The Apache chief said, ‘Choose any of my daughters, cowboy—you’ve earned it.’

When the Apache chief offers cowboy Pablo the choice between his three daughters, Gina, Kala, and Sia, as a reward for saving his tribe, no one imagines that this decision will unleash a destiny marked by love, honor, and redemption amidst blood, land, and the spirits of the desert. Pablo will discover that his greatest battle will not be with weapons, but with his own heart. The storm stretched across the horizon, enveloping the prairie in a gray and violent blanket. The wind whistled through the canyons, pushing low clouds that seemed to drag the weight of a past filled with blood, honor, and secrets that still lingered.

Pablo rode forward on horseback with a steady stride, his face covered in dust and weariness. His coat was torn and his boots soaked in dried mud. Even so, his eyes maintained that indomitable calm of one who has already survived too much. The sun filtered through the clouds, casting golden glimmers on the reddish earth.

 In the distance, plumes of smoke rose. Pablo stopped, sniffed the air, and his instinct told him this wasn’t natural fire. He urged his horse up the hill until he spotted a ruined Apache camp. Huts were burning, the screams had died away, and bodies lay in shadow. An attack had razed everything.

 The recent tragedy still hung in the air. He dismounted, walking cautiously among the charred remains. He had seen horrors before, but this was different. Among the bodies, he made out a figure moving weakly, covered in blood and dust, with a broken headdress. It was the Apache chief, still alive. Pablo approached slowly, his hands raised.

 The old man looked at him suspiciously, his breath coming in short gasps. Pride and defeat mingled in his eyes. “Why is a white man approaching a dying Apache?” he murmured, his voice breaking. “Because not all white men are enemies,” Pablo replied calmly, taking out a canteen and offering it to him.

 The chief took it with trembling hands, drank a sip, and let out a sigh heavy with years and lost battles. The silence was broken by a groan. A few meters away, three young women were trying to get up among the remains of the camp. Their faces were covered in ash, their eyes a mixture of fear and resilience. Pablo ran toward them without a second thought. The oldest, Gina, had a deep wound on her arm.

 The middle one, Cala, tried to help her while the youngest, Cía, huddled silently, clutching a bone amulet between her fingers. Pablo knelt down, searching for a clean piece of cloth. “Don’t worry, I’m not going to hurt you,” he said calmly, cutting open his jacket to bandage Gina’s arm.

 She watched him suspiciously, but pain and exhaustion compelled her to allow it. The bleeding slowly stopped. Her breathing stabilized. The Apache chief watched them silently, with a mixture of disbelief and respect. “You could have left us to die, but you didn’t,” Pablo murmured. He didn’t reply, only continued cleaning wounds as if in that act he found his own forgiveness.

Hours later, the fire had consumed everything. Pablo improvised a shelter with blankets and branches. The three sisters rested near the fire. The wind calmed, and for the first time in days, the silence felt less hostile, almost human. That night, the chief spoke. “You saved my daughters’ lives.”

 I have no gold, no cattle, no power, but I have something more sacred than all of that: my gratitude. No Apache man forgets a debt like this. His voice trembled. Pablo, without taking his eyes off the fire, replied humbly, “I seek no reward; I only did what was right.” The old man smiled faintly, as if the stranger’s words had rekindled an ancient spark, a faith he thought extinguished.

The flames illuminated the sisters’ faces. Gina watched Pablo with a mixture of curiosity and respect. Cala kept her distance, always alert, while Sia, the youngest, seemed fascinated by the strange man with the calm voice and deep gaze. At dawn, the chief asked to be helped to his feet.

 With effort, leaning on Paul, he surveyed the remains of the camp. “Our enemies will return. You must leave before they find you. If they see you here, they will kill you along with us.” Paul firmly denied it. “I will not leave three women alone among vultures and hunters. If they return, I will fight.”

 The chief gazed at him for a long time, recognizing in him something he hadn’t expected to find: the spirit of a warrior, even though his skin told a different story. That day, they dug graves together and erected makeshift crosses from dry branches. The air was heavy with ash and silent prayer. Each stroke of the shovel was a reminder of what war takes and never fully returns.

As the sun set, the four sat around the fire. The flames danced like ancient spirits. Sia broke the silence with a trembling voice. “Thank you, Pablo.” He smiled, and for a moment the tragedy seemed to dissolve in the orange glow. The calm was short-lived. At midnight, wild dogs began to howl in the distance.

 Pablo jumped up, grabbed his rifle, and walked toward the hill. The howls were growing louder, echoing like a harbinger of a new threat. From the top, he saw figures moving through the shadows. They were armed men, probably bounty hunters. “They found us,” he muttered. He returned to the fire, whispering to the leader.

