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The sun was barely rising over the lands of the Night-Wind Masters, turning the rocks into golden silhouettes. Ororon was already awake, sitting on a flat stone behind his house, arms crossed, staring into the void as if he were trying to interrogate the universe itself.
Today was Citlali’s birthday. And he had absolutely nothing. He let out a long sigh, shoulders slumping.
“Okay… what can I even give her?” he muttered to himself.
He pictured Citlali: wise, powerful, patient. A maternal figure everyone in the clan respected. She never wanted anything for herself, no gifts, no celebrations. But today, the younger members of the clan were secretly planning a small party, and Ororon refused to be the one showing up empty-handed. He had to fit in after all those years living alone.
He stood up, determined to find a solution in his own garden. This was his last chance, and he was absolutely gonna grab it with both hands.
He examined his plants one by one, narrowing his eyes.
Medicinal herbs… not special enough.
Dried flowers… already gave those last year.
Berries… way too basic.
Then his gaze fell on a bush that hadn’t been there yesterday.
A clump of serrated leaves, deep green, giving off a weird smell. Slightly sweet, slightly… herbal.
It didn’t look like anything he knew.
Ororon knelt down, intrigued.
“Huh? Who are you?”
He rubbed a leaf between his fingers. The smell hit him instantly. He sneezed.
“Damm… you’ve got attitude.”
He thought.
Unknown plant = rare.
Rare = valuable.
Valuable = good gift.
Good gift = CITLALI HAPPY.
His brain made the catastrophic connection all on its own.
“…what if I made a cake with it?”
A brilliant idea, at least in his eyes.
The plan was simple: bake a special cake, sell it to two or three clan members, make enough Mora to buy a real gift for Citlali, and boom—everything would work out.
Perfectly.
Zero risks. Zero side effects.
He headed back to his improvised kitchen, gathering the mysterious leaves in a small wooden basket.
“Okay. Plan of the day: cake. Money. Gift. Citlali happy.”
He nodded to himself with a proud little smirk before adding under his breath:
“I just hope it’s not toxic…”
He hesitated.
Then corrected himself:
“…well, if it was, the plant would, like, scream or something. Bad plants don’t grow next to good ones.”
Flawless logic.
With almost religious focus, he started mixing flour, milk, sugar, and the unknown leaves, convinced he was creating the greatest homemade cake in all of Natlan.
He poured the batter into a mold.
The smell coming from it was sweet, warm… a bit weird, but not unpleasant.
Ororon tasted a drop with his fingertip.
“Hm. Not bad. Kinda… fluffy?”
He shrugged. “Whatever. I’ll just have someone test it.”
And with disarming innocence, he walked out of his house, still holding the warm cake, determined to find a “volunteer” victim to give an opinion.
The beginning of the end.
But he didn’t know that yet.
Once he reached the tribe, he noticed a young man staring longingly at the traditional dishes displayed in front of a restaurant. But he didn’t seem to have the courage to go inside.
Ororon watched him closely and noticed how frustrated and sad he looked.
“If only I had enough money…” the young man murmured.
If the guy was sad, why not cheer him up with a slice of cake? Ororon would also find out if his cake was actually good.
He stepped toward him.
“Excuse me?”
The young man turned around.
“Yes?”
Ororon held out the cake. The young man looked at it, perplexed. Did he really look that hungry and broke? Seeing him frozen in place, Ororon added:
“Be my test subject and eat the cake.”
A vein popped instantly on the young man’s forehead. What kind of human offers things like that? Sure, his last meal was two days ago, but he wasn’t about to accept food from a stranger !
“Do you think I’m that desperate?!”
In response, the young man’s stomach growled loudly. The smell was amazing, and his cheeks flushed bright red. He coughed, trying to pretend nothing happened, and said:
“Test subject, huh? For what exactly?”
He crossed his arms to look authoritative despite the embarrassment.
“I just need to know if my cake tastes good. Eat it and tell me what you think.”
The young man looked suddenly interested. Only eat the cake and give an opinion? He scanned Ororon from head to toe. He looked naive and clueless, but the guy wasn’t in any position to refuse food. One more day without eating and he’d lose his mind and go join the ley lines.
“…Fine. I accept.”
—
The young man, Urubamba, examined the slice of cake carefully. No mold, no shards, no weird smell.
He picked up the slice and put it in his mouth. Nothing strange about the taste. Actually… it was good. Really good. The flavor was unique, he’d never tasted anything like it in all of Natlan.
He quickly took a second bite, then a third, then a fourth… and within moments the entire cake was gone.
“What a delight!” he exclaimed. “I swear every bite felt like it sent me into space. If it doesn’t have a name yet, you should call it a ‘space cake’!”
Ororon stared at him, shocked.
He had wanted to taste his masterpiece too, but the young man had inhaled the whole thing in seconds.
Still, he was satisfied. The cake was good. He just had to sell a dozen of them to afford Citlali’s present.
“Thank you, Urubamba, for being my test subject,” Ororon said sincerely.
Urubamba gave him his brightest smile.
“Hehe, no problem! If you ever need another tester, you know who to call!”
Ororon went back home, proud and content. He had made an incredible discovery with those plants, and now he couldn’t wait to bake more cakes with that weird leafy thing.
Meanwhile, Urubamba was sitting outside the village, staring intensely at a pebble.
His eyes were red, and he felt like the world was spinning around him. But what caught his attention the most was the power he believed the pebble held.
“I know your secret…” whispered Urubamba. “Don’t pretend you’re asleep. Tell me who you really are.”
He began to grow impatient. If the pebble kept playing dead, he’d have to use drastic measures.
He gave the pebble one last chance to surrender.
Nothing.
“Fine then. You leave me no choice…” Urubamba threatened, pulling out his weapon, ready to strike the pebble with a fatal blow.
—
A few days later, Citlali returned to the tribe after her short trip to the Sanctifeu Stadium. But the more she paid attention to the villagers, the more something felt… off.
She saw people acting completely… whatever that was. A man laughing alone while staring at an insect, trying to communicate with it…?
A middle-aged woman screaming and claiming she could walk on her hands only.
´What the hell…?´ thought Citlali.
The further she walked, the more she noticed the strange behavior, and all the people acting weird had red eyes.
She stopped when she heard someone call her.
“Lady Citlali! You’re finally back!”
A young man she recognized as Urubamba hurried toward her.
“Why is the village upside down?” Citlali asked once he reached her.
She noticed his eyes were also red, and his voice sounded thick and slow.
Urubamba shook his head solemnly and looked up at the sky.
“It was the only way to reach space… You can’t blame him. He saved me from starvation…”
What the hell was wrong with him?
Citlali didn’t understand a single thing. Why reach space? Who was he talking about? Then she realized he was completely drunk and sighed. Still… half the village being drunk as hell like this was weird.
“Urubamba, what did you drink?” Citlali asked, already irritated.
“Nothing. I only ate cake.”
“Oh, really?” Citlali mocked. She didn’t believe him at all. She turned to leave when he added:
“The space cake Ororon made is amazing. You should try it. He uses a magic plant!”
Citlali instantly froze.
She felt fury rush through her. She had been gone for a few days and Ororon had somehow become… a drug-dealing pastry chef.
“I’m going to kill him…”