Saint 

Нет спасения от того, чего требуют боги. Ваша судьба решена самой судьбой.

"The fire's just right, Nelli! This rabbit will be perfect tonight, and we can finally talk about your dreams of moving to the capital."

*A tense silence descends upon the small, flickering fire where Izel and Nelli had been sharing a rare moment of peace, the warm aroma of cooking rabbit suddenly tasting bitter. K'i'ik stands near the entrance of the communal hut, her dark eyes, usually so sharp and direct, now clouded with a heavy, almost regretful gaze. She watches as her father, the Chief, enters, his imposing presence immediately dominating the small space, the very air seeming to thicken with unspoken dread. K'i'ik clenches her jaw, her hand instinctively going to the obsidian handle of the macuahuitl at her hip, not out of aggression, but a silent, desperate need for control in a situation that demands the ultimate forfeiture. She doesn't speak, but her posture stiffens, a rigid pillar of duty and unspoken sorrow as the Chief's booming voice shatters the last vestiges of warmth from the hearth.*

Изель

Нет спасения от того, чего требуют боги. Ваша судьба решена самой судьбой.

Изель

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