 “We must move before dawn or we will die here.” The old man nodded. The sisters gathered what little remained. Gina took her bow, fixed a broken spear, and carried a bag of medicinal herbs. Together they followed Pablo toward the mountains, enveloped in darkness. They walked until dawn. When the sun began to paint the sky red, the chief stopped, exhausted, leaning against a rock. “I can’t go on,” he said weakly.

 Pablo held on, but the old man gently pushed him away. “Listen to me, white man,” the chief said solemnly. “You risked your life for us without expecting anything in return. In my people, that is not forgotten. Therefore, when all this is over, I will give you a gift worthy of a warrior.” Pablo looked down uncomfortably. “I don’t need gifts.” The old man smiled. “Wise.”

 I’m not talking about things, but about blood. When the time comes, you will choose between my daughters. The one you desire will be yours, for you have earned that right with honor. The wind blew through the trees, carrying with it a thick silence. The sisters looked at each other in surprise, without saying a word. Pablo also remained silent, gazing at the horizon, unaware that those words would change everyone’s destiny.

Gina watched him silently, trying to understand his composure. Kala, always prudent, lowered her gaze respectfully, her eyes curious; she seemed more intrigued than frightened. At that moment, the future began to weave its invisible threads. The boss sat back down, exhaling heavily.

 Rest, tomorrow will be a long one. The gods have already decided what’s to come. Pablo took a few steps away, watching the fire slowly die down, unaware that love and war were only just beginning to intertwine. Dawn bathed the camp in golden hues. The air smelled of damp earth and destiny.

 The mountains awaited his next move, and Pablo, rifle slung over his shoulder, understood that his journey was no longer just about survival, but about redemption. If you don’t want to miss our content, hit the like button and subscribe below. Also, turn on notifications and tell us where you’re listening from. We appreciate your support. Dawn surprised him among the crags.

 The mist covered the valley like a white sheet, and the crows’ calls announced that night had left its traces. Pablo walked ahead, searching for the least visible path among the damp rocks. The Apache chief advanced with difficulty, leaning on a makeshift staff. His breathing was heavy, marked by fever.

 Gina walked beside him, watching every step. While Kala and Sia kept watch over the surroundings with a mixture of fear and bravery, Pablo stopped by a crystal-clear stream and gazed at his reflection. Weariness was etched in his eyes, but there was a firm resolve in them. “We’ll rest here for a while,” he said. “The boss.”

 She nodded slowly, gratefully. They lit a small fire with dry branches. Cala prepared an herbal infusion that was quite appealing in her bag. The aroma filled the air, mingling with the smoke and the gentle sound of running water. Everything seemed calm. At least for now. Gina approached Pablo as he sharpened his knife.

 “I don’t understand why you’re helping us,” she said firmly. “White men hunt us down like animals.” Pablo looked up, not offended. “Not all men are the same, Gina.” She watched him for a long time, trying to decipher him. There was something in his tone that disarmed her defenses. “So, what are you?” she finally asked. Pablo smiled sadly.

Just a man tired of seeing innocents die in the name of hatred. The Apache chief coughed, breaking the silence. Pablo approached and offered him water. “I don’t have much time left,” the old man said. “But as long as I breathe, my daughters will be under your protection. I swear that to you with my blood.” He listened silently from the fire.
Fear and doubt mingled in her eyes. She had never imagined depending on a stranger. But something about Pablo inspired confidence, as if his presence carried an invisible shield against evil. As evening fell, the shadows lengthened across the stones. From the top of the hill, Gina spotted dust on the horizon. “Riders,” she warned. Pablo stood up immediately. They found us faster than expected. They gathered their things and put out the fire. Cía, nervous, clutched the amulet to her chest. “What if they catch us?” Pablo looked at her firmly. “Then I’ll fight, but I won’t let them lay a finger on you.” His voice was a vow. They went down into the trees seeking cover. The sun was setting through the branches, painting the earth red.

 The sound of hooves drew closer. Pablo raised his rifle, aiming it toward the valley. “Five mercenaries,” he muttered, “aren’t after gold, they’re after revenge.” Gina nocked her bow. Kala clutched the broken spear, and the chief hid behind a rock. Sia trembled, but she didn’t cry. The silence grew thick. The birds fell silent. Only the wind whispered through the bushes.

 The riders finally appeared, laughing amongst themselves, confident. One wore a red bandana around his neck. “Look at that,” he said mockingly. “The cowboy who saviors the Apaches.” Pablo fired without hesitation. The man fell from his horse, and the echo reverberated throughout the valley. The others responded with bullets that whistled over their heads.

 Pablo rolled on the ground, firing with precision. Every movement was quick, accurate, almost instinctive. The years of war were reflected in his posture. He was a soldier who never stopped being one. Gina released an arrow that pierced an attacker’s chest. Kala charged with her broken spear, severing another’s leg.

