He sat under the shade of the kiosk, sipping his water, calm in the midst of the noise and bustle around him.
Tourguides, researchers, students, and tourists ambled by in their dozens, passing his station without even really noticing either it nor himself: they were too caught up, too busy, too focused on their tasks at hand...
And a part of him enjoyed the peaceful anonymity he kept despite being out on the main concourse of this place, a place always flooded, always crawling with people, him hiding, almost, in plain sight.
"...hmm."
Well, as nice as this was, he knew it wouldn't last too long anyway: one of the newbie tourguides would, inevitably, ask him to take a shift, always around noon, always with a sheepish smile and a promise of some favor repaid...
Like clockwork.
He took another sip of water, gaze following the passing crowd with ever more increasing focus, waiting for someone to approach.
“...”
He was a bit of a mystery, this old man: always on-shift, even on holidays, weekends, always sitting at that kiosk, always at peace with the heat, the noise, the work and bustle all around him, as natural and in his element as a fish in the sea.
How long had he been working here? Did anyone even know?
Longer than anyone could remember, at the very least.
Did he need help with anything out here?
No no, he had it handled, he'd always insist, walking staff clacking on the worn, ancient stone as he moved, slowly and deliberately towards his destination...usually the breakroom to grab another bottle of water and some snacks before returning, just as deliberately, to his post at the kiosk.
He wasn't the loudest, most boisterous or engaging when he gave tours, either: his tone usually quite flat, calm...but he knew this place like the back of his hand and could answer any question, elaborate on every detail in sight and many, many more.
His slower, more careful pace allowed people to take in, better understand this ancient place, dry though he may be: the soaring temples, the vast, ornate stonework, the remnants of a society long since past, one that was very close to his heart indeed, one that almost seemed to come alive when he spoke...
And when he was done, he would sit back down into his chair in the kiosk, sipping his water, and leaning on his staff...
Content.
"Morning, gramps" said a spry young tourguide, smiling sheepishly at the old man, who gave him a warmer, softer smile in return.
"Hello Miguel: you want me to take your midday shift, I'm guessing?"
"Yes, sir."
He nodded at the young man, giving him another smile, this time with a slightly playful tone:
"Alright, alright...but you owe me food."
"What do you want?"
"Oh, I dunno...something spicy."
"You got it: thanks gramps!"
"Yea, yea..."
The man got to his feet, beginning to make his way over to the tour start point, taking his strides slowly, watching people pass by, a myriad of human beings from so many places, so many different backgrounds, all ages, all here to see something ancient, mysterious, and truly beautiful.
Something that he, long, long ago, had experienced firsthand, had seen rise...
Then fall.
He doubted that he would ever truly leave this place, either: this was his home, after all, and after all these years he had grown as rooted to it as the stone, the plants, the earth beneath his feet and the bright blue sky high above.
Yes, it would take something truly powerful, truly dangerous to move him from this place, something that time, perhaps, had changed just as much as it had changed him...
---
He felt it, even from here.
Sitting straight up in bed, grabbing for his staff, he took a deep breath, trying to steady himself.
"..."
After all this time, they had reared their ugly head again.
His heart slammed in his chest, his mind racing at an ungodly pace, something akin to fear, akin to dread rising in his mind...
A feeling quickly quashed, dashed away as a familiar, thunderous, all-encompassing voice filled his mind instead:
"I know," the old man replied, standing up, holding his staff in calloused, hardened hands that slowly went from shaking to steady.
"Have no fear, friend...”
The voice spoke again, with each syllable easing its most loyal servant's mind, affectionate to him as a father to a child...
"I feared this day would come, too. We simply have to finish the work that we began."
Chimalli strode towards the window, looking out at the darkened sky above, the dark void of space, speckled with stars from end to end, his strength growing as his conviction did.
The voice cooed, leaving its servant to his holy task:
"...and may our work finally bring our old friend to peace."
"You can think of it that way if want, but I have a feeling I won't be coming back."
Chimalli smiled at his boss of several years, the man sitting behind the desk looking just as old and tired as he did...though Chimalli was quite certain that this man couldn't comprehend the monumental task that laid ahead of the ancient and powerful priest that sat before him.
Nor the mission he sought to complete.
"...I won't lie, Chimalli: we will miss you. You've been an invaluable asset to us, not only for your work, but for your kindness, your wisdom, and your heart. You have had an immeasurable impact, not only in the lives of your co-workers, but in the lives all the people who have come here and have had the pleasure of having you guide them."
The old man wove his hand dismissively, chuckling:
"Oh, pish-posh: someone else will step up and do things around here better than I ever could."
He stood, leaning on his cane, offering his free hand for a shake, his boss confused by the old man's strength as he reciprocated the gesture, nodding.
"Take care of yourself, Chimalli."
The ancient priest smiled, continuing:
"...and, ah, make sure Miguel does all his shifts from now on. He's going to be great, one day."
With that, Chimalli stepped out of the office, passing his old kiosk, and out of the park without a single glance back.
Staring at the horizon ahead, the rising sun and the miles upon miles of land and sea between him and his mission's end...
He had not felt so alive in so many, many years.
And, stepping over that threshold towards a new era, a new task in his life, a familiar voice once again spoke in his mind, urging him on:
"Let us get going, my friend."
Yes, he agreed, the man taking his first strides outside of his ancestral home in many, many long centuries.
One deliberate stride after another, he would get there, and when he did...
Well, he would do what he had to, he supposed.
"...It's time to visit an old friend."
