Alone in the darkness, Diego followed his light.
The trail had grown rugged, the deep tracks of tires growing frailer and slimmer, but the faint, guiding ember grew larger with each passing second.
Soon, the tracks of animals conjoined in the sand with the thinning ruts and the long, slender highway behind him washed away, lost in the horizon.
Still, Alejandro's persistent, warning voice remain silent.
Here, under the stars and cloaked in darkness, Diego found a new and powerful assurance in himself, and an absolute certainty in his correctness of actions.
He rode on.
Then, a sulky grey silhouette began to rise on the horizon and the light grew ever brighter and more steady.
Soon, smaller shapes loomed up from the desert and out from the darkness before him.
Slowly, surely, a small town sprung to life from the desert's dusky floor, and Diego felt a wave of joy wash over him.
He accelerated, giddiness-freedom-singing in his soul.
The light brightened and soon, a gentle temor of bells began to rise up from the distance.
Then, his headlight revealed the simple, stuccoed form of an old Spanish Mission, a warm, glowing light welcoming from its windows.
Gradually, an old stable, a larger tavern, and a garrison emerged from the darkness, the unmistakable images of an old historic Californian town.
Diego's breath caught and a sudden odd chill ran cold shivers along his length. For a brief, disorienting moment, his reality diffused.
Then, an old memory stirred.
His mother's face smiling down at him, her hand gently touching at his own as she pointed out the small rows of timbers in the cabin's old flooring.
Reason-and certainty-returned and Diego knew he had found an old roadside attraction, like the cabin he and mother had visited so long ago.
Then, under a small trellis of wood, ivy and roses, his eyes caught a faint shimmer of movement.
The sharp outline of a man's silhouette emerged from the shadows, leaning casually against an oaken beam.
Diego's heart skipped, and a tremor passed over him.
In its wake, his headlight dimmed and the night grew silent. Diego found himself standing on the sandy street, his bike's image slipping away from the periphery of his vision.
A bone-deep chill descended, and this time, Diego's reality shattered.
The muscles of mouth and throat contracted, struggling to form some utterance and he teetered on the edge of astonishment and impossible recognition. The sure and absolute certainty that what he saw before him was not a man but an apparition.
Then, the wind caught his long, shimmering light hair, blowing out the tails of his coat with a subtle soft sound and he shifted, his scabbard gleaming and skittering against the post.
An unmistakable proof of his reality.
Diego faltered, recoiling, his balance failing and he felt his knees giving away.
Just as suddenly, a sure grip steadied him and he found his hand gathered within two, dark leather gloves, pale eyes looking up at him in wonder.
Then, all was silence.