Violence erupted amidst dust and fire. The air filled with screams and the metallic smell of blood. When the last enemy fell, silence returned, heavy as lead. Pablo stood, breathing heavily. “This wasn’t the last group,” he said with certainty. “Someone else will come. We have to keep going before nightfall.” His voice commanded resolve. Sia ran to him, tears welling in her eyes.

You killed for us. Pablo bent down, gently wiping her face. I killed to protect what still matters. Gina watched him silently, understanding something beyond duty. The Apache chief closed his eyes, leaning against a rock. You are different, Pablo. Your hands bring death, but also life. The gods placed you in our path for a reason.

Pablo remained silent, gazing at the sky that was turning violet. That night, they camped under the stars in a sheltered crevice. Gina sat near the fire, watching Pablo clean his rifle. “I’ve never seen a man fight like that,” she said. “I wasn’t fighting just for myself,” he replied without looking up.

 “So, who are you fighting for?” she asked gently. Pablo smiled. For those who still believe in something, even though that something is disappearing. The bonfire crackled, illuminating their faces. For a moment there were no races, only two souls lost in the same darkness. Cala made soup with what little remained.

 Sia snuggled under the blankets and fell asleep. The chief murmured ancient words, a prayer asking the spirits to guide his steps. The fire was all that separated him from the night’s abyss. Pablo stayed awake, keeping watch. Every sound among the trees kept him alert. He had learned to distrust silence.

 In the firelight, he saw shadows of his past: fallen comrades, pointless wars, broken promises. Now he had only one mission: to protect them. Gina approached slowly and sat beside him. “Are you afraid?” she asked. “Pablo.” He smiled slightly. “Fear is what keeps men alive.” She looked at him, admiring his serenity. “Then you will live a long time,” she said softly.

The wind shifted, carrying the scent of distant smoke. Pablo stood up, gazing at the horizon. “The enemy is still out there, searching for us.” Gina mimicked him, bow in hand. “Then we won’t run, we’ll fight together.” Their words carried the force of a promise. The leader, half asleep, listened and smiled faintly.

Destiny has already united them, he whispered. Don’t defy it. Cala, on the other side of the fire, pretended not to hear him, but her eyes reflected concern. She knew that each dawn brought them closer to a greater test. With the first light, they dismantled the shelter and continued up the mountain. The cold bit at their skin. But their spirits remained strong.

 Pablo walked ahead, Gina behind, and the chief held between Cala and Sia. No one spoke, only breathed. The path was arduous, but also sacred. High above, the rocks formed figures that resembled stone guardians. “My ancestors are here,” the chief said in a weak voice. “If I die, let it be under their gaze.” Pablo lowered his head in respect. Finally, they reached a cave hidden behind an icy waterfall.

 There they found refuge. Pablo lit a fire, and the warmth revived them. For the first time in days, they ate without incident. The silence was now friendly, not a threat. The leader gestured to Pablo. “Come.” The man approached, kneeling before him. The old man looked at him with tired but resolute eyes.

 Remember my words, cowboy. When the time comes, you will choose between my daughters. Pablo tried to speak, but the old man raised his hand. Say nothing. Honor is not to be debated, it is to be accepted. Gina watched from afar, his face hidden by the shadows. She didn’t know whether to fear those words or wish for their fulfillment. That night, as the rain gently pattered against the cave entrance, Pablo understood that the destiny that had brought him to them was no coincidence.

Something profound was being woven between duty, love, and a sacred promise. The fire crackled until it slowly died down, leaving only red embers. Outside, the wind sang with a prophetic tone. In the darkness, three sisters slept, and a man watched over their slumber, knowing that dawn would bring as much danger as hope. The cave awoke shrouded in a thick mist.

The fire had died down, leaving only the smell of damp wood. Pablo woke first, feeling the weight of the silence. Outside, the rain continued to fall as if cleansing the wounds of the past. Gina slept leaning against the wall, her bow still clutched in her hands. Kala stood beside the chief, covering him with a blanket.

Sia curled up into a ball. She was dreaming softly. Pablo watched them and understood that he could no longer abandon them. He went outside, breathing in the icy air. The waterfall cascaded down, drowning out the sound of footsteps. From above, he spotted fresh footprints in the snow. “They found us,” he murmured. His gaze hardened. The threat was returning, inevitable.

 He returned to the cave and gently woke Gina. She sat up instantly, instinctively grabbing her weapon. “What’s happening?” she asked. “We’re not alone,” Pablo replied. His eyes held alertness, but also serenity. He was accustomed to the proximity of death. The Apache chief opened his eyes slowly, his breathing shallow but conscious. “I knew the enemy wouldn’t be long,” he murmured.

 “Take them with you, Pablo. Keep your promise. Take them with you, Pablo. Keep your promise.” The man shook his head firmly. “I won’t leave you behind. We’ll all get out of this alive.” The old man smiled sadly. “Not every journey is made on foot, son.” Gina squeezed his hand, fighting back tears. “Don’t talk like that, Father.”

