio, or Señor Siniestro as the public knew his villain alter-ego, was no longer some small petite chubby Italian kid. Granted, the Italian-Western hybrid accent never faded, neither did the chubs, but he'd grown taller. Tall enough to where he almost reached Chipotle Jr.'s neck. He still had those old cyborg contraptions and disguises, but his civilian disguise didn't have those lame baby clothes anymore - instead he dressed like some steering guy of a gondola - those old Venetian boats they sail back in Italy, Sergio's home. Often Sergio spoke of his home with fondness and memory, though when asked if he would ever give up villainy and go back, he would laugh and say, "Non c'è alcuna possibilità, amico mio! Miracle City is stuck with me forever!"

As for Diego, he'd grown a lot taller. In fact, he was about only an inch shorter than Zoe, which said a lot as Aves mujeres were tall – well, at least Zoe and her mom were. Zoe's abuela was a bit on the shorter side, though he chalked it up to the pain of Jorge Rivera's callousness making its mark. Anyhow, Diego was taller and no longer some scrawny chico, but a somewhat lanky scientist científico. His hair had grown longer to the point where it nearly reached down his backside, his robotic arm also growing long and bigger which often made the others wonder how he was able to walk around with it. He still wore the lab coat and that robotic eye, though his civilian guise was that of a trench coat and regular glasses.

Zoe … she was magnificent in every way. She was only a bit shorter than him, with her gorgeous black hair touching her shoulders, streaked with purple highlights. Her skin remained pale, despite all the years of being under Mexico's hot sun, and her eyes a striking violet. She dressed in the same dark attire as always, though now she appeared more eerie to those that would walk by, whether she was in her villain guise or not. Carmelita would say, "Te pareces a tu mamá." But Django disagreed — Zoe looked like a nightingale that emerged from what was once an already articulate hatchling, unlike her mother, a vulture emerged from a broken sparrow. She was … too much for words to describe.

(Often Django looked between the three and then himself, noticing that he was the bizarre one out of them all. Half-human, half-skeleton, descended from the lineage of Xibalba and La Muerte — he looked like his father, save the obvious cyborg parts and some smoother facial features. His claws though, he would look at them and know then that he was never to truly fit in with these three, not in the way they could fit in with everyone else. Despite his mother's side being full human, his father's side overrode it and he would never be able to disguise himself.

He wasn't human like Manny was. He wasn't like his ancestors, Justice Jaguar or the original El Tigre himself… he was like Sartana. He was like the deceased aunt and uncle, Lady Micte and Lord Mictlan in that his looks were that of death itself. That was why his mother's family ignored his existence. Why he couldn't go to a regular school. Why he had to move around town carefully, or else—

He was a freak. An illegitimate freak. Born from a cursed line. That was why Frida had left him, because he was the grandson of a villain, destined for nothing but villainy. That was why the current El Tigre always triumphed over him, because good guys finish first — and why should someone distantly related to Lord Mictlan triumph? It was an easy conclusion yet it hurt him still.

Sergio, Diego and Zoe were humans. They had fucked up lives, but they could still have a chance for better lives. Django had no chances.)

"So then Carlito said-a that I was like-a Michelangelo! …if he was a lovesick moron that had-a buncha cyborgs."

Sergio then shot a glare at Diego and Zoe as they began snickering from across him on the rooftop.

"Sounds about right," said Diego with a smirk on his face. "You've always been a simpleton when it comes to love, unlike I."

Sergio stared at his friend. "If I remember this right, Frida dumped-a you before-a she dated 'Jango," he recalled.

Diego snarled at this. "It's not my fault she chose that…that SWINE!" he bellowed at the top of his lungs, causing a pájaro to fly off much to Zoe's amusement.

"Suarez is a heartbreaker," Zoe said, rolling her eyes. She let out a 'tch'. "She's always been at Manny's heels since kindergarten. She always had eyes for him." A wistful sigh escaped the Aves girl. "And his eyes were always for Frida."

Diego and Sergio glanced at each other, then at her. It had been ten years since Manny and Zoe had gone out and broken up on the harshest day known to all the kids in Leone High School. A public break up that involved the loudest screaming match, with the most cruel of insults possible — and of course, many tears shed, though not by the hero but the villain. Everyone at the school had witnessed it, from those Eagle Twins to Sofia to even the Cactus Kid, Billy. Even Vice Principal Chakal bore witness to it, stunned to silence for once. And when all the hurtful things were said and done, it was Zoe that ran off in angry tears, the other villain kids following suit, as she hadn't had actual friends aside from her former novio.

"Mi diaspace."

"Lo siento. We shouldn't have brought it up—"

Zoe waved a hand in dismissal. "Oh it's fine, no worries! After all, we've moved on, haven't we? You two are over Suarez, and I am over El Tigre." She fumbled around in her spot on the rooftop, until she looked at Django. A smile formed on her face, a genuinely happy smile, and she moved closer to him and took his hand in hers. "Besides, I have Django now." She gave a huff. "Who needs a good-doer when you can have a princípe of the dead?"

Django looked at his — novia? — in surprise before shaking his head. "I'm not a prince," he said quietly, though he squeezed her hand gently. He was careful with his claws, making sure they didn't pierce her smooth skin. "I'm just the son of evil." And I don't deserve you.

"You technically are though," Zoe insisted, grinning at him. "You told me once that your Nana is descended from Xibalba and La Muerte, rulers of the land of the dead. That makes you royalty, doesn't it?"

She recalled the day he did, when they were fifteen. A year after their relationship started forming, and they'd begun telling each other their secrets - family histories and woes. Her mother and grandmother had been scorned by Rivera hombres, and resorted to marrying strangers — strangers that would leave back for Argentina when the mujeres became with child. She never knew her padre... not in the way Django knew of his biological grandfather, the man that left her abuela at the altar — right after he'd left the skeleton lad's. A vicious cycle, it was. In turn, Django spoke of his family's history — of Lord Mictlan and Lady Micte, of El Chamuco and La Noche, and of his great-grandparents, Xibalba y La Muerte. Royalty of the dead, yet estranged — Sartana cast aside and banished, an aunt and uncle killing each other over a prophecy and demigod child, and so on and so forth.

"You have golden blood within you."

"Is it? I don't think my lineage is anything but cursed," Django spoke honestly, frowning. He heard the others gasp at this. Before they could pitch in, he said, "My abuelo abandoned my Nana. My father grew up as an illegitimate child and got fucked up so bad when he tried to approach my biological grandfather, that he had to get metal implants — especially for his jaw. My mother was disowned by her family for choosing to be with my father. I'm half human and I can't even disguise myself. I'm supposed to succeed my Nana in villainy, but I haven't done anything near her levels — all I've done is die so many times. Each time, I wake up and I see my Tía Micte sometimes before I return to this realm. Oh, speaking of which, you know of the old prophecy, don't you?"

Zoe frowned deeply. "You shouldn't speak so lowly of yourself," she said, reaching out to touch his cheek. "You're not … you're not cursed. Yes, I know your family has quite a past, but so does mine. It's something we can't avoid or do anything about but move forward." She smiled sadly at him. "And I think despite this, you're pretty swell."

Django smiled back, a sad one. "Gracias, Zoe."

"I think-a you're pretty cool-a too, Django," Sergio added, scooching closer. "I mean-a, not every villain-a gets a mystic guitar-a!"

"Or can say they have a godly heritage," Diego pitched in. "Even if a little tragic and filled with turmoil. Hardship brings strength!" He grinned widely at the skeleton. "It makes you stronger than that SWINE!"

"And not everyone gets to cheat death like you do," another voice added in.

The four turned to see the Eagle Twins, Carla and Carlito, get up onto the rooftop, dressed in their 'superhero' attire and all—although they were anything but heroes. The twins were about a year older than Django and Zoe, making them two years older than Sergio and Diego in turn. They both donned their old white body suits—Carla's with a skirt—that had black sleeves, crossbelts, boots, yellow gloves and eagle-themed helmets and capes. Still had the fair skin and red hair, with Carla's obviously being longer and still tied in a ponytail. The smug grins they once wore on their faces were long gone now though, instead replaced by genuine grins.

See, Carla and Carlito were liked by most of Miracle City for their faux image of being angelic superheroes, but deep down, there was a streak of villainy. It all started thirteen years ago, when their father had tried to stop El Mal Verde, only to be devoured by the beast. That swayed them from their hero heritage towards delinquency. If their father died doing heroic acts, why should they follow in his footsteps? It only brought pain. So they lied and made themselves look good, all while taking the rewards. Stealing from people. Even villains like El Oso looked up to their false image. The only ones they couldn't fool were El Tigre, Frida, Zoe and Django.

El Tigre and Frida, they met when they were fourteen years-old. White Pantera had asked them to be some sort of guidance that day for the young would-be hero, who had yet to pick villainy or heroism, stuck in a gray area. It seemed rather obvious that he would end up picking heroism, as when they'd shown their true colors, he tried to stop them after not being tempted by their strive for riches and glory. Of course, they were able to pull through and make it seem like the mess they created was his fault, and he landed a day in a hospital jail cell while they got their zeppelin repaired.

Django and Zoe … they met on the day Manny and Zoe had broken up. It should have been an ill-fated meeting, considering the harshness of that day, but … it felt like a strange blessing in disguise. They all knew of each other's ups and downs, highs and lows – and Django felt some of the twins' struggle, in trying to preserve a legacy one isn't cut out for. Of being unable to fulfill that parent's desire. And Carla had been able to provide Zoe with a comfort of a female friend – something the Aves girl hadn't had in … ever, really.

Though often the twins got on their nerves, they were welcome additions. Even if their appearances made Sergio roll his eyes, and Diego groan. "Speak of the diablos themselves."

"Oh well isn't that a nice 'how do you do'?" Carlito huffed, pretending to be affronted.

"You're-a late," Sergio said bluntly.

"We had to get some things," Carla explained briefly, pulling out a sack of cokes. "I'm sure you won't mind. Freshly stolen coke, anybody?" She held out one.

Django took the coke. "You said something about cheating death – well, it's a blessing, yeah, but it's also not exactly fun waking up in some weird limbo state."

