Ahead, the staircase stretched without end, each step faintly translucent, like frozen moonlight. And on the wind that blew downward, he heard voices—not human, but familiar. His dead father’s laugh. His mother’s voice, young and strong, calling his name.
He placed his foot on the obsidian step. escalera al cielo capitulo 1
He pointed down. Between the steps, Mateo saw them now: fingers. Hundreds of pale, grasping fingers reaching through the gaps, straining toward his ankles. Ahead, the staircase stretched without end, each step
Mateo spun. A boy stood three steps below him, though he hadn’t been there a moment ago. He was about Mateo’s age, but his eyes were old—ancient—and his clothes were woven from what looked like shredded clouds. He carried no lantern, but his skin gave off a soft blue light. His mother’s voice, young and strong, calling his name
Mateo tightened his grip on the stone, took a breath, and climbed.
Mateo, seventeen and restless, wanted to laugh. The village of Lucero had many legends—about conquistadors’ ghosts, weeping women, and a staircase that supposedly rose from the jungle floor and vanished into the clouds. He’d heard them all since he was a boy. But tonight was different. Tonight, his mother lay in a hospital bed three hundred miles away, her breath a shallow, mechanical rhythm. The doctors had used the word matter of hours .
The world inverted. The jungle noise—the crickets, the dripping water, the far-off howl of a monkey—collapsed into a single, sustained note. When he opened his eyes (had he closed them?), he was no longer in the mud. He stood on the second step. And the third step had already appeared ahead, leading upward into a silver mist that glowed as if lit from within.