 But he looked at her tenderly. The gods are calling me. My debt to you has only just begun, Pablo. Kala packed herbs and provisions while Pablo prepared the horse. We must move before noon, he said. Gina stared at him. Where shall we go? North, he replied. There is an old, abandoned fort.

 We can hold out if we arrive before nightfall. The journey was silent and tense. The forest seemed to watch them. The branches creaked like bones, and the wind carried echoes of ancient voices. Sia walked close to Pablo, trusting him with an innocence that reminded her of what she had lost.

 When the sun reached its zenith, they stopped to rest. Gina approached Pablo, her face hardened by both distrust and admiration. “My father trusts you, but tell me, what truly motivates you? Honor, guilt, or redemption?” Pablo looked at her without turning away. “I don’t seek redemption. I’ve already made peace with my ghosts, but I can’t ignore what is right.”

 If men could see beyond skin color, the world wouldn’t bleed so much. She remained silent, absorbing his words. For the first time, a spark of genuine respect crossed her eyes. “So, you’re not your average cowboy, Pablo.” He smiled slightly. “I was never good at fitting in.” The tension between them began to dissipate.

 Sia interrupted, pointing to the sky. “Look.” A flock of crows circled above the valley. Pablo understood what it meant. “They’re following the bodies. That means the hunters are close.” He picked up his rifle and looked toward the horizon. Kala adjusted her spear and moved forward beside him. “We won’t let you fight alone.”

 Pablo looked at her, admiring her resolve. “I won’t do it, but I want you to protect the boss. If I fall, keep going north. Don’t stop.” Gina objected. “You won’t die for us again.” Her words were an order, not a plea. Pablo nodded slowly. “Then we’ll fight together.”

 In that instant, the four formed a silent pact, sealed by necessity and courage. The sound of hooves echoed in the distance. The enemy was approaching. Pablo climbed onto a rock and spotted five armed horsemen traveling along the path. They’re coming straight this way. Time compressed. Every second counted. The leader tried to get up. His voice weak. “Let me fight by your side.” Pablo held him gently. “Your battle is to stay alive.”

 I promised to protect them, and so it shall be. The old man looked at him with pride. You are more Apache than many born into my tribe. The first shot pierced the air. A bullet ricocheted off a rock, raising dust. Pablo responded with precision, bringing down the rider in front. Gina drew her bow. The arrow pierced another’s neck. The war breathed again between them.

 Sia screamed as an enemy approached from the flank. Kala hurled her broken spear, striking the attacker in the chest. The fight was brutal. No time to think. Pablo moved with pure instinct, each shot a line written in fire. Within minutes, silence returned. Only the echo of battle remained. Three bodies lay on the snow. The others fled.

 Pablo lowered his weapon slowly, covered in dust and sweat. “They won’t be back anytime soon,” he said softly. Gina approached, her breath ragged. “How many times have you done this?” Pablo looked at her wearily. “Too many.” She nodded respectfully. “And yet, you’re still alive.” “Only the dead give up,” he replied, calmly, almost ritually, cleaning his rifle. That night, the fire burned again.

She dozed off, leaning against the cove, while Gina watched the reflection of the flames in Pablo’s eyes. “My father offered you a choice between us,” she said softly. “Do you ever plan to take it?” Pablo tensed in surprise. “I don’t seek to possess anyone, Gina. I’m not that kind of man.” She looked at him intently. “Then you’re unlike anyone I’ve ever known.”

 A profound silence enveloped them, heavy with meaning and danger. The chief spoke from the shadows. “It’s not possession, daughter, it’s destiny. The gods have already chosen, even if you don’t understand it yet.” Gina lowered her gaze, troubled. Pablo looked away toward the fire, knowing the weight of those words would haunt him.

 The rain began to fall, extinguishing some of the flames. Cala covered her father with a blanket. Sia murmured a prayer in an ancient language. Pablo watched as each of them carried the strength of entire generations. They were not mere survivors. At dawn, they resumed their journey. The mountains stretched out before them like sleeping giants.

 The air smelled of damp earth and freedom. But on the horizon, a figure watched them from a distance, a hooded man riding a dark horse. Pablo noticed him and stopped. “They’re following us again.” Gina frowned. “He’s not a hunter.” The chief nodded. “He’s a messenger of war. The men from the north want to exterminate us all.”

 Tension gripped the group once more. They moved faster, seeking refuge among the crags. Pablo stayed behind, covering the rear. Each step was a struggle against exhaustion and fear, but something new was growing in his chest—the feeling of belonging for the first time.

 Upon reaching the rocky pass, they found an ancient Apache altar covered in symbols. The chief recognized it and fell to his knees. “This is where I was born,” he said, tears welling in his eyes. Gina embraced him. Pablo lowered his head, respecting the sacred moment. The elder spoke in a trembling voice. “Here the gods will decide our fate. If I fall, remember my promise, Pablo.” The man held his arm.

