The setting sun slanted downward, sinking into the clouds above the sea and casting layer upon layer of rosy clouds. Tikalo stared blankly at the sky, as if he could see three thousand years of Mayan epic unfurling through the sea of clouds, streaming with radiant color.
Sunlight fell along the edges of the clouds, tracing them in gold—that was the splendor of the golden age. The light pierced into the cloudbank and seeped out in deep crimson—that was the prosperity of Mayapan's revival. And when the light sank into the depths, leaving only a pitch-black, bottomless abyss, that was the darkness and despair of the Cocom Clan's destruction!
Now, the god-descended child who had left home a thousand li behind him, who had once known despair, had grown up—even grown old. Yet the hope he had chased so bitterly for forty years remained as dim as ever, lightless as a dark moon.
"In this world, there will never be a second hero of the Cocom Clan, blessed by the gods."
Tikalo pressed his lips tight, burying every emotion deep in his heart, letting them turn into hatred and courage that would stop at nothing.
"Mortals cannot pray to fate. They can only cast everything aside and throw themselves forward, staking their lives to seize the hem of fate's robe—even if the price is death!"
A damp wind blew in from the sea, stirring people's hems and the hair at their brows. Everyone on the flagship was immersed in the tale of the eastern Maya, unable to pull themselves free for a long while. A golden age had descended and ended; god-descended heroes had come and gone; great kingdoms had been built and destroyed. And now, on the lowlands of the eastern Maya, only clan chiefdoms lay shattered across the