"Limbo? I thought you'd go to the land of the dead," Zoe said, confused.

"Ah, there's several realms there – remembered, forgotten, unknown, cursed … and then there's the realm were the souls of those involved in the old Maya prophecy go," Django explained, taking a sip from the coke in between words. He recalled the realm he woke up in, so mysterious. "There's also another realm, though - one that's like limbo. I've been there and I think Nana has too, long before I was – but she won't talk about it."

He paused, recalling a blue – angel? Fae? It was a spirit, a mysterious one – before going on. "This place … it was dark, and the only light that shone was from this spirit. She was turquoise, and she had these deep eyes – if you looked into them, it'd be like traversing through an unsolvable maze. She spoke of how I was guided for a path that would lead from destruction to triumph, whatever that means…"

"Sounds like an omen," Carlito muttered. "One of those seers, probably."

"She had wings with eyes, though. Seers don't have that," Django replied, brows furrowing in confusion. "But…anyhow, it happened when I was sixteen, and I haven't seen her since then. I usually ended up in the Land of the Unknown, and I'm shocked that La Noche didn't discover me."

"Isn't it weird to call your aunt by her title?" Zoe shifted in her spot, moving a bit closer to him. "I mean, it's like if I called my abuela 'Lady Gobbler'."

"Well I never met La Noche," Django retorted, frowning deeply. "I never met any of my Nana's family, because she was banished. They're forbidden from seeing me and my father, and so I can't really call her my aunt because how can I when I don't know what she's like outside of the stories Nana tells me? You know your abuela. I don't know most of my own family." He buried his face in his hands.

"And it's all because of that Puma Loco."

Zoe placed a hand on her boyfriend's shoulder in an attempt to comfort him. "I know… y lo siento. I don't think I've ever seen a situation like yours."

"Yeah, that's-a, well, pretty messed up-a."

"And I thought my clone family was odd."

The twins looked at each other, then at the skeleton lad. "Have…have you ever tried–" Carlito started.

"–visiting them?" Carla finished.

Django stared. "How would I be able to?"

All eyes were on the twins now. They glanced at one another, before looking at Django. "Well you could always…" Carla started.

"If El Tigre ever tries to kick your ass again, just—" Carlito tried.

"—there's ancient spells," Carla interrupted. "You know, old books from Luna Island and the like."

"That's Peasant Magic – you don't mess with that," Django said, eyes hardening. "I might have god blood, but my mother and grandfather are humans … how much power I have isn't nothing compared to a full god's. I don't think it's enough to handle that magic."

Carla shrugged. "It was just a suggestion," she muttered. "I don't think you'll have to actually use—"

"Django!"

They all turned to see a skeleton male, around fifty-six years, climbing up onto the rooftop. He had a metal jaw, metal eye, metal leg and three arms. He dressed a lot more … biker-like, a vest of bullets strapped around him. If Sartana was the queen of death, then this guy was the crown prince – the bandito king, they called him. El Machete.

"Dad?" Django rubbed his eyes, making sure he wasn't seeing things. "What are you doing here? I thought you were going to spend the night with Mom—"

"Tu abuela se ha ido."

Django's blood ran cold. The other young villains went silent. Those words echoed in his head, the thought festering yet never truly settling. He couldn't have heard it right. "¿Qué has dicho? Creo que no te he oído bien."

Machete's brow furrowed. "I said, your abuela is gone," he repeated, his voice growing harsher with each word spat out. In those crimson eyes reflected a deep concern and fear, along with a mixture of grief and anger. He had known something, something Django hadn't – and yet Django felt he should have known too.

"What do you mean she's gone?" Django stood up, flinching under his father's harsh glare. "I saw her earlier. She was planning on doing something by herself. She didn't vanish, did she?"

"She didn't vanish, no," said Machete with a shake of his head. He pulled his son closer and hissed, "She went to the land of the dead."

"Wh-what?" stuttered Django, eyes wide in shock. He shook his head frantically. "That can't be. It's impossible! She was banished, she can't—"

"She must have conjured a spell." Machete's jaw clenched, both his metal and regular teeth grinding together in dismay. "Your mother and I came back home, couldn't find her anywhere. So I searched and searched, and I found her old journal. She had a plan outlined."

It sunk in rather quickly for Django now. The way his Nana acted earlier… the way she'd been deep in thought. She had been planning something all along but he didn't think she would – "A revenge scheme."

"Sí, mijo, un plan de venganza." Machete's expression grew grimmer. "She's going to … try to go after your bisabuelo y bisabuela, and – and some other being I can't…" He rubbed his temples wearily. "Your madre tracked down her footsteps to the edge of this city – the border near the next town."

"Wait, so … Sartana of the Dead has left Miracle City?" asked Diego slowly, looking between his friends and the elder skeleton.

"Yes!" Machete exclaimed, irritated. He gestured an arm to the distance. "And she's going to raise hell in the Underworld – and if that happens, well…" He let out a heavy sigh. "This center of the world? It's not safe from the vengeance of mi madre."

Sergio shuddered. "That's- that's really-a grim."

"What do we do to stop her then?" Zoe asked suddenly, standing up. "We're not going to let her run off in the land of the dead attacking other gods."

"We are going after her," Django stated, walking over to his father's side. He faced his friends and ordered, "You're all staying here. This isn't something mortals should get involved in."

"But it's two of you, half-gods, up facing a full god! You can't go doing this as a duo!" Zoe argued, grabbing her boyfriend's hand. "You need help. I can—"

"Zoe." Django grabbed his girlfriend's shoulders. "It's not safe. If you get caught in a cross with my Nana, you won't – you'll be severely injured at best, and…" To think of the other option was something that made him ache. "I can't let that happen to you." He looked at the others. "Any of you! None of you know the extent of Sartana's powers, of how the gods work."

"But it's a suicide mission you're on," Carlito retorted.

"This is mi madre," Machete growled, stepping forward. "I know her more than any of you mocosos do! You think I haven't died before? I have – I've faced death right on, which is something you little tontos haven't done in your entire lives!" He raised a hand, sharp claws out. "I've seen her anger firsthand. I know what I am dealing with. Mi hijo knows what he's dealing with. You don't." He lowered his voice to say, "Quedaos quietos, pequeños. Dejen que los profesionales se hagan cargo."

Machete hopped off the rooftop for the one nearby, making his way back to home. Django was about to follow his father, when Zoe tugged on his arm.

"Let me come with you," she pleaded. "I have to help you. We're – we're a team, 'Jango. We started this together. I can—"

"I'm not letting you risk getting killed for my sake," Django told her in a hushed, gentle tone. "I understand you want to help but…" He thought of the realm below, where the dead roamed. It wasn't a place for a mortal. She wouldn't last a night there – no living being could, at least not one without the blood of a god. "… you will die if you follow me. Por favor, stay here where you won't fall to my family's destructive ways." He kissed her forehead, not for the first time, but it felt like it'd be the last.

Zoe blushed briefly, before shaking her head. She had to help him, she had to — she couldn't let him do it by himself or just with his own father's help. He needed help from others too, she knew. "No, Django, you can't—!"

He jumped off the rooftop for the other, following after his father. She was about to follow him but was held back by the twins. She thrashed in their hold until Carla hissed, "Stop doing that! You know none of us can face Sartana. The only ones that can do it are the Riveras and those related to her. Besides, there's no way a human could visit the land of the dead – or at least live for the journey."

"But—"

"We must trust him to know what he's doing," Diego added, a grim look on his face. "Even if it means…"

But he might … he could … Zoe couldn't stomach it. The thought of losing him before she could tell him the truth, it made her ill. She slumped down, looking at where he'd gone off.

"I pray you know what you're doing… Django de los Muertos," she whispered.

You have to live. You have to come back. You have to. I won't forgive you if you don't.

---

Sardinia, Italy

1500s

Many fae gathered about as King Torquato began his announcement. "Grazie, everyone, for accepting our invitation to graciously come to our ball tonight. Let us begin the introductions."

Esteban tried not to tap his foot impatiently at the never ending sight of all the nobles being introduced. When would it be his turn – or rather, the turn of the count he was impersonating? He glanced around, seeing Nicoletta near a fae with rather wild blonde hair – the prince, no doubt. He scowled at this, feeling a pang of jealousy… though he didn't know why, exactly.

Another pang he felt was anger when he saw Torquato, the bastard responsible for all the trouble. He wanted to draw out his sword and run him through, but it was impossible.

Then it came him, Zacarías and Constantino's turns to be introduced. "Conte Lorenzo, Conte Stefano, and Conte Giovanni."

The three stepped forward, and whispers came about. Remarks on how they looked different from the last time they'd been seen at a ball, or how Lorenzo's hair turned white quickly, or how Giovanni grew rougher in stature – or how handsome Stefano was with that black hair.

Despite the mask, Esteban's crimson eyes were able to be seen. They met the teal eyes of Nicoletta, who looked on in shock, recognizing him. She mouthed out his name, making him smile at her…until the prince – Jareth, he'd been introduced as – noticed.

"My dear, do you recognize Conte Lorenzo?" asked Jareth, raising a brow as his eyes darted between the supposed conte and the principessa. "He appeared at the last Archaian ball, though he appears to have…aged since then." His nose crinkled. He never had liked most of the counts. "Does he visit your kingdom often?"

"Oh, I saw him a couple of times," said Nicoletta, eyes still on Esteban. What was he doing here? He couldn't be here. He'd get caught, and—"At a ball my father hosted a while ago. A very intriguing fellow." She tilted her head, a slight smile on her face, one of fondness. Even if she worried for him, she couldn't help but be glad to see him. His familiar face soothed her heart. He had waited for her, it meant – and he was willing to risk being caught by fae for her.

"Ah." Jareth felt a pang of jealousy. Why was the count so intriguing to her? He was another boorish noble like the rest of them! And how come he got to meet Nicoletta and catch her attention so quickly? It had taken several meetings for the prince to even get there. His hand gripped the sprite's gently. "Say, when the dance comes on…would you like to—?"

She knew what he meant to ask. "Yes."

He grinned. "Excellent."