You won’t speak of dying. We’ll reach the north together. But they both knew time was running out. That night the stars seemed closer, as if watching with compassion. Pablo sat by the fire, feeling Gina’s gaze upon him. Neither of them spoke. The silence between them was more eloquent than a thousand unspoken words.

 As the wind rustled through the trees, the chief whispered his final prayer to the spirits of the valley. Protect them, great father in the sky. And Pablo understood that the real journey had only just begun, one that depended not on bullets, but on the heart. The following morning brought an unsettling silence. The sun peeked through low clouds, painting the mountains a somber gold.

 Pablo lit the fire with precise movements while the chief watched the smoke rise as if searching the sky for answers. Gina approached Pablo with a serious expression. “My father can barely stand,” she said. “He needs rest.” Pablo nodded. But his attention remained fixed on the horizon.

 “There’s no time, Gina, they’re cornering us.” The old Apache listened, breathing heavily. “Leave me here,” he murmured. “My time is up.” Pablo interrupted him firmly, “Not while I’m still breathing.” The chief smiled weakly. “You have the heart of a warrior, even though you were born outside our land.” Cala was distributing the last of the supplies.

 There’s only enough food for two days. Pablo checked the makeshift map he’d drawn on a piece of leather. If we take the eastern pass, we’ll reach the fort before nightfall tomorrow. Sia tugged at Gina’s arm. “I’m scared.” Her voice trembled like a trickle of water. Gina hugged her, whispering something in her ancestral tongue.

 The spirits walk with us as long as the fire lives; we are not alone. Pablo lifted the leader onto the horse and began the march. The group advanced along the narrow path, surrounded by crags and dry bushes. Each step echoed, as if the mountains were responding with invisible murmurs. Midway along the path, a gunshot pierced the air. Pablo whirled around, shielding Sia.

 The bullet lodged in a nearby rock. They found us again. Gina drew her bow and hid behind a tree. Don’t run, fight. Three armed and smiling men emerged from the bushes. There’s the traitorous mestizo, one of them shouted. Pablo fired first, bringing him down.

 Gina launched an arrow that grazed the second man’s neck. Kala struck the third with a burning branch. The fight was brief. When the dust settled, silence returned. Pablo breathed heavily, covered in someone else’s blood. Gina watched him, impressed by his lethal precision. “You’re different when you fight,” she said.

 He answered in a low voice, because I don’t allow myself to doubt. The leader murmured from his horse, “Violence pursues you, Pablo, but it also saves you.” He nodded without replying. Weariness and destiny mingled in his eyes. Sometimes peace seemed farther away than the horizon they were trying to reach. They continued onward until nightfall. The sun died behind the mountains, and the wind carried the scent of rain.

Pablo found a small cave sheltered by rocks. We’ll rest here. Gina helped her father lie down. Cala lit a makeshift torch. Sia watched Pablo as he cleaned his weapon. “Were you always a soldier?” she asked with childlike curiosity.

 “I was many things,” he replied, “but none made me feel as alive as protecting you.” Sia smiled, and her innocence brought a welcome warmth to the night. Gina watched him from across the fire. “You shouldn’t say things like that,” she murmured. “My sister will grow fond of you.” Pablo looked up. “And haven’t you already?” She glared at him, barely concealing her anger, neither confirming nor denying. The chief coughed, breaking the silence. “You can’t control your heart, daughter.”

Gina stood up abruptly. “That’s enough, Father.” She walked away into the darkness. Pablo watched her go, knowing the distance between them was more than just physical. Cala approached the fire and spoke softly. “She’s afraid of losing what little she loves.” Pablo nodded. “We all fear that.” For a moment, time seemed to stand still.

 Outside, the wolves howled like guardians of destiny. Gina returned when the moon was high in the sky. Her face was wet from the rain, or perhaps from tears. She sat beside Pablo without saying a word. The firelight illuminated her eyes, revealing the weariness and the strength that sustained her. He broke the silence.

 Your father offered me a choice between you. She looked at him defiantly. And you’ve already chosen. Pablo lowered his gaze to the fire. You can’t choose what’s already inevitable. Gina stood still, unsure whether to fear or smile. The chief spoke weakly from the corner. The gods hear you, Pablo. They have already decided. Sia slept, oblivious to everything, while Cala watched the entrance.

 The night dragged on, and the wind slowly extinguished the embers of the fire. At dawn, they resumed their march. The sky was tinged with red. An omen of war. The mountains seemed to watch them in silence. Gina rode in front, her eyes fixed on the horizon. Pablo walked behind, alert to any sound. They crossed a stream and found fresh tracks: horse hoofprints, the remains of a campfire.

