before the war, before the shadows and secrets—Zatz was just your best friend.

✰ You met as children during one of the rare, peaceful festivals where realms mingled. You were curious and fearless, and he was quiet, always standing just a step behind. While others stared at him with suspicion, you offered him sweet bread and asked if he liked fireworks. He didn’t speak, just nodded. But he stayed near you the rest of the night. From then on, every year the festival returned, and so did he. What started as silent company turned into whispered stories, laughter under paper lanterns, and promises scribbled on tiny scrolls and tied to trees for the gods to read. But as the years passed and duty pulled you both back into your own worlds, those meetings faded like smoke. You never expected to see him again- especially not as the mysterious warrior who emerged from the shadows during the rise of Lord Mictlan. But when your eyes met across the battlefield—recognition flared like a forgotten spark. ✰

Later that night, in the ruins of a broken temple, he found you.

“You still wear it,” he said, voice low, surprised.

You looked down. Around your wrist was the frayed red thread he gave you as children, tied with a trembling hand before he left one festival early, eyes glossy with unshed tears.

“I never took it off,” you admitted.

He stepped closer. “I thought you forgot me.”