Esteban tried to hold back a scowl seeing the two together. He stepped back to the crowd after all the nobles had been called up, and the king went on about instructions for the dance and the like. That's her intended, he thought, envious. He was a bit surprised the feeling and a bit stunned. Of course, he knew immediately he liked Nicoletta more than he should, which was why he envied the prince. And the fact that he was envious of the prince hurt his proud nature. A mere angel knight, being envious of a man who would be entrusted with leading this kingdom of over thousands of fae, was unbelievably stupid. It was beyond simply knowing his place.

"I'm a lost cause," he muttered to himself. He was irritated. He felt like a child undergoing the cycle of growing up, going up and down with Nicoletta's every action.

"My, my…" Zacarías spoke suddenly from next to him. The younger angel turned to his hermano, noticing the way he smirked, a hungry look in those blue eyes. It made the knight's fists ball up. "She's so exquisite. I understand why you want her all to yourself now." The older angel's tone was filled with this lustful undertone, his hands moving in a rather unbecoming manner.

"Don't you dare," Esteban breathed angrily, poking his brother's chest with an accusatory finger. "She's- she's not some exotic pet to ogle at."

"Come now, you surely see the sensual nature," Zacarias huffed, in a rather derisive manner. "Those curves of hers – hidden now by clothes, but underneath you still see them…a tease, she is."

"She's not a tease—"

Constantino held Esteban back before he could strike Zacarias. "The dance is about to start, tonto. Don't want everyone to focus on the count striking another, do we?" he sneered.

Surely enough, the music began to play from several musicians. The crowd began to mingle with one another. Dukes and duchesses danced, as did barons and baronesses, and then came the 'counts' that quickly went to the refreshments to watch from afar. Mainly as the prince of Archaia took the princess's hand, kissing it lightly.

Ignatius smiled and clasped his hands together while Torquato gave a mere nod, seemingly pleased. Crimilde and Dionisia giggled, while Zaira looked to Geraint with confusion. The majordomo shrugged his shoulders while a grin tugged.

"Shall we have this dance, Nicoletta?" Jareth asked the Wood Sprite.

Nicoletta's eyes met his. He was handsome, truly, and there was such liveliness there – but he wasn't Esteban. Still, she nodded her head. "We shall, Jareth."

They moved to the center of the floor, and the sprite felt her robes weigh in heavy on her as her heart. It felt nice to be in the prince's arms, but when she looked at him she couldn't help but think of someone else. It felt like a betrayal, a silent one where no one but her knew. Jareth, on the other hand, was overjoyed to be dancing with her - to help the sprite glide across the floor while he spun her, twirled her around. It felt right, like this was meant to be. He adored her, how humble she was, how well-spoken and mysterious she was - struck him in the heart, she did. And he couldn't be happier.

Esteban's face contorted in upset. Jealousy gripped at him further and he felt his fists ball up so hard, his nails dug in his skin. Do you know her like I do, princípe? he wondered, frowning. Did the prince know of the Wood Sprite's plight? Or was he as ignorant as all the rest?

The music became louder, but all the knight could hear was the sound of his heart twisting.

There's such a sad love,

Deep in your eyes.

A kind of pale jewel,

Open and closed,

Within your eyes.

"Do you like to sing?" asked Jareth.

"I do sometimes, yes," Nicoletta answered, leaning her head on the prince's chest. "But I only know a few tunes."

"I'd like to hear one," Jareth said, intrigued. "If it may please."

Nicoletta glanced up at him, before she nodded and hummed softly. "Penso che un sogno così non ritorni mai più … mi dipingevo le mani e la faccia di blu, poi d'improvviso venivo dal vento rapito, e incominciavo a volare nel cielo infinito."

She looked up at the prince again, noticing a look of awe and adoration on his face.

"You are a wonder," he whispered to her.

She felt her cheeks flush. "Grazie."

I'll place the sky,

Within your eyes.

"She seems to like the prince," Constantino remarked as he watched the two dance. He gave a rather unsympathetic glance to his younger brother. "Pity."

"Cállate!" Esteban hissed.

"Ah well…if you want her, go get her." Zacarias shoved his brother forward. "Go through the crowd and get the hada. Vamos, vamos!"

Esteban huffed. "¡Bien, lo haré!"

With that he rushed in the crowd, combing through. He was searching and searching, trying to get past all the fae around. They were rude, staring, and he didn't like the way they looked at him but he didn't let it deter him.

There's such a fooled heart,

Beatin' so fast,

In search of new dreams,

A love that will last,

Within your heart.

Out of the corner of her eye, Nicoletta could see a figure in a mask move through the crowd, trying to get to the center of the ballroom. She recognized him: Esteban. Her heart panged when she saw the other fae leer at him, and she wanted to go to him, but she couldn't. Not now, when she was in Jareth's arms. Though she found that if she moved to the rhythm, Jareth's steps followed, and they got a little closer to him.

All the while, Crimilde's eyes were on the masked counts. She wondered … could they really be the counts, or were they actually—

Zaira came up to her. "Is something wrong, sorella?"

Crimilde shook her head. "No, Zaira, nothing's wrong. Run along now. Go play with Geraint or something." She didn't spare a glance at her youngest sister, eyes darting between the masked count moving through the crowd and the Wood Sprite, dancing with the Archaian heir.

It couldn't be… could it?

I'll place the moon,

Within your heart.

Esteban pushed through various fairies, landing him shoves and scolding in return. Harsh words thrown, whispers of how much of a brute he was for a count - he didn't care though. He wasn't the count. He was a knight looking for the fairy that captured his attention.

He saw flashes of her in those white robes, adorned with jewelry. Exquisite beyond belief yet so far from his reach. When it seemed he got closer, she grew farther. Was this the fates pulling them apart?

A melancholy washed over. It couldn't be like this. He had to - he needed to find her. Even if she was in another's arms.

And he wondered, why couldn't he be able to dance with her?

As the pain sweeps through,

Makes no sense for you.

Every thrill is gone,

Wasn't too much fun at all.

Nicoletta glanced again at Esteban, who seemed to keep falling back in the dozens of fae that surrounded. Her heart yearned for him. But she couldn't leave Jareth.

"Is something wrong, dear?" Jareth tilted his head, unsure why she looked out to the crowd so often. He saw flashes of black and crimson, but never for long - never long enough to truly understand. "You shift your focus too much."

"It's- it's nothing. I just...thought I saw something."

Or rather, someone - though she couldn't say it aloud.

But I'll be there for you,

As the world falls down.

Falling...

As the world falls down...

Falling,

Falling in love...

Esteban grunted as he found himself at a loss. Every time he got closer, Nicoletta got further away. It wasn't fair! Why was it so hard?

He then noticed a spot between two - barons? He didn't pay attention much but they were noblemen nonetheless - and decided to sneak in. There, he had a close up view of the dancing 'couple', as a circle formed around them.

He watched as the prince twirled the Wood Sprite around in his arms, and yet just as he grit his teeth... she turned to look at him.

Their eyes met. Hearts racing at the same time as the dance between the royals stopped. Esteban stepped forward, towards Nicoletta. He didn't care if all eyes were on him. He had to take this chance.

I'll paint you mornings of gold,

I'll spin you Valentine evenings,

Though we're strangers 'til now,

We're choosing the path,

Between the stars.

I'll leave my love,

Between the stars...

Nicoletta stepped away from Jareth, not noticing the hurt look on the other fae's face as she stepped towards Esteban. The knight held out his hand, a spark in his crimson orbs. She took his hand in hers, squeezing it gently, her teal orbs filled with a fondness and adoration beyond any measure she'd felt before.

"You came," she whispered to him. Her face flushed as he kissed her hand. "Why?" Though she knew, she wanted to hear him say it - to affirm her belief.

"For you," he said simply. "I wanted to see you." Because I really like you.

"Oh, Esteban..." She wrapped her arms around his shoulders, leaning on him as he began guiding her in a dance. A slow waltz. "That's the sweetest thing anybody has done for me." In fact, no one had done it for her...until now. "But you'll get hurt if you get caught—"

"I'm good at not getting caught." Esteban winked at her. "Mostly."

Nicoletta grinned and followed him as he led her across the dance floor, never noticing the dejected Jareth...or the envious Zacarías that watched in the crowd, fists balling up as he angrily whispered to Constantino:

"I will have her. Make no mistake about that!"

As the pain sweeps through,

Makes no sense for you.

Every thrill is gone,

Wasn't too much fun at all...

Esteban spun Nicoletta around and glided his hand down her arm to rest once again on her waist while she placed her hand on his chest. He held out his arm to her, one hand behind his back as she took it and smiled so beautifully for him.

Nicoletta had never danced like this before, and so effortlessly too with Esteban as her partner! The knight twirled her around to show the beauty of her, dancing elegantly for all to see. Unexpectedly, he pulled her close to him so one of his hands was on her waist and the other grasping her hand. Her own hands were on his shoulder or in his hand.

Esteban heard her little gasp as she was pulled in close to him and was pleased with it. Her eyes were only halfway open in a dreamlike state and her hands holding him with all the trust in the world. It humbled him to have her trust him so much to lead her through the waltz in front of everyone.

Giving a triumphant smile, he twirled her out from him twice before reigning her in again. Not in front of him, but beside him. He had one arm around her waist to rest on her hip and was absolutely ecstatic that she had her hand on top of that hand.

They were now expanding their dance to a larger circle so much that the crowd gave little gasps and moved backwards to avoid being hit by her tail. Nicoletta had her head thrown back in bliss at being in his arms and could see his handsome face beaming down on her, returning the sentiment.

Esteban lifted Nicoletta up a little, making her dress come down in waves. Being the show off he was, he couldn't resist grabbing her waist with both hands and lift her up in the air. In that moment, he felt the most humble yet powerful he had ever been. For anyone to lead the sprite into such a complicated dance must be someone special and someone she trusted, and the knight was beyond grateful that he had her trust.

Nicoletta inhaled in surprise and let out a small squeal. When Esteban brought her back down to earth, she stared into his adoring gaze with their noses almost touching.