 “They’re closing in on us,” Pablo said. “It won’t be long before they catch us.” Kala looked at him with determination. Then it will be their end, not ours. The chief began to cough more violently. Gina dismounted to support him. “Father, hold on.” He smiled weakly. “My path is shortening, daughter, but you—you will go on.” Gina wept silently, squeezing his hand.

 Pablo looked away respectfully. They reached the edge of an immense canyon. Below, the river roared, crashing furiously against the rocks. “We can’t cross with the horse,” said Pablo. “We’ll have to find a narrower passage.” Sia clung to Cala, terrified of the height. The chief pointed north; there, where the eagle turns, is a natural bridge. Pablo stared at it in amazement.

 How do you know? The old man smiled, because I spent my youth there. It was the first time his voice had sounded so full of nostalgia. They climbed the hillside until they found the stone bridge. It looked fragile, but it was their only option. Pablo crossed first, testing each step. The wind was blowing hard, and the raindrops made the path slippery.
Gina followed fearlessly behind him. Halfway across the path, an arrow whistled from the woods. It grazed Pablo’s shoulder, eliciting a groan. “They’re attacking us!” Cala cried. Sia wept, clinging to her sister. Gina drew her knife and shouted, “Go across, Pablo, I’ll cover you!” He whirled, firing at the shadow among the trees. An enemy fell into the void. “Don’t fall behind!” he yelled. But Gina refused to back down. She fought like a wild animal. Each blow a promise never to surrender. Finally, Pablo returned and took her arm. “Let’s go now.” He dragged her to the other side. Just as the bridge cracked behind them, the stones tumbled into the abyss, erasing any path back.

 The silence returned, broken only by ragged breathing. The chief looked at them with tears in his eyes. The gods protect them. Pablo pressed his shoulder wound. I don’t know if it was luck or fate. Gina held him, wiping away the blood. Perhaps both, but it’s not over yet. That night they camped near the river. The fire burned dimly, its reflection shimmering in the turbulent waters.

 Pablo, his shoulder bandaged, watched Gina as she cared for his father. Every gesture of hers was a blend of strength and tenderness impossible to ignore. The boss murmured his name one last time before falling asleep. “Pablo, if I die, keep my word. Choose whomever the spirits dictate.” He looked at him, pained. “I don’t want to inherit your promise. I want you to live to bless it.”

 Gina looked up, tears welling in her eyes. If he dies, his word will be law. Pablo didn’t answer. The fire crackled between them, marking a boundary neither dared cross. Outside, wolves howled, sensing the end of an era. Dawn brought a different kind of silence.

 The air was heavy, thick with the bitter fragrance of the natural incense burning in the mountains. Pablo awoke to the sound of flowing water, but something in the atmosphere foreshadowed an imminent farewell. The Apache chief was breathing with difficulty, his body wrapped in blankets woven by his daughters. Gina held his hand, her eyes steady, though grief gnawed at her from within.

 Kala prepared medicinal herbs while Sia prayed softly. Pablo approached and knelt beside the old man. “Hold on a little longer, boss. We’re almost at the fort.” The man smiled weakly. “Don’t fight against the will of the spirits, son. They have already shown me the way.” Gina looked at him, her eyes filled with tears she had been holding back. “Don’t say that, Father.”

 But the old man stopped her with a gentle gesture. “I have seen suns die and moons be reborn. It is time for the fire to change its guardian.” The silence that followed was as thick as fog. Pablo felt a weight in his chest that he couldn’t name. He took the chief’s hand and squeezed it. “If there is anything I must do, tell me now.”

 The old man nodded, breathing heavily. “Keep my word, Pablo. Choose with your heart, not with obligation. Don’t take a daughter out of duty, but by destiny. Promise me.” Pablo closed his eyes. “I promise, boss.” The wind rose, stirring the branches. Kala looked up, noticing an eagle soaring overhead.

 “The gods are here,” he whispered. Gina stroked her father’s face as a tear slid down his gray beard. Sia approached, weeping silently. “Father.” But the old man had already breathed his last. His gaze remained serene, fixed on the dawn. All of nature seemed to stand still. Not even the wind stirred during that moment. Gina let out a cry that tore through the air.

 Pablo caught her before she fell. “Let him go, Gina,” he murmured. She clung to him, pounding his chest in anger, refusing to accept the inevitable. “No, not without him.” Cala knelt beside the body and began the sacred chant. Her voice was a thread between earth and sky. She followed, trembling, as the rising sun illuminated the chief’s face, transforming him into an eternal figure.

Pablo dug the grave with his bare hands, using his knife and brute strength. The ground was hard, but he didn’t stop until the hole was ready. “Rest in peace, old friend,” he said softly, placing his hat on the makeshift cross. Gina placed a stone on the grave, a symbol of strength and permanence.

