Marisol stepped forward at her goddess’s urging.

  The darkness surrounding the three lesser gods overflowed with the remnants of dead faith—ancient echoes that bowed naturally toward Jaime and Jimena while drifting cautiously away from Marisol.

  Their patron gods called to the three young deities, inviting them to step through the gates.

  Portals that would carry them into Mictlan itself.

  There, the patrons would bestow further gifts upon their chosen.

  The three major gods were immensely pleased with the adolescents they had chosen.

  The abilities the trio had displayed had proven the long wait worthwhile. The countless divinations and calculations determining when to spend their carefully hoarded power were finally bearing fruit.

  Within Jaime’s mind, the laughter of Mictlantecuhtli echoed.

  The skeletal god swelled with pride for his winged chosen. Jaime’s work in Bahia Oscura had caused his faith to flourish.

  Though it was only a small village, the dead god could already glimpse its future.

  Safety and prosperity would draw more people to the settlement. With growth would come greater faith.

  Water and cleanliness were the foundations of any thriving city—lessons Mictlantecuhtli had learned long ago and subtly impressed upon his chosen, even if Jaime had never realized it.

  Through the quiet guidance of Cimi and his own experiences, the boy had begun to transform.

  Half builder.

  Half warrior.

  A combination that pleased the god seated upon his throne of bones.

  Soon he would bless his chosen once more, strengthening him for the trials ahead.

  The coming cataclysm would test everything they had prepared.

  Even with centuries of planning, it would not be enough.

  As with many disasters before, the gods suspected that much of the mortal population would perish.

  Only those sheltered beneath divine protection would survive the storm to come.

  Nearby, Chalchiuhtlicue felt her spectral form flicker with excitement.

  The vast currents of faith under her command rippled with her emotions.

  She felt like a mother welcoming her first children home.

  Across Mictlan, its countless inhabitants had already begun preparing for the arrival of the three young gods.

  Stalls were erected throughout the great underworld plazas in anticipation of the celebrations that would surely follow. Decorations and garlands of cempasúchil flowers spread across the city, their vibrant colors illuminating the normally somber realm of the dead.

  Mictecacihuatl, meanwhile, struggled to contain her impatience.

  She wished to hurry Jimena along so she could embrace the girl herself.

  Jimena’s travels had caused Mictecacihuatl’s faith to surge even higher than that of the other patron gods.

  The many warriors who had fallen in conflicts after Jimena touched their souls through faith forged a growing connection between the fallen and the goddess of death.

  Many of those newly arrived souls now wandered the streets of Mictlan.

  Brave men who had given their lives defending their homelands.

  Some chose to remain.

  Those warriors were granted wings and passage to the House of the Sun, where they would join Mictlantecuhtli’s divine armies.

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  Others chose to continue onward through the great cycle.

  Those souls were blessed in their next reincarnation, marked gently by the dead.

  A quiet sigil placed upon their spirit.

  A guide that would lead them back to Mictlan when their journey ended again—no matter where fate carried them.

  Of course, such a mark would never bind them if they chose another destiny.

  Even the gods respected the freedom of the soul.

  And so the three patrons waited.

  Three ancient gods seated upon their divine thrones.

  The vast powers of their age-old divinity twisted the reality of the realm they ruled.

  Patiently.

  They waited for their chosen to finally return home.

  -

  Jimena followed after Marisol, allowing the faith of the dead to gather around her.

  Jaime experienced much the same as the three crossed the first gate together.

  Light and shadow swallowed their silhouettes.

  Then they stood once more within the first level of Mictlan.

  Itzcuintlán.

  An endless river stretched across the realm, its black waters flowing into the distant void. Only the far shore—barely visible through the darkness—offered the promise of escape from the trial.

  Below them, countless souls struggled to reach it.

  The three lesser gods watched from the high platform beside the death gate, nostalgia stirring within them as they observed the familiar landscape.

  Yet it was different from when they had passed through it themselves.

  They took in the strange sight unfolding below.

  Souls dressed in whatever clothing they had died in rode upon the backs of enormous phantasmal xoloitzcuintli. The spectral dogs paddled steadily across the dark river, guiding the dead toward the opposite shore.