As the song was about to end, Esteban took her hand and dipped her down, supporting her weight with his hand on her waist. Lifting her back up, he gave a gentlemanly bow, with a hand on his heart as she sank to the ground in a curtesy.

The crowd erupted in an applause for the most beautiful dance they had ever seen. Everyone whispered, wondering how "Count Lorenzo" managed to captivate the princess instead of the prince.

But I'll be there for you...

As the world falls down.

As for the pair, all they could think about were each other. Nicoletta was inexperienced in the ways of men when it came to courting and she felt a little shy about being in the arms of such a knight. As for Esteban, he wanted to just sweep her off her feet right then and there with only holding him back was that he didn't want to scare her away — that, and the many fae surrounding.

A new dance started. This time, lively and more energetic. As Nicoletta was more familiar with this one, she kicked her leg up in the dance and led Esteban more than he had led her. The knight, while not entirely used to not being in control, let the fae do what she wanted.

After a few twists and turns, he leaned into her ear, his hair tickling the side of her cheek. "Come with me," he whispered.

Nicoletta's eyes widened and so did her smile as he took her hand and they trotted off like a couple of excited kids.

-0-

"Was - was that Conte Lorenzo, sire?" asked Geraint, staring at the man dancing with the princess. "He doesn't look familiar…"

"It can't be him," Ignatius muttered, shaking his head. His teeth grit in disdain. His son's chances at a marriage with the princess were being destroyed, by some stranger pretending to be a count! Oh, the anger and humiliation he felt! "Yet everyone believes it is him, beneath that mask."

Crimilde's eyes narrowed. She couldn't place it either. Maybe she had met the man at some other event. "I don't know, my good king, but this doesn't bode well. All the fairies will be talking about him," she voiced her concern.

She looked at her father, whose face remained unreadable. "Father?"

"We will have to wait and see, mia figlia," Torquato said, eyes beginning to narrow. Who was the stranger that began to meddle in this affair he set up, making his third daughter defy him once again? He wouldn't allow it, although he couldn't help but feel he recognized the … spirit within the fellow. Almost akin to a captain his wife once spoke of with such fondness and —

No, it couldn't be an angel. It couldn't.

Zaira said nothing. She tried to hide her smile, but she found that the guy looked familiar with her elder sister. As if she had heard of someone that looked similar to him before. Looking closely, she barely held a gasp. It was the knight! Albeit in different clothes, but still, it was him!

Zaira had a grin on her face now but she tried to keep it toned down. Her father and other sisters didn't like angels and she couldn't understand it. They cared for humans akin to how they did, except they didn't have as many conditions. She was sad when she had been told Nicoletta's knight couldn't come to the ball, and that she'd never get to meet the angel that fascinated her sister so.

Maybe this was Nicoletta's chance to finally win his heart. She looked so beautiful, more beautiful than ever.

Yes, she would keep quiet so Nicoletta and the knight wouldn't be in trouble.

Torquato took smacked his eldest daughter on the side of the head. "Concentrate! Go and dance with someone. Try to find out if…"

Crimilde bowed her head quickly. "Yes, father."

---

Present

"I'm surprised you managed to get that far," La Muerte remarked dryly. "Your disguises were always on the nose."

Xibalba shrugged, grinning cheekily. "It's a talent of mine."

"Uh-huh." La Muerte looked at their surroundings now. They had teleported back home, in their castle - which was in her realm, as his was too cold and desolate. Something he told her.

You are the light of my darkness, he said to her once. You are what keeps me going. She believed him then and still believed him now, but with the knowledge of his first love … she had to wonder, was she the first he said this to? Was she his only light now?

If he could, would he choose her? Or if the fae came back, would he—

Horrible thoughts. She scolded herself immediately. But Micte's warning, and his tale – it was all too much. And oh, she wondered of Chamuco and how devoted he was to Noche, her twin. Was she just a second choice for him? Were the hermanos more alike in this regard?

And Sartana was returning. Sartana, who always seemed apprehensive about the blue feather in her father's studies. Who never liked when fae were brought up. What was La Muerte going to do?

So much to think of, so much to do, so little time …

"Balby?"

"Si?"

"… I think… I think one of our children is paying a visit," La Muerte started slowly.

"Oh!" Xibalba began smiling, that sweet smile that always won her over. Damn it. "That's wonderful. Which one?" He began chuckling. "I mean, we have nine after all..." One of which was banished, and they rarely spoke of.

Well, there was always a first for everything…

But as La Muerte was about to answer truthfully, a voice yelled from the other side of the entrance. "Mother, father, we're here!"

"Juan!" Xibalba exclaimed, overcome with joy at hearing his eldest son's voice. Something to drown out the bleak past he was reliving, those old days in Rome seemingly washing away at the prospect of seeing his hijo and his daughter-in-law, and their little family – all five of their little skeleton-doll hybrid kids. He went to open the door, a grin on his face as he saw Jack, hand in hand with Sally, their kids not far behind. "What a lovely surprise!" He glanced at his wife, his grin widening. She always had a knack for good timing, one of the reasons he adored her so.

"Oh, what a lovely surprise indeed…" La Muerte smiled uncertainly, having not expected this visit. She noticed her son's grin seemed to tug at the corners of his mouth, indicating signs something else was going on. A mother's instinct, which made her worry more.

What's going on with you, mijo?

"We couldn't wait another day," Jack explained, while Sally tried to reel in their kids to a proper lineup. "The kids were so excited to see you, especially Sandra."

The little skeleton girl beamed up at her grandfather. "Hi, grandpa!" she squealed.

"Hola, mija," Xibalba greeted her back warmly, his arms reaching out to pick her up. She giggled as he ruffled her hair. "My, how you've grown! It seems like only yesterday you were just a bebe, now you're getting so big!"

Sandra grinned. "You think so?" she asked.

"I know so, Sandi."

Eric, the eldest Skellington child – sixteen years of age – scowled at this, rolling his eyes. He bore mostly resemblance to that of his father, but had a red tuft of hair on his head from his mother. "So what am I, spare parts?"

"We're here too, grandpa!" said Irene in agreement, the second eldest, Eric's twin sister though not identical. She had more of her mother's looks, being more doll-like, but her skin was deathly white like that of her father's bones.

Jacob, twelve years of age, walked up to his grandmother. He was more doll-like, though instead of red hair, he had black hair – which was chalked up to something he inherited from his grandmother. "Hi, grandma," he greeted her quietly.

And then there was Freddie, aged eight and a spitting image of both parents in his skeletal and doll qualities, too focused on his dinosaur toy to notice. "Huh?" He looked up briefly, before looking back at his Apatosaurus.

La Muerte gave a smile and picked up her middle grandson, greeting him back: "Hola, mijo. How are you? You've gotten so big, just like the rest of your hermanos y hermanas."

"I'm good," Jacob replied. "Though Sandra kept talking a lot on the trip here."

"But I had a lot of things to talk about!" the ten year-old skeleton-doll girl insisted, raising a laugh from everyone.

"I'm sure you did, cariña," Xibalba said gently. "Tell me all about it."

Sandra took a deep breath in, then began in a rush. "Okay, so a while ago, I got a special dream about this mysterious lady and—"

"Woah, slow down!" Xibalba exclaimed, a laugh escaping him. "What kind of dream? And what was the mysterious lady like?"

Sandra lowered her voice to a whisper. "Well, she was turquoise and she had the most beautiful wings… she was a fae, I think. She looked like one." The grin on her face got wider with each word, her excitement growing.

Xibalba's eyes widened, a pang in his heart. It couldn't be her, could it? Fae didn't visit other realms often … especially not kids like Sandra, kids descended from gods and angels, even if she had some humble heritage to her. "Oh, that's quite a dream you had."

"Uh-huh! And you were there too, and—"

"Apologies for coming so suddenly," Sally said to her mother-in-law, while Eric and Irene ran off to chase the pet chupacabra.

Jack held Freddie in one arm, the boy lost in his thoughts. "But well, Sandra kept going on about this dream she had involving you and Sartana," Jack said, though his voice wavered on his eldest sister's name. He couldn't mention the Wood Sprite, not in front of his mother. When his father was available, then he would be truthful. "And we thought this visit would do some good to get rid of any…odd feeling."

La Muerte nodded. "I understand. So you think she had an omen?" she asked quietly, tilting her head. It wasn't uncommon, though it didn't happen as much as it did in the past.

"I don't know," Jack said with a shrug, his smile forming into a line. "It's … it's hard to say."

"Sartana?" Jacob tilted his head at the mention of his first aunt. "I thought she was banished."

"She is… it's – it's something we don't talk about," La Muerte said to her grandson. Then she let out a sigh. "There's … a lot of things we don't talk about."

Because it was better to not talk of it than to get hurt remembering. Maybe that was why her husband hid that secret from her for so long… yet it didn't make it hurt less.

For once, the goddess wanted to be certain in her life – truly certain. Was that so much to ask for?

"Come mijo, let's sit down and talk about this more… I have a feeling your father will be occupied with pequeña Sandi for a while."

---

Machete knew his mother capable of many things. Capable of rearing him in from when he was just a little baby to when he was in his rough teen years all up until he reached his early adulthood. Capable of handling his mischief, handling his tough nature when he decided to help her in the robbery business when he was still school age. Capable of handling when he would get upset about being an illegitimate child, the harsh life that came with it. Capable of handling him in general, despite the burden he must have been.

He knew she was also capable of magic. She was a goddess once, the heiress to the land of the dead – or would've been, had she not accidentally hurt her sister. He knew the full story, like the back of his hand. Left at the altar, tried to find a spell to fix her issues, ended up striking hermana - a tale of woe that ended in exile, but not prior to the executioner's blade chopping off her wings. He never got to know his grandparents, not from either sides but especially his mother's, though he always wondered … would he have even been embraced at all? Or would they see him like how everyone else seemed to, save his mama, Mayte and their son: a freak?

He would never know. But what he did know is his mother held a grudge. A deep one. For his entire life, he saw her hellbent on revenge - and he tried to help her at some points. But he ended up hurt, and she would tell him to get away before he could get killed. He'd died several times, wound up in the land of the unknown, but he understood her - "Don't get hurt because of me." So he abided.

