The Gods

“Do you not know, my ancient friend? The gods have, more often than not, been cruel to us, yet there are times when they suddenly appear, weaving a miracle, and grant us one more chance at life.”

This old manta ray, with a deep, ancient scar beneath his right wing, had spread his broad fins wide, gliding through the water when he encountered one of his close friends. Filled with the excitement of this special day, he explained to him the story he was about to share with the whole school.

Each year, manta herds gather where the ocean currents converge. The mantas, who have not seen each other for months, crown their joyful reunion with a ritual, and the first word is always given to the eldest of the herd. This year, the eldest was Atlcemican.

His mother had given him his name on the day he ventured into the deep waters alone for the first time to hunt, and miraculously escaped the sharp aim of a harpoon. The scar beneath his right wing was the keepsake of that day. In the language of the Inca gods, his name meant “Infinite Water / Deep Water.” Atlcemican was one of the widest-winged manta rays in the tropical waters of Mexico, and one of the rare creatures who had encountered the gods many times and been spared their wrath.

As he swam alongside his friend, following the current, he silently repeated these sacred memories to himself, gathering courage before making his speech. It was a calm, stormless day; today, the gods were not cruel. The ocean stretched before them in all its splendor. A few meters above, at the surface, the dancing light of the sun fractured among the waves, only to fade before reaching the depths, creating endless shades of blue.

Herds of fish glided past in graceful dances, and the depths remained still. They spent the journey alternately chatting and silently gazing at this unique scenery until they saw the school.

When the school appeared on the horizon, Atlcemican felt the same thrill he had felt for years, the same rush of joy. This sight was too magnificent to be cherished by him alone. Hundreds of manta rays had traveled all this way to reunite at this time of year, forming a massive gathering in the middle of the ocean, spanning meters upon meters in width.

It was a sacred day!

It felt like only yesterday that he had come to the school gathering for the first time, sheltered under his mother’s wings. Hundreds of giant mantas had come together, joining in a wide, whirlpool-like circle, and all listened to Baba Varga—the oldest manta—speak, passing down the sacred teachings. This was an important meeting where they renewed their faith and introduced the new members of the school. Advice was given, and, if they were fortunate, they would be blessed by a visit from the gods. Atlcemican had once witnessed such a visit. Three gods had appeared beneath the waves, joining the circle of the herd and moving in perfect harmony with them for a long time.

The gods could live both beneath the waters and upon the surface. Their long, slender bodies had limbs branching out like the arms of a starfish, enabling their movement. Some even wore crowns of drifting, seaweed-like colors upon their heads. On land, they walked on two of their limbs, yet in the water, they swam with skill. Some were gentle and calm; others were merciless and aggressive. But all were rulers. All were sacred. When Atlcemican was a young manta, he had barely escaped the harpoon of a god who sought to hunt him, yet years later, another god deemed him worthy of a second chance at life.

The existence of the gods was a belief passed down through generations for centuries.

Over time, they had grown more certain of their presence and even had the chance to make contact with them. No meeting was ever by chance; after each encounter, miracles—or sometimes disasters—would follow.

In the year the gods came to bless their herd, the number of calves had increased, their hunts had been bountiful, and accidents and deaths had even lessened. His mother had told this story perhaps ten, perhaps hundreds of times, to every manta from other schools she met. It was from his mother that Atlcemican had learned to love the gods. Otherwise, how could he have survived to this age?

This was why he was excited. Perhaps the gods would come to hear his story and bless the herd once more. After all, on the day they tested his faith, the gods had answered him—they had chosen to help him.

If such a miracle were to happen, his name would live on forever, and perhaps even a cure would be found for the species that had in recent years been slaughtered mercilessly, and for the ocean itself, where each day it became harder to breathe.

Today was his day! He surged ahead, leaving his friend behind, and glided between the hundreds of wings—none smaller than five meters wide—towards the center of the herd. His own wingspan was nearly ten meters. As he approached, the mantas who saw him from afar parted to make way, brushing his wings gently in a gesture of respect.