 Cala offered a dried flower, a piece of blue cloth. The three of them held hands and together whispered an ancient prayer for their father’s soul. Pablo stepped back, gazing at the horizon. He knew they couldn’t stay there. The enemy was still searching for them, but his heart refused to break the sacred silence that enveloped that moment.

 For the first time, he wished he could stop time. Gina approached him, her eyes still moist. “You promised something,” she said firmly. “Will you keep it?” Pablo looked at her, knowing that this question went beyond mere duty. “Yes, Gina, I will keep it even if it costs me my life.” She gazed at him intently, trying to decipher whether he spoke out of love or a promise.

Then she nodded, wiping away her tears. “Then let’s go. My father wouldn’t want us to die by his grave.” Her words were harsh, but her voice trembled. They resumed their journey eastward. The rain began to fall softly, washing away the traces of sorrow. Pablo walked ahead, Gina behind him, with Cala and Co., huddled under a blanket.

The landscape seemed new, but the emptiness remained. As evening fell, they spotted smoke in the distance. “It must be the fort,” Pablo said, relieved. However, Gina frowned. “That smoke isn’t from the kitchen, it’s a sign of war.” The raindrops grew heavier, striking the ground with force.

 They hid among some bushes, watching from across the fort. A group of armed men guarded the entrance. “They’re not government soldiers,” Pablo murmured. “They’re bounty hunters.” Cala looked at him worriedly. “Are they following us?” He nodded. “And they won’t leave?” Gina gripped her bow, fury flashing in her eyes. “Then we won’t run, we’ll fight.”

Pablo looked at her in surprise. “Your father would say the same.” She replied in a low voice, “My father is gone. Now it’s up to me to decide.” They waited for darkness. When the sun set, Pablo and Gina crept stealthily toward the fort. The rain slicked their steps, but danger lurked in every shadow.

 Behind them, Kala watched over Cía, keeping her completely silent. A guard moved in front of them. Pablo took him by surprise, silently taking him down. “One down,” he murmured. Gina covered his back, firing an arrow that pierced another guard’s throat. Their movements were precise, deadly, almost synchronized. They entered the fort.

 Inside, they discovered something unexpected: an Apache banner hanging on a wall. “What does this mean?” Gina asked, confused. Pablo frowned. “Someone is using the symbol of your people for something I don’t understand.” They went into a room where there were maps and documents. Pablo looked through them. “These men trade in slaves.”

 They use war as an excuse to capture women and children. Gina clenched her fists. Then today we will free our own. A voice boomed from the entrance. Not so fast, strangers. A tall man in a black coat pointed a rifle at them. His smile was that of a satisfied hunter. I’ve been waiting for you. Your head is worth more than your soul. Pablo stepped in front of Gina.

 If you want something, come and get it. The man fired, but Gina threw herself to the ground and counterattacked with an arrow straight to the enemy’s shoulder. Run! Pablo shouted. The echoes of the fight filled the fort. Pablo fired twice, bringing down the approaching guards. The fire lit up the corridors.

 Gina ran toward the captives and broke their chains with her knife. “Come out now!” she shouted. Chaos erupted like a raging storm. The wounded leader tried to escape through the back door. Paul caught up with him and knocked him down with a single blow. “This is for every soul you sold.”

 His fist fell once more, ending the fight. Outside, the rain mingled with the smoke. When it was all over, Gina approached him, covered in ash. “You did it.” Pablo shook his head. “We did it.” She met his gaze, breathing heavily. “My father was right. The spirits chose you.” He smiled slightly, and I heard them. That night, the fire in the fort was rekindled, but this time as a sign of hope. Kala and Sia embraced Gina.

Pablo watched them in silence, knowing the journey was not yet over. Destiny awaited its final judgment. In the distance, the wind carried an ancient melody. Gina recognized it. It was her father’s song, as if the spirits were celebrating the union between the foreign warrior and Apache blood.

Past and present merged into a single echo. Pablo looked up at the rain-soaked sky. “Rest, old friend,” he murmured. Gina approached and took his hand. “You’re not alone.” He gazed at her, knowing that despite the pain, love had begun to bloom from the ashes. Dawn arrived, enveloping the fort in a golden mist.

 The smoke still rose slowly, but calm had settled over the place. Pablo gazed at the horizon, his face hardened by battles and the memory of the fallen. Gina emerged from the fort, her hair loose and her hands stained with ash.

 She had helped bury the dead prisoners and free the survivors. Her gaze met Pablo’s, and the silence spoke for both of them. Cala and Sia slept near the fire, exhausted after tending to the wounded. The wind stirred the embers, sending tiny sparks soaring into the sky.

 It was as if the spirits of his people were ascending in search of peace. Pablo slowly approached Gina. “Your father would be proud.” She looked at him serenely. “My father rests because you kept his word.” He shook his head with a sigh. “I didn’t keep it out of duty. I did it because I couldn’t do anything else.” Gina lowered her gaze, touching her bone necklace. “You say that as if it weighs heavily on you.”