Though he still carried on robberies. Which was how he met Mayte, his wife of twenty-five years. A beautiful mujer with tan skin, ebony hair and eyes, and a smile that could light the darkest abyss. She was his jewel in the rough, the first one to love him for who he was and look past his fucked up origins - his anchor. And from her came their son, Django, who looked almost like him … saved the fucked up parts.

Raising Django hadn't been easy. Machete tried to amend the wrongs of the past by doting on his son, though of course, being a villain… it rubbed off on him. The boy began stealing from his maternal family at age six, after being told why they never chose to visit even if they acknowledged him as legitimate. Simple items, sure, but it was enough to land a scolding from Mayte, saying he was too young to steal - which amused Machete in a way, as he recalled her helping him rob stores several times in the early stages of their marriage; before she'd gotten pregnant with Django and gave up. Still, it was the start of Django's road to villainy.

The day Django was told of his grandmother's past, it solidified it all. He swore to carry on the legacy of villainy, to get revenge on the Riveras for the way they scorned his family. And Django at only age thirteen made his mark as a villain, and would grow to pick up his grandmother's mantel.

Machete wanted to be proud. He wanted to say that's my boy, because that's what a proud father does. Except he was, deep down, beneath the tough exterior...frightened. His biological father was long gone, and Machete hadn't encountered his hermano medio or his - nephew? - Manny in years. Yet there was always a sense of dread. Django couldn't measure up to his Nana's powers. Never. And that always meant Machete had that feeling - the knowing of when his son would die and resurrect. It's not something a parent should know, something a parent should even worry about - and yes, Django's an adult by now, but dios, that doesn't calm his nerves by much.

And Sartana... his Mama. She "retired" but Machete knew it wasn't because she was tired of villainy. He always knew it was something else. When trying to pry information though, he would always get the, "It's nothing, mijo" or "go on your date with your esposa, don't worry about your dear old mami" and other dismissive replies. A routine of sorts between them, which frustrated and upset him to no end. He was her son, and once she told him he'd been her rock when the world was so harsh and cold to her at one point. Didn't that matter? Why didn't she tell him of her plans? Did she no longer believe in him to be of any service?

The one that raised him... and she held secrets from him. Every parent does that, he knows now - such as how Mayte will never tell Django that she once dated his uncle, or how Machete will never really explain his metal eye aside from a simple "your biological grandfather" rather than "I tried to make him acknowledge me, and I was killed for it. When I woke up, I had one eye socket left." Because there's things one doesn't say. He knows.

But he also knows, deep down, Sartana is up to something. And it's confirmed when he and Mayte arrive home one night.

Mayte laughed as she held one of Machete's hands, while another fumbled with the door keys. "That was quite a night, querido. I didn't know you were that good at blasting those Calavera-dwelling idiotas."

"I'm full of surprises," was Machete's response, playful smirk on his face.

They had gone to Calavera for a night of havoc, using water from the fountain – a weakness of the zombies, placed in the center of the town – to blast at them like a pair of kids with toy guns. Except they were middle aged adults in their mid-fifties. Didn't mean they couldn't have some fun though. They left Django to do his own thing, and Sartana usually always stayed at home nowadays. So when Machete opened the door and called out, "Mama, we're back! Was Django any trouble?" he expected a response.

Nothing came in return.

Just silence.

"Mama?" Machete repeated. He started walking around, searching for his mother. "Mama, we're home." He felt like a little schoolboy for doing this, but her absence was...alarming. "Mama!"

"Machi, check upstairs for her," Mayte told her husband, a deeply worried look on her face. Her shoulders tensed up as she glanced out to the gardens, where she would often see her mother-in-law retreat to. "Revisaré los jardines."

Machete nodded and rushed up the stairs to his mother's room. He opened the door – she never was one for locking it, even when he had been at that part of his life as a rowdy teenager that would snoop around for shit that wasn't his concern – and looked around the room. Her guitar was gone. So were several things. What stood out was the journal that lay on his mother's bed – a page opened, the top reading, retribución.

He read the page in detail and pieced it together quickly, heart sinking. "Por los celestiales, mamá… ¿por qué vas allí a vengarte ahora?"

She had gone to the land of the dead. She went to get revenge on her family and… this fae…La Hada Azul. He knew her capable of holding a grudge, of seeking vengeance, but to little success. She never could really get retribution – that he knew her incapable of, so for her to venture out alone to those lands… to face certain death, as a goddess could die by the hand of another god, and he knew the legends of El Chamuco's lack of mercy… he couldn't stomach it.

"Mayte!"

Machete rushed down, nearly colliding into his wife who stood at the bottom of the staircase. She steadied him before he could collapse. Her dark brown eyes filled with concern and compassion for him. "Did you find anything, amor?" Mayte asked her husband.

"I—I know where Mama went." Machete's voice cracked for the first time in so many decades. He never felt this weak, not since he'd come across that friendly stranger once – the strange man with the white hair and crimson eyes. One that acted so kind to him, like he was family – though they were strangers, so it seemed. But now, he felt weak again, his heart twisting and his breathing growing rapid and infrequent. "¡Se fue a la tierra de los muertos! Va a intentar ir a por el abuelo y la abuela, y ese viejo oráculo que le dio un mal presagio cuando era adolescente y-…"

"¿Tierra de los muertos? ¡La matarán!" Mayte grabbed her husband's shoulders. "Machete - Machi, tienes que recomponerte e ir tras ella. If you don't, she'll- ay no…" She bit her lip. "... I'll try to track down her tracks. But once I do, I think you have to travel with Django alone on this."

"Django… he went out with his friends and that novia of his, I think." Machete closed his eyes. It felt like the world was collapsing around him. Of all the times for this to occur, why now? Why was it that his family could never really have that serenity others did? It made his fists clutch tightly, claws digging into his bones. "I've only been to the Land of the Unknown. Even then, it was an isolated place. It's nothing like the Land of the Remembered or any others. And the land of the dead – it is still such a foreign place to me as a whole, and I'd have hoped it would stay foreign for our hijo but…" He opened his eyes, crimson meeting chocolate. "It seems now – now, we have to return to our roots." He grabbed his wife's hand gently. "I wish I could take you with me on this journey."

Mayte smiled sadly. She had known when entering this marriage with him, that there was a boundary set by their species – he was half-god, she was full human. She couldn't venture where he could, when it came to situations like these. Bound by mortal restrictions. Their son might've had a human grandfather and a human mother, but he had that god blood in him – and that meant he got to venture where she couldn't, too. She long accepted it, but it still made her pained, yet she tried to keep herself from being upset in front of her love. "I know, but it's not my place. It is yours, and Django's." She kissed his lips briefly. "But I will always try to help in this world, even when you're gone - and even if we are torn apart by different worlds, I will always be here...in your heart."

Machete pressed their foreheads together. "I know."

—0—

"She stopped around here, at the border near San Angel." Mayte looked at her husband grimly. "That's as far as she got."

Machete grit his teeth. "That's where the tracks stop? I don't—how—" then it hit him.

A spell to go to the land of the dead – it existed, known mostly by those with powerful magic. Peasant magic, or god's magic. It didn't matter…all that did matter was that it was a powerful spell, one that required a lot of energy and concentration and a chant – and it could only be done by those with said magic. If a mere mortal tried, and they weren't gifted with sorcery, they'd be at risk of dying…

"She used that old spell."

"What?"

Machete gave his wife a horrified look. "The old spell to cast one to the underworld."

Mayte's eyes widened. "This is—oh gods, Machi… she's really hellbent on revenge, isn't she?"

Machete nodded. He then began to head back to his city. "I'm going to get Django. You stay around these parts just in case any undead being she's raised up comes around and—well, without her orders, they'll cause some mayhem."

Mayte nodded. "I'll be sure to." She kissed her husband's cheek. "Be careful out there, amor."

"I will, mi diosa. I promise," he said.

Though he wasn't sure if he'd be able to keep it.

---

Jareth the Goblin King didn't ask for much in life. Really, he didn't.

He ruled over the Labyrinth for centuries and centuries since his father had exiled him from Archaia, all due to his own behaviors after he'd watched his love get exiled for a crime she didn't commit. All thanks to an angel knight. And after that, well, he'd been chosen by the maze itself to rule over – a kingdom of goblins, dwarves, talking animals and the like, along with some fae of course. All shapes and sizes. After centuries of his rule, he found her again – Nicoletta, the one that stole his heart back in Rome.

All he asked for was that she loved him in return. Was that too much to ask? That a wife love her husband the way he devoted himself endlessly to her? That she move on from her first love, a love that scorned her, for a love that would last longer and be more fit?

Apparently so.

For all the years he tried to be enough for her, and oh how he tried, Nicoletta's heart seemed to linger on this 'Esteban'—this knight that somehow stole her away without even trying. Even when they had their son, Nicoletta would tell Enrico tales of how a knight became a god. Sure, there were happy moments, and Jareth knew there was some love in her heart for him…but how much? When their son had helped the champion win his labyrinth, it seemed like she had forgotten about the knight—but now, it was a relapse.

Jareth wanted to have his wife's sole love. But it was always this knight she wanted. So when Nicoletta kissed him earlier—when she had touched his chest and fallen into his embrace, he thought he finally had her. He thought, during their carnal entanglement, he finally won.

How foolish he was. It seemed he was not only beat at the labyrinth game, but beat at the game of love— and this defeat was more painful, for now he lay in bed, sheets being the only thing to cover his bare body and hers. His wife lay on his chest, murmuring "I love you" over and over.

But the name that spilled from her lips wasn't his. It was—

"Esteban…"

Jareth grit his teeth, a fist balling up. What did he have that he didn't? Why was it that he had the Wood Sprite's heart but the Goblin King, the one that married her, didn't? It wasn't fair. It was cruel. A cruel, sick joke of sorts - it had to be.

The irony in this wasn't lost. It's not fair was once said to him by the champion of his maze, who once involved herself with Enrico... Enrico, who now roamed the mortal realm. Grown up and none the wiser. Jareth could only pray his son wouldn't end up like him- that he would find a love that'd last, a love that wouldn't linger on another.

Wishful thinking.

