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The Aztec altar was scorched by the lingering rays of the setting sun, drowning everything in a near-maddening hue of brilliant gold.
A thunderous impact tore through the air, followed by a tremor that felt as though the very mountains were groaning. As the Lucha Libre sparring match—one that quite literally shook the earth—drew to a close, a girl with shimmering, prismatic hair exhaled a sigh of pure satisfaction.
“Big Sister! That was incredible! It was so hot! I think I want to study Earth’s Lucha even more now!”
“¡Sí! Of course! With your potential, you can fly even higher toward the heavens, Kukulkan!”
Quetzalcoatl laughed boisterously, and with a cheerful “He-he! See you later!” Kukulkan vanished into the distant sky like a gust of wind.
Amidst the swirling dust and the lingering heat of the battle, a lone man stepped out from the shadows at the base of the great temple.
“Splendid. The dynamism of the muscles, the absolute precision of the techniques… The Goddesses' forms are truly masterpieces of aesthetic beauty, are they not?”
Adjusting the collar of his lavish coat with a practiced flick, Bartholomew Roberts offered a fearless smile. Quetzalcoatl wiped away her sweat, turning a gaze as radiant as the sun down toward him.
“Did you enjoy the show, ¡amigo! Bartholomew Roberts! Since we are fellow Riders, why not come up and join me for a round or two?”
At the Goddess’s casual invitation from atop the altar, Bartholomew immediately threw up his hands and backpedaled.
“Wait—you must be joking. If I were to take one of your pile-drivers, my fragile Saint Graph would be blown into a thousand sparkling shards!”
“¡Ay! Is that so? I thought it would be a lovely bit of skin-ship!”
“That ‘skin-ship’ is capable of shattering the very earth beneath us, my lady. Pray, consider the difference in our stations. Or are you perhaps trying to kill me…? Is this a manifestation of some long-standing grudge from the Age of Discovery…?”
A single bead of sweat rolled down Bartholomew’s forehead. As a pirate, he had danced with death more times than he could count. But the ‘solar violence’ radiating from the being before him was on a scale far beyond any gunpowder or steel he had ever known. Quetzalcoatl blinked in surprise for a moment, then burst into a fit of belly-aching laughter.
“¡Jejejeje! No way! The thought of killing you hasn't even crossed my mind! I simply wanted to see how that intrepid soul of yours would resonate with the spirit of Lucha!”
At her guileless laughter, Bartholomew finally let the tension drain from his shoulders. At her urging, he climbed the steps and sat upon the altar.
With graceful movements, he began to arrange teaware on a silver tray. Meanwhile, the Goddess poured a generous amount of sun-drenched, amber mezcal into a glass.
“...To tell you the truth, I cannot simply forgive the sins committed against my beloved people. But I am a Goddess who loves Lucha and loves this world. To watch over a human like you—one who so audaciously enjoys this very moment—is also part of my duty.”
Quetzalcoatl’s words were filled with mercy, yet they held an unquenchable spark of fire deep within. Bartholomew toyed with the rosary at his chest, a cynical curve touching his lips.
“My, how stern. ...But you are quite right, Great Goddess. I led my men to trample upon the gardens of others and stripped away every ounce of gold that met my eyes. At the time, I gave no thought to the pain of those beneath my boots. I thought nothing of desecrating the sanctuary of another god even as I offered prayers to my own Lord. ...Quite arrogant, wouldn't you say?”
Quetzalcoatl did not answer his question. She simply watched him with clear, blue eyes that caught the shimmering gold of the sunset as she downed her mezcal. That silence felt heavier than any verbal reprimand. Bartholomew offered a faint, dry smile and swirled his tea.
“Christopher Columbus, the man who carved the path to these seas... the world likely views me as one of his kind. A scion of a wretched lineage of invaders who brought the gospel of plunder and slavery to the New World.”
“...I will not deny that.”
“Indeed. I have no right to deny it. However, a place like Chaldea makes one think of unnecessary things.”
Bartholomew took a sip of tea and exhaled a slow breath.
“I have no intention of repenting for my past now. Yet, even in such a life, there are a few things I can take pride in. At the very least, I protected the order of my ship through my Code, and I brought the storm-tossed seas to heel alongside my comrades. That brilliant, fleeting time I spent racing through life—I will let no one sully it.”
Quetzalcoatl tilted her head curiously.
“¡Sí! Pero señor, even though you laid down such meticulous regulations, there isn't a single mention of love in them! ¡Pasión! ¡Romance! The joy of becoming one with another! Was there no such hot spark aboard your ships?”
“None. At least, not within my design.”
“¡Qué lástima! For a gentleman as handsome as you, surely there were stars-worth of opportunities to love and be loved.”
Bartholomew smoothly brushed off the Goddess’s teasing gaze.
“The opportunities existed, certainly. But you see... I never felt the desire to possess anyone, nor did I wish to become anyone’s possession. To me, ‘Love’ is a beautifully maintained ship and its Order. A fine tea and a favorite coat. That is all.”
Quetzalcoatl finished the last drop of her mezcal and reached out, gently pointing toward his chest.
“So, you possess a unique sanctuary within yourself that no one can touch. It is precisely because you do not overlap with anyone that you could remain a fair and rigorous guardian to everyone... That is a very clear, crystalline way to be.”
“...Heh. When put that way by a Goddess, I almost feel as though that might be the case.”
Bartholomew laughed and finished his tea.
“Well, perhaps that is why I can sit and drink tea like this with someone who possesses such scorching passion as yourself. It is quite a relief, knowing there is no risk of our essences ever mixing.”
Quetzalcoatl caught the pride beneath his words and met it head-on with a laugh even more radiant than before.
“Sin is sin. Pride is pride. That stubborn light in your soul even as you acknowledge your stains... In life, you were surely a proud warrior who fought with your own Code as your weapon! I do not dislike that brilliance one bit!”
“...Heh. A ‘warrior,’ is it? That’s a bit too fine a title for a common plunderer, Great Goddess.”
Bartholomew shrugged as if exasperated.
The sun that had illuminated the altar finally vanished, and a deep violet twilight began to swallow the golden world.
Bartholomew stared at the tea in his hand and spoke quietly, as if drawing a definitive boundary.
“Your fist is used to save and inspire. My violence was meant to subjugate and bind. No matter how much we stand under the same sun, just as tea and mezcal do not mix, my course will never overlap with your sanctuary.”
He cast a brief glance at the glass of mezcal beside him and moistened his throat with his cooled tea.
“Tea and mezcal do not mix. ...And that is as it should be.”
The solemn silence lasted only a moment before Quetzalcoatl clapped her hands together with a sharp crack.
“¡Exacto! That is exactly right! It is precisely because they do not mix that they look so beautiful side-by-side! Now, amigo, enough with the posturing—let us try one of my llaves! You look a bit stiff, so I shall help you stretch!”
“Wait—hold on! Were you even listening!? I believe I just delivered a most poetic closing statement!”
“Ahahaha! Health over Art! Now, ¡Vamos!”
“...I suppose, after all is said and done, our paths truly are never meant to cross. Dear Lord, pray grant this feeble lamb the mercy of seeing tomorrow’s dawn...!”
As Bartholomew attempted to flee, the Sun Goddess circled behind him with light, rhythmic steps. The desperate cries of the self-styled gentleman pirate, struggling to maintain his dignity, echoed vibrantly through the night-shrouded altar.