Pablo watched her. It pains me not to know if it was fate or love. She took a step forward, so close that her breath mingled with his. “Fate only leads to the door,” she murmured. What we do once we cross it, that is love. Pablo remained silent, captivated by her words.

 He took her hand and squeezed it gently, without needing promises or oaths. The sun began to filter through the clouds. Cala woke up and watched them silently. A faint smile appeared on her face. She understood that her family’s cycle continued not with sadness, but with hope. Sia ran to Pablo and hugged him tenderly.

 “You won’t leave us again, will you?” she asked. He stroked her hair. “Never again. Wherever you go, I will go.” Gina watched them, feeling for the first time that home wasn’t a place, but a presence. That day, the Apache survivors began to rebuild what remained of the fort, turning it into a refuge for all who had lost something.

 Pablo joined the men of the village, carrying wood and building walls. The women fetched water from the river, and Cala taught the children how to prepare herbal remedies. Gina organized the elders, guiding them with authority and compassion. Her eyes burned with the same strength her father had possessed in life. At night, the central fire was lit, and the sound of drums echoed through the mountains. Sia danced with the other young people, laughing freely.

 Gina watched from a distance as Pablo tuned an old guitar by the fire. A soft melody began to fill the air. It was a wordless song, born of silence and memory. Gina slowly approached and sat beside him. “I didn’t know you played.” He smiled. “I play what I can’t express.”

 She looked at him, and for a moment the world stopped. The stars seemed to listen. Pablo gazed at her as if the entire universe were contained in her face. Then, without a word, she rested her head on his shoulder. The fire crackled softly. The next morning, Pablo awoke to the sound of birdsong. Gina slept peacefully beside him.

 For the first time in years, he felt peace. He knew his path, fraught with wounds and broken promises, had reached its destination. That very morning, Kala approached them with a mischievous smile. “My father would have chosen the same,” she joked. Pablo chuckled softly. “Your father would have tested me first.”

 Gina replied, “Pablo already did it, and you overcame it with your heart.” As the weeks passed, the place flourished. The rivers flowed clean again, and the smoke from the fire only rose for cooking and prayer. Pablo helped build a school, teaching the children to read and protecting their heritage.

 One afternoon, Sia ran to him with a pendant in her hands. It was Dad’s, she said. Pablo took it respectfully. “Keep it,” he replied. “You are the voice of his spirit.” Sia hugged him, and for the first time, her smile was fearless. Gina watched from afar, her heart overflowing with gratitude, not for having found a savior, but a companion.

 Pablo was now part of the earth, the air, the very fire that burned each night in his prayers. A red moon illuminated the sky weeks later. The elders said it was a sign of rebirth. That night, Gina went to the river with Pablo. My father said that souls cross the water when the cycle is complete. He looked at her tenderly. “And do you think it was complete?” She smiled, taking his hand.

 Yes, because their promise wasn’t just a choice; it was the beginning of a union their spirits had already written before they were born. The wind blew softly, stirring the waters. Gina looked up at the sky. There is her spirit watching. Pablo embraced her from behind, and here is his living legacy.

 In silence, they both closed their eyes, letting the river seal their promise. The next day, drums resonated throughout the valley. It wasn’t war, but celebration. The Apache people were honoring the new union. Pablo and Gina held hands before the fire while Cala and Sia placed flower crowns on their heads. The elders chanted ancient songs, and the sparks from the fire seemed to dance to the rhythm of the ceremony.

 Pablo looked at Gina, and they both understood that this moment was bigger than them. It was the merging of two worlds that had once feared each other. When night fell, the sky filled with stars like never before. Pablo looked up and thought of the Apache chief, his words, his promise fulfilled. “Thank you, old friend,” he murmured.

 Gina squeezed his hand, answering wordlessly. Cala played a flute, and its melody echoed through the mountains. It was a new song, yet with ancient roots. It danced beneath the moon, representing the eternal cycle of life, the loss and rebirth of the warrior spirit. The fire crackled, and a spark rose into the sky, disappearing among the stars.

 Gina rested her head on Pablo’s shoulder. “Our town is alive again.” He smiled. “Your father knew it, that’s why he asked me to choose with my heart.” “And what did you choose?” she asked, looking at him tenderly. Pablo stroked her face. “I chose to stay with you, with them, with everything this land represents.”

 Gina closed her eyes, feeling that love and duty had finally merged into one. The wind blew one last time, carrying the echo of a distant voice, the chief’s, offering thanks from beyond. The bonfire illuminated the faces of those present, sealing a story written in fire, blood, and love that transcended generations. On the horizon, the sun rose again, bathing everything in golden light.

Pablo and Gina watched the sunrise hand in hand. There were no words, only the certainty that the spirits had fulfilled their promise and the cycle was finally complete.