Jareth looked down at Nicoletta. She was so beautiful, seemingly so at peace... all while the male fae's heart ached. If he had any hindsight centuries ago, in Sardinia, he would have figured out sooner that this would have happened anyway. She had loved the knight that became a death god long before the Goblin King had danced with her at the ball. She had seen this knight before, flown beside him.

"He was special to me," she said once, to their little prince.

She had kept his name a secret to protect him from the council's wrath. There had never been a chance for Jareth to be Nicoletta's only, and the higher powers must have known it.

Later, when she awakes, he asks her a question.

"Do you love me?"

"Why of course."

Jareth's eyes narrowed. "If you could go back to those days in Sardinia...who would you choose?"

Nicoletta paused. "I... I don't know what you mean."

"Would you choose me or him?" Jareth asked her. "Don't lie."

Nicoletta looked down. Her silence was the loudest answer he'd gotten.

Jareth swore he could hear his own heart breaking. "I see..."

Nicoletta reached out to touch her husband. She felt a sting when he recoiled. Why was she so bad at this? Was this revenge for her past mistakes? "Jareth, I would-"

"Would you what?" Jareth snapped, his voice and eyes filled with a pain known only as heartbreak. "You wouldn't pick me if he was available. Tell me the truth, Nicoletta – I am your second choice, and that's all I'll be." Silence from the blue fae. "Say it!"

She grabbed his hands. "You're not my first love, but I do love you!" she swore. "It's just—"

"Not as much as him."

"I'm sorry."

He looked down, scoffing. "By Dagda, I haven't a clue why I keep trying." He rubbed his face tiredly, feeling the sting of tears. "I move the stars for no one but you, and it's never-I'm never-"

She yanked him into another kiss, her eyes squeezing shut as she fought off any memories of the knight that stole her heart first. Jareth. It's about him now. He's my husband, not… but that traitorous voice at the back of her head nagged, asking is he wrong though? and it made her shudder for a second until she felt him pull her, his lips pressing harder on hers, as if begging for this to be true.

She allowed her mind to drift away, to recall centuries and centuries ago, when he had just been a visitor from another kingdom trying to win her hand. A fond little memory…before it all went to hell.

"You have the loveliest eyes I've ever seen."

The turquoise fae smiled at the blonde one, her blue orbs meeting his mismatched ones. "And your eyes are rather…mysterious…but in a good way."

"Ah, it's a little condition – my mum had it." He shifted lightly under her glance. "She was … half-human, so she had the condition even though it's hardly a thing in fey."

"Oh," said Nicoletta simply. Then, "My mother wasn't a fae."

"I've heard," Jareth replied, his tone lowering. "She was an … angel, wasn't she? Defected to our kind."

"Defected … isn't the right word." Nicoletta frowned. "She was curious, wanted to know what it'd be like to have power. She … paid the consequence for it."

Jareth placed his hand on hers. "My condolences."

She squeezed his hand. "Don't be sorry. She's in a better place now."

He nodded, then glanced at her wings. "You've got lovely wings. She would have been so proud to see you now – see what a gorgeous thing you've become."

She smiled, teary-eyed. "Do you think so?"

"I know so."

Jareth's lips left hers, and Nicoletta grew frantic for a moment until he pulled her into an embrace.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, stroking her back – her wings – gently. "I don't know why I…"

"No, it's fine," she assured him. "I've…been cruel lately."

Ever since day one. Perhaps her loss was payback for her cruelties. But she would never really know, and it pained her so.

---

Justice Jaguar, or rather Simon Rivera, rarely ever visited his sister's family. It was nothing personal, it was just – he had picked a life path that drew a wedge. Even if she held no grudge and understood it was his destiny to be a superhero, he never really could bring himself to go in her crossroad, always worrying she and Carlos and Manolo would end up in harm's way. After all, all family of a superhero were easy targets. It never happened in life, and he died in a glory while knowing that at least Manolo escaped death's claws – at the time. His sister and brother-in-law went out early, but they'd been there to receive him with open arms…yet he still kept that distance. Out of what, shame? Most likely.

He never said a word to anybody, but he always yearned for a normal life – one where he could embrace his family without worrying they'd get caught in a crossfire. Even in death, his old enemies came back to torment him, and he'd get caught in the routine of fighting them off until Chamuco's soldados – dressed in the armor of the old conquerors that tried to claim Mexico for their own, the fools dying at the hands of their own misguided selves – would come to collect them. And his living family? His son was a supervillain, and he only found out after a particular day of the dead that … he didn't sire him a grandson in just Rodolfo, but in Sartana's son Machete, too.

The shame became unbearable.

An illegitimate child, because his son left a goddess at the altar – what a cruel, sick joke was the world playing! His eldest grandson, stuck with the taboo of being a bastard. His great-grandson, Django – around Manny's age – would live with that stigma, too. Simon didn't see eye to eye with Sartana at all, but he had been raised right by his father – a supervillain in his own right, ironically – to know that no mujer deserved to be saddled with raising a child alone. Much less left at the altar…twice. It wasn't a shock he and his sister's family were 'taboo' to Lord Xibalba. How could they not be? They were the predecessors to Jorge, the little mocoso that couldn't do one decent thing and marry the one he impregnated!

It didn't take long for Justice Jaguar to piece two and two together. The reason Lady Amparo was hurt by Sartana of the Dead … was all because his son drove the latter to insanity. If he could, he'd rake him across the coals – but he couldn't. Xibalba had taken care of Jorge by the time he passed away. So Simon was left in his shame, only upsides being that his grandsons and great-grandsons didn't follow Jorge's footsteps. Though he wasn't sure what to really make of Django carrying Sartana's role, he had to admit…he couldn't be ashamed of him or Machete.

It was his family, legitimate or not. So when he stumbled into the two near the outskirts of his section of the Land of the Dead… he decided he would help them in any way he could, to make up for his son's mistakes. Even if it meant visiting his – estranged? – family.

"I appreciate you helping us out…" Machete spoke up slowly, his robot arm rubbing one of his boney arms. "Even if I am not your—ah, well…" How was he going to word this? He'd known of the Rivera family tree from his mother, who knew it from her own mother, with La Muerte being a friend of Justice Jaguar's hermana. So the demigod – was he? He still didn't understand this thing – knew that the hero was his paternal grandfather. But it was hard to bring up because his grandfather came from a time where beings like him, illegitimates, were looked down upon. It was the elephant in the room.

Simon frowned deeply, a sigh escaping him. "Tú y tu hijo no son mis nietos legítimos, no," he began. "Pero you are still family, by blood. That means even in spite of my son's errors, you and I have that connection – strained as it may be. Which means I have to help you, just as I've helped your hermano medio and his son."

Machete gave a weak smile. How long had he wanted to hear words like these? Bare minimum, yes, but it was – it felt good, in a sense. Even if it wasn't from the one he'd wanted to hear it from, exactly. "Gracias…"

"Of course." Simon forced a smile as they neared the front door of the Sanchez residence. "This is it."

"That's where your sister lives?" Django ogled at the building, several stories high. "It's bigger than Nana's home."

"Well there's a lot more people living there, so of course you have to have more rooms." Simon shrugged and raised a hand to knock on the door. "More rooms, more floors."

He knocked once.

Footsteps could be heard, along with some yelling—"I think it's those shoemaker twins! Someone go get Adelita and Scardelita, tell them their novios are here!"—until finally, the door opened to reveal Carmen, looking no different than she had the last time they'd seen each other.

"Hola-…" Carmen's eyes widened as they met her hermano meyor's. "…Simon? Is that you?"

"I- yes, Carmen, it's me." Simon shifted under the glare that grew on his sister's face. So many questions asked in that look, such as where the hell have you been? Why don't you visit? Why do you distance yourself? and many more. "I know I have a lot to explain. I will, eventually, but right now it's not the time." He stepped aside to show her Django and Machete, to which she gasped. "These two are looking for … Sartana of the Dead, who they say came to these lands. You know La Muerte, so I was wondering if you-"

"I know a bit," Carmen cut him off, her lips pursing with an unease. She glanced back inside her home. "But my son and his wife, and Joaquin — they know more." She looked to the two skeletons beside her hermano. "You two come on in..." She made a gesture and they followed her inside.

Simon trailed behind, gritting his teeth when his sister walked up to him. "You've got a lot of explaining to do," she hissed.

"Lo se, lo se..." Simon sighed. "But that's not important right now, what is is that—"

"Mi amor?" They turned to see Carlos, a raised brow on his face. "¿Por qué están tu hermano y estos dos extraños en nuestra casa?"

"Carlos," Simon spoke coolly. "Pleasant seeing you again."

"It's not pleasant seeing you," Carlos said, eyes narrowing. He looked at his wife. "Well?"

"Apparently, they're in need of our help. It's...regarding Sartana," Carmen said slowly.

"Of course," snorted Carlos. He glared at Simon. "Ever since your son had to go and—"

"Don't rub my son's sins in my face as if I'm blind to them," growled Simon. "I didn't come to bring pity for myself, if you're wondering. I came because my grandson's mother is here in the land of the dead, possibly on a crusade for vengeance, and we don't want that happening now, do we?"

"Manolo, Maria and Joaquin brought her in earlier," Carlos replied, face growing grim. "She was unconscious at the time. When she woke up, she left – and we don't know where she went."

"Then let me talk to them," Simon insisted. "Get some clues. My grandson and great-grandson depend on these."

"Alright…" Carmen nodded, sighing. "Looks like those shoemakers will have to wait."

"The twins are going to be disappointed," Carlos muttered.

They're not the only ones, Simon thought to himself, looking at Machete and Django with concern. What a tangled web we weave…

---

Sardinia

1500s

Esteban led Nicoletta outside where a beautiful fountain and a lovely river were with a bridge over it. Flowers seemed to glow in the night sky and the trees were gently flowing in the wind.

He led her to a bench, his hands never leaving hers. Oh, she was so, so beautiful.

Nicoletta looked at him in awe, not for the first or last time of that night. He was so wonderful… all of it just made her want to know everything about him. "So you're a count now," she teased him. "I suppose I should say thanks, for dancing with me." She winked at him.