Atlcemican looked upon the great manta whirlpool stretching from the depths to the surface, enclosing them like a wall, and began to speak.

“As in every year, this year too, our herds are here in all its glory. For millions of years, without straying from the path of our ancestors, we have carried on our tradition.We have braved storms and wars, hunger and countless other perils. And now, once more, welcome, my brothers!” he called out.

At these words, some of the mantas within the herd darted quickly to the surface, leaping skyward to show their joy.

Just as he had planned—and as he had once heard from his own elders—Atlcemican continued,“And I pray the gods will bless our hunts, our homes, and our lives again this year! We have endured hard years, my brothers, and I know the times are growing ever harsher. Yet our kind is the one to which the gods have given the most care, the one whose splendor they have never withheld. We are the silent wings of the night, the largest birds of the ocean. We have ruled these waters for thousands of years, the noblest of the manta race. And so we must also be aware of our duty to glorify the gods.”

His own words swept him away, and his heart began to pound. He longed for the crowd around him to feel the same. And so, as he spoke, he began tracing circles within the whirlpool.

“Remember the legend of the sea stars! Thousands of them were caught in the gods’ cruel storm, cast ashore upon the sands of a desolate island, and brought to the very brink of extinction. Yet the gods did not turn a blind eye. For among them were sea stars that still had to live, still had to multiply. And so, some of the sea stars were gathered by the gods themselves and returned to the ocean.”

Atlcemican did not pause to gauge the crowd’s reaction—he surrendered himself to the fervor of his speech.

“Remember the lanternfish that rose to the surface in hope of seeing the gods! It knew it could not withstand the pressure, yet it dared to leave its own habitat. That day, the gods waited for it in the sea to greet it. They saw the sacrifice it made and stayed by its side until its final flick of the fin!”

He was on the verge of reaching the peak of his fervor. Now it was time for his own story.

But from within the crowd, a voice cut through his words.“What of the species they have killed and destroyed? What of my mother and father, lost in the endless nets? Why do the gods not protect us from disasters?”

Atlcemican was calm. The voice was surely that of a young manta. In time, it would learn.

He stopped in the very center of the circling mantas around him, wings still, and with eyes closed, replied,“The ways of the gods are beyond our understanding, young manta. Yet I have no doubt they keep a balance, and that they wish the best for us.The god who saved me a few years ago came out of the emptiness to the shore where I had stranded. With all its strength, it carried me back to the ocean. And yet, I had succumbed to the pain of losing my mate and had decided to leave this life.”

He felt the gazes of the mantas upon him after this confession. In truth, this was not how he had intended to tell the story, but he had been carried away by his passion. From this point on, there was no way to elevate himself in their eyes—suicide was not looked upon kindly. But instead, he could counsel them to find peace in stillness, and solace in absolute acceptance.

“The gods have purposes and intellects far greater than ours. Perhaps the day we truly understand what they desire will be the day we stop seeing their actions as punishment and suffering. But for today, what we must do is accept in calm and never doubt their holiness.”

The young manta’s voice rose again.“I will not accept it! I will not stand by, blind as you are, while they condemn us to death! A god is a savior—what about these merciless beings makes them gods?”

His words echoed among the mantas, swelling into a murmuring, chilling tide of doubt.

Atlcemican, as if seeking strength, searched the noisy crowd for his friend, but found no familiar face. The gathering was over—at least the part where he was to speak had ended. Sadly, the gods had not blessed his speech, nor had they sent him even the smallest sign of support against this undeserved challenge.

In that moment, he understood—this must be a trial, one he was meant to endure. Atlcemican would have to prove, no matter the cost, that he had devoted himself to this path. Who knew—perhaps by doing so he could renew the faith of the mantas, and the gods would once again send their miracles.

“I will prove it!” he said. His voice did not come out as strong as he wished, but the words caught the attention of a few nearby mantas. They were the kind who were eager to watch such a rise turn into frenzy. He would show everyone that his words were no empty promise.