  The travelers had to be careful.

  Any splash from the river could prove disastrous.

  The water melted whatever it touched—clothing, flesh, even the very substance of the soul.

  “You should come out, Xolo,” Jimena said softly as she touched the gem resting in her chest.

  An unfamiliar sense of belonging washed over her.

  Her body relaxed as her soul absorbed the surrounding faith. Its nature and flavor felt strangely similar to her own.

  A bark echoed within her mind.

  Then the dog appeared beside her.

  The once small, hairless companion had grown immensely since Jimena’s ascension. Now the massive xoloitzcuintli stood as tall as his charge.

  Magenta fire draped across his body like a warm cloak.

  His gaze lowered toward the river below, where countless spectral dogs guided the souls of the just and kind.

  Jaime felt Mictlantecuhtli’s growing impatience through their connection.

  Without hesitation, he grabbed Jimena’s arm and hurried after Marisol, who had already stepped through the next gate.

  As she walked, the goddess of nature slowly began to manifest a divine raiment around her form.

  At the same time, water from the great river Apanohuaia surged upward.

  The liquid twisted and condensed, transforming into a long, narrow serpent made entirely of flowing water. The creature followed silently behind Marisol as she passed into the next level.

  The twins quickly caught up.

  Together they entered the second realm of the underworld.

  Here, the trial differed from what they remembered.

  In the past, they had faced the colliding mountains themselves.

  Now they watched as the souls of the dead were ground between the enormous stone peaks. Flesh and bone were stripped away, reducing them to their essence before they could be granted entry to the City of the Dead.

  At least, that was the path most souls followed.

  Those who possessed enough courage attempted to keep their bodies intact.

  Guided by their loyal dogs, that had returned to normal size. They timed the collisions and slipped between the mountains unharmed.

  The laws governing these strange realms seemed to whisper to the three gods as they observed.

  Their patron deities spoke patiently into their minds, explaining the deeper truths of the trials.

  Yet another voice in each of their ears urged them onward.

  To hurry.

  Chalchiuhtlicue was the gentlest.

  She simply tugged at Marisol’s spirit, whispering lovingly to her chosen about the depth of her emotions. Her voice trembled with growing excitement as she praised the young goddess like a proud and affectionate mother.

  With restless voices pushing them forward, the three crossed the third gate.

  An obsidian mountain greeted them.

  A swarm of black shards erupted from its slopes and rushed toward the trio. The chosen stood calmly as the fragments dissolved into their gems.

  Within them, their inner worlds grew steadier as the obsidian strengthened the brilliance of their divine cores.

  The souls below were not so fortunate.

  The obsidian shards flayed away the last remnants of skin clinging to their spiritual bodies.

  The three lesser gods barely questioned the strange phenomenon.

  In Mictlan, such things were simply part of the process.

  The next three realms were similar.

  Places where souls appeared to be tortured.

  Yet the chosen understood the truth.

  These trials were not painful.

  In fact, the opposite seemed true.

  Some souls even moaned in pleasure as pieces of themselves were stripped away.

  Unwilling to linger any longer, the three continued onward.

  Only when they reached the realm of the jaguars did Marisol slow her pace.

  She paused to observe how the land had changed.

  The jaguars had multiplied greatly within the expanding paradise she had once created. The forest now held a fantastical beauty.

  Obsidian oaks glittered as glass shards embedded within their trunks caught the dim light of the underworld.

  Marisol cast one final glance toward the massive platform where the Heart-Eater rested.

  Its immense frame remained just as imposing as when they had first encountered it.

  Satisfied, she stepped through the next gate.

  Before them spread the Apanuiayo and the clear lake guarded by the enormous iguana, Xochitonal.

  The calm serenity of the place brought gentle smiles to their faces.

  They lingered only briefly before stepping through the next-to-last gate.

  Mist filled the realm beyond.

  Everything was hidden except their destination.

  Beneath them, they could hear water flowing softly as they drifted through the fog.

  Ahead waited the final gate.