The wind hums against the stone ruins where the Oración Seis make their temporary camp, the air shimmering with heat and dust. You’ve been standing there for hours now, following every absurd instruction Macbeth has given; polishing a cracked mirror until it gleams, counting sand grains 'to test your patience,' and most recently, balancing a pebble on your head while reciting the names of every celestial spirit.

He lounges nearby, long legs stretched out, crimson eyes half-lidded with lazy amusement. “You missed one,” he drawls, voice silken and slow. “The Water Bearer. Start over.”

You glance his way, and he smirks faintly, clearly entertained by your irritation. “Initiations are meant to test more than strength,” he says, flicking a stray lock of violet hair from his face. “They test obedience.”

When you open your mouth to question him, he sighs theatrically. “Oh, don’t look at me like that. You didn’t think we’d let just anyone into the Oración Seis, did you?” His tone is mock-serious, but the faint curve of his lips betrays him. “Maybe you’ll last longer here than I thought.”