Esteban gave a dark laugh and pulled her close, but not too close. He didn't want to appear aggressive. "Yes, my dear, so it seems…for tonight." He kissed her knuckles. "I wasn't able to find you as a knight, so—"

"It's alright," she told him. "I understand why you went in disguise." She really did, for being an angel knight wasn't something to be taken lightly. Not in these territories. "That explains why you're wearing the mask."

His lips formed a line. "I wanted to see you again, but I hadn't realized that tonight they were bringing over that…prince."

Nicoletta gave a half shrug. "It's alright. I'm glad that I can see you now at least," she said sincerely. There would be time to make it up later. "I missed you."

Esteban didn't understand how he didn't just melt into a puddle at her words. "I missed you too, Nici."

She blushed at the nickname. "Nici?"

"It's your nickname," he told her. "Do you…like it?"

She giggled. "It's sweet." She kissed his cheek. "Thank you."

He blushed deeply. Her lips were so smooth and soft…

She looked back towards the direction of the castle, a frown on her face.

Esteban caught that right away. "What's wrong, Nici?"

Nicoletta angled her body so it wasn't facing him and sighed. "You're an angel, and a knight. I'm a princess, and mostly fae. They'll marry me off to Jareth before letting you move among us…"

Esteban took her hand, feeling a pang of sympathy and jealousy all at once. Sympathy for the Wood Sprite, as she didn't deserve to be forced onto someone she hardly knew – someone she didn't love. Jealousy because he couldn't bear the idea of the prince getting to have her, all to himself...

"If I could take you away with me, I would, to spare you that cruel fate."

Nicoletta had a mournful look on her face. "They'd track us down and kill you."

"It'd be worth dying to try and free you." His voice dropped low and his body tensed up.

He didn't want to be vulnerable but if she was willing to be for him, then he should do the same. "You deserve a chance for a better destiny. You have a good heart, and you care so much for others. I promise you, Nicoletta, no other holds a candle to you in my eyes. You are my equal…and above all, you're so precious. I only want the best for you."

Nicoletta didn't say anything. She searched in his eyes and felt his hands touch hers gently. Esteban didn't move, letting the fae set the pace. Her lovely eyes finally found what they were looking for in his.

After a minute, Nicoletta slowly – no hesitance – put her hands on his shoulders. "I believe you."

That was all it took.

Esteban leaned forward slowly enough for her to back away if she wanted. Just as slowly, Nicoletta closed her eyes and opened her lips just a little.

Esteban captured the Wood Sprite's lips in his. A long time ago, he told himself he wouldn't kiss someone until they held his heart in their hands. He never though the day would come when he would share something so special as a kiss with someone.

No other was more worthy to hold his heart.

He had never kissed anyone's lips before. Kisses on the cheek were seen as sweet but lips held more meaning to them. He slowly coaxed her lips to move against his and Nicoletta was now eagerly opening up to him too. She even moved her hands up to intertwine in his white hair.

Nicoletta wondered if she had ever experienced anything so wonderful. She had always thought of what a kiss would be like, and this was everything she ever wanted and more. Esteban's hands came around her waist and pulled her close to his body as if she was something to be treasured beyond anything.

Even the stars seemed to shine at the love the knight and the sprite were showing one another.

When they pulled apart, Esteban was delighted to see Nicoletta's blush. She bit her mouth and looked down shyly. As for him, he knew he was grinning like a silly boy. This fairy here – she always made him smile when they met, and he knew then he really did like her, and she returned those feelings.

Was this love? Only time would tell. But both knew it was the start of something beautiful.

He pulled her close once more and buried his face in the crook of her neck where her shoulder was exposed, kissing the open flesh. "Oh, Nicoletta, you've made my night…mi preciosa."

Nicoletta had her head on his shoulder, still feeling the lingering sensation of the kiss and a feeling of something more than just excitement through her when he kissed her shoulder. Then she saw someone out of the corner of her eye. He had his black hair tied up in a ponytail, blue eyes, and wore a white mask - and he seemed familiar. Though she couldn't put her finger on why, exactly.

She tried to relax in the knight's embrace and while she felt safe, the sight of the strange masked man made her feel uneasy for some reason. Both the knight and fae stiffened at the sound of a shrill, "Nicoletta!"

"My sister's calling me." Nicoletta stood up. "I have to go, or else-"

Esteban nodded. "I understand. I will see you later though, won't I?"

Nicoletta kissed him again briefly. "Of course," she said, once she pulled away, before she rushed to where she'd heard her sister's voice call for her.

Esteban let out a happy sigh as he watched her leave. "Oh, what a night!" he laughed, filled with a joy he hadn't known until now.

All while Zacarias watched from afar, scowling as jealousy boiled within him. He looked at the direction the fae took off, and chose to sneak off in the shadows to find her. After all, it'd be selfish to let his hermano menor have all the fun … wouldn't it?

—X—

"Who was that man?" asked Crimilde, circling around Nicoletta. "He didn't look like Conte Lorenzo. He seemed much too different, yet a little familiar with you."

Nicoletta gulped. "It's not – it's not the angel."

"So then who is it?" Crimilde demanded, pulling her sister's neck feathers, making the younger fae wince.

"A soldier," she lied.

"From Archaia? Why would he need to disguise himself as the conte?"

"Because only nobles get to dance with a princess."

Crimilde scowled and let her younger sister go. "You can't marry a soldier. Father's trying to arrange for—"

"I'm aware of why the Archaian prince is here. I will receive him just fine, thank you." Nicoletta's eyes hardened. "Forgive me for wanting some free fun before I'm shackled off to be wed."

"You lay your head on his chest. You seem to enjoy him, no?" Crimilde leaned in with a crude smirk. "Or are you such a … puta, as the Spaniards say, that you fancy the thrill of both a prince and a soldier?"

"I'm not a – you're so –" Nicoletta sputtered, before grunting. "Why are you so cruel to me? What have I done to you?"

"You're the reason Mother's dead," Crimilde spat, before turning away to leave. "And for some reason, Father favors you still." With that, she left to return to the party, leaving the blue fae alone.

"I'm not the reason Mama died," Nicoletta hissed under her breath, tears stinging her eyes. "And if I am his favorite, then he's got a weird way of showing it." She looked down, knowing that her fate was sealed. If she ever wanted to pursue something with Esteban, she would have to be discreet, and they'd have such little time before her inevitable wedding day and –

"Salve ibi."

The Wood Sprite jumped at the sound of a new voice, and turned to see none other than the man with the white mask and ebony hair. She tilted her head at him, confused. "Uh, ciao," she greeted him awkwardly. "I – what brings you to this part of the castle, mio buon signore?"

"Oh, nothing special really…" The masked man waved his hand rather dismissively. "It's just that I overheard your conversation and well, decided to see if you were alright." He smiled a little, taking some delight in seeing the fae's expression contort into that of worry.

"You – you heard us…?"

"Ah, don't fret, señorita," the masked man tried to give faux-reassurance. "Your secrets are safe with me... besides, I know who you really danced with." He stepped closer, making the distance between them shorter and shorter. He removed his mask, revealing his true self. "Mi hermanito, Esteban."

Nicoletta gasped. "Y-you! You're – you're his fratello. What are you-?"

"Shhh," Zacarias hushed the sprite. He glanced around, making sure the coast was clear. "Don't want any of your other sisters to hear, now do we?"

"But…but I don't…"

"I came because I wanted to see you," Zacarias explained, his voice growing low, eyes shining with a look of lust. He took another step, while she backed away to a wall. "You see, I first saw you when I intervened last night on my idiot brother's behalf. And by the gods, you're gorgeous! I knew from the moment when I saw you, I had to properly meet you. La dama exótica."

Nicoletta felt a dread rush down her spine. This didn't feel right. It felt … wrong. The opposite of what she'd felt with Esteban. She felt no security, no calm – she felt trapped. "Did you now?" her voice was quiet, cracking. "How flattering! I, uh, I never heard that before…"

"Those curves, those lips, those eyes – you're like a strange concoction of all that's wrong and all that's right. It's wrong to be this intriguing, given you're mostly fae." Zacarias licked his lips as he used his hands to pin her to the wall. "But then again, your mother's Signora Livia and ah, what a beauty she was…cancels out the taboo nature of it all."

Nicoletta's teeth grit. The way he spoke, it made her feel filthy. "Oh really now? Does it?" she asked, trying to hide her bite. "Or do you tell yourself that to make you feel better about thinking of fae tail?" She gave a cheeky smile, seeing his face fall for a moment.

Zacarías grit his teeth, opening his mouth to retort, until he realized what she was doing. She was trying to throw him off. Clever little tease, he thought to himself, smirk returning. "See, I knew there was something else though – some strange intelligence to you. A reason I wanted to get to know you a little more."

"How much do you want to know about me?" Nicoletta challenged, trying to move under his arms to slip away, only to be pushed to the wall. She winced as she felt his body near hers, pressing slightly. Never to the point where she could really feel him, but enough to block her way. "I'm not that special. My elder sisters are—"

"A bunch of callous bitches that'd bite an angel's cock off if they could," Zacarías said with disdain, his eyes rolling. "Why settle for vultures when you can have a nightingale?"

Nightingale. That's what Jareth had called her. It made Nicoletta's blood run cold. She should have gone back to the ballroom sooner. Now he's probably wondering where I am, worrying about me. Does he know Esteban's not the count? Will he - "I'm sorry, but I have already become acquainted with Esteban. I have no desire to get to know you," she said brusquely. "From what I gather, you're a rude fellow that doesn't know how to treat his family right, and your fascination with me is unwanted."

A chuckle escaped the ebony-haired angel. "Quite a conclusion you've got there," he remarked. His eyes hardened then. "But I don't think I ever asked for your input now, did I?" His hand grabbed at her waist, pulling her close to him, while another grabbed at a wing. "When I set my sights on something, bastante azul, I get it... no matter what."

