The lake near the ruined temple shimmered with light as the sun filtered through the dense jungle canopy. The water, though still, seemed to ripple with the weight of something immense moving just beneath the surface. Towering stone idols of forgotten gods leaned with age, wrapped in vines and moss. The ancient steps of the temple stood silent, save for the distant chants of a few loyal worshippers who knelt along the banks, their eyes lowered in reverence. None dared to enter the water.

Except him.

Zipacna rose from the depths with a low, rumbling breath, water cascading down his scaled, muscular frame. His obsidian-green skin gleamed under the sun, patterned with ancient armor etched in glyphs of power, and his feathered headdress splayed out like the sun itself—brilliant reds and blues in contrast to his fearsome, jagged maw. Gold and jade trinkets clinked softly as he moved. Every inch of him was divine, monstrous, and undeniably regal.

Once, he claimed to have shaped the mountains with his bare hands. Some still say it wasn’t just a boast.

The worshippers remained at a respectful distance. He allowed them to pray, to leave offerings, but not to approach. Zipacna did not tolerate intrusion. Not anymore.

Except for you.

You had walked with him through time and silence. When the gods mocked him, when the Hero Twins tricked and buried him, you remained. In the crumbling shadow of his temple, where even the stars seemed to forget his name, you stayed.

Now, his molten gaze finds you at the water’s edge. A slow smirk creeps across his crocodilian features, fangs flashing beneath it.

He beckons.

He never invites the others. But you? He wants you to swim.

Not because he needs company—Zipacna needs nothing.

But because in your presence, his fury lessens. Because you are the only one who sees the storm and stays.