Chapter Twenty-Nine. Yadriel
TWENTY-NINE
YADRIEL
The battle had ended only minutes ago. The crypt still pulsed faintly with leftover light, the air thick with heat and incense.
Yadriel had stepped back to give Julian room.
Rio was crouched beside him now, murmuring something low and steady, one hand braced on his brother’s shoulder as if to make sure he was really still there.
Whatever Rio had witnessed—the light, the roar, the impossible—he was holding it close, jaw locked, eyes wet but clear.
Yadriel leaned against the cool stone wall, finally letting his body register the exhaustion that had been waiting its turn. His chest heaved as the adrenaline drained away, leaving him heavy but alive.
The crypt was quieter now, the golden light from the released spirits lingering in soft, shimmering waves before fading completely. The battle was over, but its weight still pressed on him, echoes of what they’d endured reverberating through his chest.
The only spirit left was Catriz.
Yadriel’s uncle stood in the center of the crypt, his spectral form shimmering faintly, as if caught between this world and the next. His eyes, no longer sharp with cunning or malice, softened as he looked at Yadriel. For the first time in what felt like an eternity, he looked … human.
“Catriz,” Enrique said, his voice thick with emotion. He hesitated, glancing toward Yadriel, as if giving him permission to speak first.
Yadriel swallowed hard, his throat tight. He took a tentative step closer, his hands trembling at his sides. “Why did you do it?” he asked, his voice cracking under the weight of years of anger, confusion, and grief. “Why did you do any of it?”
Catriz’s expression was unreadable at first, but then his shoulders sagged.
“Because I thought it was the only way,” he said, his voice softer than Yadriel had ever heard it.
“I thought I could be a part of our community if I took power into my own hands. I was corrupted by it, but it was still my own fault. I was wrong to even try. I regret every decision I made that brought me closer to Bahlam.”
Yadriel blinked, stunned by the admission. He’d expected defiance, excuses, but not this.
“I failed you,” Catriz continued, his gaze flicking to Enrique and then back to Yadriel. “And I failed myself. But tonight, I wanted to do one thing right—protect you, mi sobrino.”
His voice caught, just slightly. His eyes found Yadriel’s and they shone not with power or pride, but with something softer.
“That, I don’t regret.”
Yadriel’s breath hitched. He stepped forward, his voice barely above a whisper. “You were the first person who taught me the old rituals,” he said softly. “You showed me how to draw sigils in the dirt when no one else would. You let me be myself, even before I had the words for it.
“I hated you for what you did,” he said. “To Julian and Miguel. For what you took from me. From Julian. From all of us.”
Catriz didn’t flinch, but the somber lines of his face deepened.
“But before that … you were everything to me.”
The truth scraped on the way out—two truths that didn’t cancel each other, just burned side by side.
“I miss you so much,” he told his uncle. “Even after everything. Even when I was furious—I still missed you.”
Catriz’s expression fractured, grief softening his eyes.
“I wish I could hug you,” Yadriel whispered.
Then he stepped forward and did exactly that—reached out, slowly, carefully, and wrapped his arms around the ghost of a man who had once been his whole world.
His hands passed through empty air, but he held the shape of him anyway.
Catriz closed his eyes. His spirit flickered—not from instability, but from the force of emotion, like a match just before it flares.
Yadriel stayed there for one long, aching moment.
“I wish you’d stayed the version of you who made me feel seen,” he murmured. “But I’m glad I got that part of you back tonight. Even just for a little while.”
And finally, he let go.
Lita stepped forward. She seemed larger than life in the golden glow, her eyes sharp with both love and authority.
“Catriz,” she said, holding up the jade jaguar charm, dangling from its golden chain.
She held it gingerly, as if it might break, but the energy radiating from it was steady and strong.
“You’ve earned your place back with Lady Death,” she said, her voice unwavering, eyes glistening. “It’s time for you to rest, mijo.”
Catriz’s spectral form shimmered, his expression unreadable for a moment before softening into something that resembled peace. “Gracias, Mamá,” he said quietly. “For not giving up on me.”
Lita stepped closer, placing the necklace in Enrique’s hands. “Do it,” she said firmly.
Enrique nodded, his eyes brimming with unspoken emotion as he gripped the tether. As he whispered a low incantation, the necklace began to glow in his hands. The thread attaching it to Catriz illuminated.