Nicoletta thrashed in his grip. "Let go of me-" Esteban, where are you? Please come here. Jareth? Somebody, anybody, please-

"You're so adorably pathetic when you thrash…" Zacarias chuckled. Then he leaned to her neck and sniffed it, causing her to freeze at the feeling of his hot breath. He felt her shudder when he moved away, making him sneer. "Supposedly a crown princess, set to marry a future king, and yet you're weak in the hold of a mere knight! Pitiful." He nipped at her ear, making her gasp. "But I like a bit of weakness, once in a while. Makes this much more fascinating of an experience…"

"Please, let go…" Nicoletta felt tears in her eyes again as she tried to break free of his hold, only for his grip to tighten. "I don't—"

"It doesn't matter." Zacarías sneered at the fae. "Esteban is a weakling. Allow me to show you what a real man is—"

"What in the gods' names are you doing?"

Both turned to see Constantino, his mask removed. He looked gobsmacked and irritated all at once. "You rag on Esteban for getting close with her prior to learning who she is, and now you're doing the same?" he asked incredulously. He made a motion for him to release the fae. "Deja esta tonteria! Do you know the penalty if you are caught like this? Disgraceful," the other knight spat.

"Why should Esteban be the only one that gets to be close with her?" Zacarías snorted, glaring at him. "In fact, I saw them kissing—"

"You- you saw us?" Nicoletta grew pale in fear. What if he tried to tell someone? What if he tried to blackmail them? What would—? "Don't tell anybody!" A futile plea, but...

"We won't. Not for now, at least," huffed Constantino before growling at Zacarías. "Vamos. ¡Suéltala! Tenemos que irnos. They're going to announce something, and they'll need her. If they notice she's gone any longer, they'll send out guards and-…"

"Fine." Zacarias released Nicoletta and walked off with his hermano, but not before winking at her. "I will see you again soon. Adiós, dulce cosa."

Nicoletta stood shakily, her eyes narrowing and teeth gritting. "In your dreams," she hissed. Her heart ached for Esteban, who she wanted to run to, but she couldn't. She had to go back to her father and Jareth.

So she went off, heavy-hearted and all. Her thoughts were always on the knight that had stolen her first kiss.

---

Present

"So you met her once. What was she like?"

Chamuco looked at La Noche, his wife of many centuries. Unlike the fae, he had felt something beyond a carnal desire – a deep admiration and affection, one that could only be described as "love", faults and all. She and him sometimes didn't see eye to eye – mainly on the issue of children, one that he would never agree on as he didn't want a Sartana – but still, their love was strong. And it was for that reason he would hide his shameful parts, such as his old lusts.

"A puta. Shameless little puta," he lied, flicking his hand in a dismissive manner. "She was pretty but her words were meaningless… unlike you, mi amor."

La Noche blushed. "Ay, mi amor, you flatter me…"

Chamuco placed his hand under his wife's chin. "Of course, mi Luna…you are the finest jewel amongst a sea of rocks."

The goddess giggled. "Oh stop!"

Noche's laughter was music to Chamuco's ears. He would do anything to see her in this state, so delighted – in contrast with what she'd be if she knew that he once let his eyes wander for a …

No, she would never have to know. Not now, not ever. Mictlan was long dead, and with that his secret was secure – until Xibalba said something. But how could she believe him over her own esposo? It was absurd.

"No other mujer compares to you, diosas or not."

Noche rested her head on her husband's chest. "And no other hombre compares to you," she whispered.

Chamuco pulled his wife close, his bat wings wrapping around her form. How did he get so lucky in life? Sure, how he met her was under a bizarre circumstance– travelling with the conquistadors to what was once the Aztec empire, when he was still an angel knight– but it was one he was willing to go through all over again, just to have her. Even if his exile had been rough, even if becoming a god had been a difficult task, it was worth it…for her.

They remained like that for a while in a tight embrace, up until: "Hey."

They turned to see the Candlemaker, who had an unreadable look on his face. "Your nephew came back," he told them. "Jack. He's with his family now."

"Oh," said Chamuco simply, unaffected by the information given. He was never close with the nieces and nephews that were more…connected to their father, as opposed to those that weren't. "That's nice."

"Maybe we should visit them," said Noche, pursing her lips in thought. "We rarely get to."

"Perhaps," Chamuco said, turning away to look at the far off distance. The buildings far away, where all the lights turned on. Brighter than his realm or his brother's.

The brother he didn't want to see.

"I know you and Xibalba got this grudge going on…but maybe this year, you could try to fix that?" Candlemaker suggested.

Chamuco scoffed. "Stay in your place," he hissed. "It's none of your concern."

"Chamuco!" Noche scolded him. "You can't speak to him like—"

"It's fine," Candlemaker said, putting a hand up. He gave a slight scowl to Chamuco. "I was merely suggesting … it's best to not let the past come back to destroy you. Especially with all those buried secrets."

"I've heard enough of that from Ah Puch," Chamuco spat. "I don't need to hear it from you."

Candlemaker nodded, still frowning before he left.

"What was that about?" Noche asked, raising a brow at her husband.

"Nothing, Luna." Chamuco looked away from his wife, deep in thought. "Nothing at all."

---

Xibalba held his youngest granddaughter in his lap while she went on about her dreams.

"And then the fairy said she knew you," Sandra said eagerly. "And you seemed to know her too. Do you actually know the blue fairy?" She tilted her head at him curiously. "'Cause Daddy told me once dreams are a reflection of reality sometimes, and I wanted to know if—"

"What you saw in your dream was merely that: a dream," Xibalba told her gently. "Nothing more, nothing less." Little Sandi always had such a big imagination, but the tar god knew better – he knew that fae didn't visit their realms often anymore. Kept to themselves nowadays. The idea that his lost love could be close was too much to bear.

"But grandpa, it looked so real," Sandra insisted, her lip quivering.

"Sartana was there too, and so was—"

"I'm sure it looks real to you, but it's merely a dream." Xibalba pat his youngest granddaughter's head. "There, there… it's alright, mija. We all have these moments."

Sandra pouted, feeling hurt that her grandfather didn't believe her. She had told her parents of it, and it seemed like they didn't believe her. Eric, Irene, Jacob and Freddie didn't believe her either. All the kids at school merely laughed at her for it with Lock, Shock and Barrel teasing her. Going to Finkelstein wouldn't have been an option, so she was left with her grandfather who seemed to be like the others – in disbelief. "Why doesn't anybody believe me…?"

Feeling a pang in his heart for the girl, yet not wanting her to know of his past love, Xibalba opted to change the subject. "How about you go play fetch with Mateo? I'm sure he'd love to play with you." He handed her a bone and then snapped his fingers, summoning the pet chupacabra.

The chupacabra barked and yipped as the little skeleton-doll girl hopped down to him, with a bone in her hand. "Okay," said Sandra, smiling a little when she saw the pet. "Come on Mateo, let's go outside." She led the creature outside while her grandfather watched with a sad smile.

It's better this way, he told himself. These stories are too much for her – especially of how it all began with Chamuco, Mictlán, Nicoletta and I.

"Balby?"

He turned to his wife. "Si, mi amor?"

"The story. Could you continue it?"

"Of course."

---

Near the bottom of the mountains where the 'De los Muertos' family resided, where the road to Miracle City was dangerous yet thrilling – a road taken by the city's hero many times – was a little house, resembling that of a magic-user's shack. Within it lived a young woman – really, middle-aged, but she had these looks that were never-aging. An everlasting-beauty that rivaled that of a goddess, one would say – which made those that came across this hut fear her, except Sartana.

"Gitana," is what the villainess called the lady.

She had mocha skin, golden eyes and long black hair that nearly touched the ground, some strands tied in braids. She was always surrounded by sunflowers and marigolds, mainly the former though. She wore clothes that were regal, old cultural robes… and spoke in such an odd way unfitting for a regular magic-user. So Sartana had guessed that she had to be a gitana, and the lady never corrected her. Not as she sold her services and helped the goddess on a particular day of the dead, granting her a musical spell that would rise all of the dead – especially those scorned by their living relatives.

Gitana was not her name though, nor what she was. Not her true name. But the Ancient Fallen Ones that she knew of instructed the use of hidden names and Ah Puch and the Candlemaker – wise yet eccentric figures she owed a great deal to – had agreed to it.

Gitana wasn't the only one to be brought back. Her beloved xocotzin had been revived before her, along with xocotzin's lover, and another as many Ancient Ones had been slaughtered long ago…some sacrifices, lives cut short for the satisfaction of a tyrannical monster. Others died while fighting for a brighter future. She was of the latter.

Her true name couldn't be revealed yet, but often Ah Puch had called her Nikté – close enough to her true name. Nikté. Each sound, when vocalized, was a recollection of the past and a prayer for the future – a name with a flower in its meaning.

To protect herself from being discovered, for it wasn't her time to reveal just yet, she fell to an old habit of hers of disguising herself. To Sartana of the Dead, she was a strange lady that never aged, dressing like she lived far back in the past – in the days of when the goddess' father and mother were still in their early marriage, and when an uncle of hers had still been alive. Long before the goddess' birth. Nikté would often feign apathy, offering her services to the villainess, leaving vague words behind.

However, she knew more of the goddess than what she let on. She knew so much of what happened in Miracle City, San Angel, and in the underworld. She hadn't been alive to witness, but she didn't have to be – souls never die, and they always are there.

A slight smile came onto Nikté's face as she saw Ah Puch appear inside her home, just as she'd made herself a brew. "Ximopanōltih, old friend."

Ah Puch had a grim look on her face. The smile on Nikté's faded. "She returned," said the old woman.

Nikté knew what Ah Puch meant almost instantly. "So soon?" She put her hand over her mouth. She hadn't thought it would happen yet, not now. "This means …"

"Yes…" Ah Puch nodded, her lips set in a line. "It is time you return as well."

"It has been many centuries," said Nikté, frowning deeply as she shook her head. "I don't know if I can face them again—"

"It is hard to face the past after so much has changed…but Sartana needs someone alongside her, and you need to face those you've left behind."

Ah Puch's words settled in her head. Nikté squeezed her eyes shut, an old tune she recalled so vividly stuck in her head. Sounds of laughter, crying and anguish, joy and happiness – all at once, flashing in her head. Old faces she knew, making tears nearly spill.

"Si ha de ser así, entonces volveré."