Page 154 of Espíritu

And in his place, only marigold petals floated gently to the ground, catching the golden light like falling embers.

Julian dropped to his knees, gasping for air. The dagger was gone. The cenote had gone still.

The nightmare was over.

Yadriel reached him first and pressed their foreheads together. “Breathe,” he whispered.

Julian did.

Petals fell around them like slow sparks. No speeches. No titles. Just the two of them, still here.

Around them, the crypt exhaled.

The darkness had been pushed back.

The dead had been set free.

TWENTY-NINEYADRIEL

The battle had ended only minutes ago. The crypt still pulsed faintly with leftover light, the air thick with heat and incense. Yadriel had stepped back to give Julian room. Rio was crouched beside him now, murmuring something low and steady, one hand braced on his brother’s shoulder as if to make sure he was really still there. Whatever Rio had witnessed—the light, the roar, the impossible—he was holding it close, jaw locked, eyes wet but clear.

Yadriel leaned against the cool stone wall, finally letting his body register the exhaustion that had been waiting its turn. His chest heaved as the adrenaline drained away, leaving him heavy but alive.

The crypt was quieter now, the golden light from the released spirits lingering in soft, shimmering waves before fading completely. The battle was over, but its weight still pressed on him, echoes of what they’d endured reverberating through his chest.

The only spirit left was Catriz.

Yadriel’s uncle stood in the center of the crypt, his spectral form shimmering faintly, as if caught between this world and the next. His eyes, no longer sharp with cunning or malice, softened as he looked at Yadriel. For the first time in what felt like an eternity, he looked … human.

“Catriz,” Enrique said, his voice thick with emotion. He hesitated, glancing toward Yadriel, as if giving him permission to speak first.

Yadriel swallowed hard, his throat tight. He took a tentative step closer, his hands trembling at his sides. “Why did you do it?” he asked, his voice cracking under the weight of years of anger, confusion, and grief. “Why did you do any of it?”

Catriz’s expression was unreadable at first, but then his shoulders sagged. “Because I thought it was the only way,” he said, his voice softer than Yadriel had ever heard it. “I thought I could be a part of our community if I took power into my own hands. I was corrupted by it, but it was still my own fault. I was wrong to even try. I regret every decision I made that brought me closer to Bahlam.”

Yadriel blinked, stunned by the admission. He’d expected defiance, excuses, but not this.

“I failed you,” Catriz continued, his gaze flicking to Enrique and then back to Yadriel. “And I failed myself. But tonight, I wanted to do one thing right—protect you, mi sobrino.”

His voice caught, just slightly. His eyes found Yadriel’s and they shone not with power or pride, but with something softer.

“That, I don’t regret.”

Yadriel’s breath hitched. He stepped forward, his voice barely above a whisper. “You were the first person who taught me the old rituals,” he said softly. “You showed me how to draw sigils in the dirt when no one else would. You let me be myself, even before I had the words for it.

“I hated you for what you did,” he said. “To Julian and Miguel. For what you took from me. From Julian. From all of us.”

Catriz didn’t flinch, but the somber lines of his face deepened.

“But before that … you were everything to me.”

The truth scraped on the way out—two truths that didn’t cancel each other, just burned side by side.

“I miss you so much,” he told his uncle. “Even after everything. Even when I was furious—I still missed you.”

Catriz’s expression fractured, grief softening his eyes.

“I wish I could hug you,” Yadriel whispered.