Enrique smiled solemnly. “Rest, hermano.” With a small tip of his knife, he severed the tie.
Catriz’s form began to dissolve, his spirit lifting as the golden thread disintegrated in Enrique’s hands. A cascade of marigolds burst into the air, filling the crypt with their vibrant, fragrant presence.
“Thank you.” Catriz’s voice echoed faintly as he disappeared, leaving behind only silence.
The petals drifted gently to the stone floor, glowing softly before they faded.
Yadriel stood frozen, staring at the spot where his uncle had been. Where a monster had once stood. Where a man had just found his peace.
A warm palm brushed the back of Yadriel’s hand—Julian, breath still shaky, eyes shining. Yadriel squeezed once, a promise he didn’t have words for yet.
Something in his chest unknotted—tight and aching and old. It let go, quiet as breath, and left something lighter in its place.
Lita turned to him and pressed his uncle’s necklace into his palm.
“Lita?” Yadriel asked, his voice soft with confusion.
“He wore it since he was a boy,” Lita said, gaze steady. “Keep it safe.”
Yadriel took it. The jade jaguar was warm and pulsed faintly, like the flutter heartbeat of a bird.
Lita stepped beside him, her voice low. “He saw you,” she said. “Even when the rest of us didn’t.” She placed a hand on Yadriel’s shoulder, steady as ever. “That’s something to honor and hold on to.”
Yadriel didn’t speak. But he nodded—once—and let the quiet settle around him like a blessing.
Then Enrique cleared his throat.
“We should get home,” he said. “Everyone needs rest. And…” His voice drifted slightly. “We’ve got a lot to prepare for tonight, especially you, Yadriel.”
Yadriel looked up, puzzled. “Me?”
It was Christmas Eve morning now, and the Danza de la Luz Eterna would be that night. He typically didn’t have much to do other than the usual pack-mule responsibilities of helping Lita set up.
Yadriel blinked. “We’re still doing it, right?”
“Of course we are,” Lita said, brushing off her skirt. “The world still turns. Lady Death still waits. These rituals matter more than ever now.”
Enrique nodded, his expression softening. “But listen, mijo—after everything, if you’re too exhausted, if you don’t want to lead the danza this year, I’ll understand—”
“Wait.” Yadriel stared at them, stunned. “You were going to ask me to lead it?”
Enrique hesitated. He glanced at Lita, who blinked at him like she was just now realizing what he hadn’t said.
“You didn’t tell him?” she asked, exasperated.
Enrique gave a sheepish shrug and rubbed the back of his neck. “I thought you were going to!”
Lita tsked. “I told you it’d be better coming from you, Quique!”
Enrique ran a hand over his face, then looked at Yadriel.
“I want you to serve as Guía de la Llama—carry the flame and set the intention for the Danza,” Enrique said.
“I’ll act as majordomo, marshal the procession, and coordinate the outer ring with the elders.
Lita will tend the altar and give the closing bendición.
We’ll plan it together,” he told Yadriel.
“You lead the opening prayer and the first turn, and if anything needs to change, we’ll call it together. ”
The words didn’t feel like a crown. They felt like a hand held out.
He remembered coming out as trans and being told it didn’t matter—that he couldn’t be what he already knew he was.
He remembered being fifteen, watching the other boys receive their aquelarre while he waited on the sidelines.
Remembered sneaking into the old church with Maritza, trying to summon a spirit, begging Lady Death for the blessing no one else would give him.
And now they were asking him to lead the Candle Dance.
“I…” Yadriel started, his voice catching. “I never thought you’d ask me.”
Lita smiled gently. “We should’ve asked sooner,” she said, tossing Enrique an irritated glance. “But we’re asking now.”
He didn’t trust his voice, so he nodded. Just once.
Enrique stepped closer, a tired smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “You changed things, mijo. Not just for yourself—for all of us,” he told him. “You made us look again. Think again. I’m proud to learn from you—and I’m asking you to learn with me.”
Yadriel’s breath caught. For so long, he had carried the weight of proving himself—to the spirits, to his family, to the entire brujx community. He had fought for every inch of space he stood on. And now, they weren’t just letting him in.
They were trusting him to carry part of the weight—together.
Tonight, the Danza de la Luz Eterna would light up the night.
And Yadriel would carry the flame at its heart—not instead of his father, but with him.
Learning from each other. Moving their people forward.