Then, with a louder voice, he cried, “I will prove it!” and swiftly swam through the suddenly silent crowd, heading toward the open sea. He dared not look back, fearing his courage would falter if he did.

Yes, he longed to prove it—but how? To put his life in danger might truly be the end of him this time. Still, the manta race abandoning the gods was a far graver matter than his own life.

At that moment, he sensed the presence of someone behind him. Thinking it was his friend, he turned, but saw a manta he had never met before—middle-aged, but clearly a member of the herd.

“So, you wish to prove it?” the manta asked.Atlcemican, though he had no plan yet, wanted to make it clear there would be no turning back. “Yes,” he answered.“Would you mind if I came with you?” the manta asked. Atlcemican, surprised, replied, “What I’m going to do could be dangerous, and I wouldn’t want you to get hurt.”

It was clear this manta was firm in his decision. “No matter. I am a lone manta, with no one to look for me or call my name. Perhaps a miracle will happen, and the gods will come to save us. Then I would be your witness.”

And so, the two mantas swam for a long time through the boundless blue of the ocean. They left behind coral reefs and schools of fish. As the waters they knew faded behind them, Atlcemican glanced at his companion without showing it—he swam at his side with steady, confident strokes. Atlcemican wanted to question his decision once more, yet at the same time, he feared losing his companion so much that he kept silent.

When hunger struck, night had already fallen. As they surfaced to feed, Atlcemican looked up at the magnificent sky strewn with stars and smiled. Turning to the manta beside him, he said, “Isn’t this alone enough to renew your faith?” He felt the deep awe of sharing such a sight with his fellow traveler.

The next day, with the coming of daylight, they continued on their way.

When they encountered the humpback whales, they had been swimming without rest for more than a day. The whales warned both mantas of the storm and the hunting dangers that lay ahead.

It was then that Atlcemican understood the path fate had drawn for him. Concerned now for truly endangering his companion, he said, “My path is clear now, dear friend. But it is a dangerous way—I suggest you turn back. If fortune smiles upon me, I will return to you in the end with a miracle, and then we shall celebrate together.”

The manta said, “I did not accompany you because it was safe, dear friend. I did it because I believed in the strength of your heart. If I were to turn back now, what meaning would my faith have?”

Feeling the strength of his companion behind him, Atlcemican set off toward the storm. The ocean had now turned into a hushed roar and a threatening shade of blue. Before long, the water began to sway, and the turbulence tossed them about. Fighting against the great waves was pointless—matching their rhythm was the most sensible way to survive the storm.

After about an hour of struggle, both Atlcemican and his companion, exhausted, decided to stop for a while to rest. “I think we’ve passed our first trial, my friend,” the manta said.

Atlcemican was tired as well. To give his companion’s heart some peace, he repeated the words his mother had often told him: “Every storm reminds us that life itself is a miracle.” Then they began to search for a place to rest.

The two manta rays stopped at a coral reef that had not yet been scorched by the warming sea and still held its vibrancy. While they rested, they encountered a swarm of crabs. Sadly, many had lost legs, their shells damaged. As they rushed past, Atlcemican asked one in sorrow, “Why are you fleeing?” The crab, filled with fear and panic, cried, “Get away, friend! Ahead there’s a great net. They’re scraping the ocean floor. Leave at once!”

Atlcemican knew this was the chance he had been seeking. He cast a silent glance at his companion. This could just as easily be a suicide mission. As they watched the swarm pass before them, they tried to picture the face of terror—hundreds, perhaps thousands of crabs scrambling over one another, some leaping ahead to gain distance, creating a sandstorm at the bottom of the sea.

When all grew quiet again, Atlcemican turned to his companion. “Dear friend, are you still determined to come with me?” He was asking himself the same question. There was no turning back now. But perhaps this was the only path that could summon a miracle.

The manta touched Atlcemican’s fin. “I’m ready, Atlcemican!” His belief in him became a branch Atlcemican could cling to. Perhaps the gods had given him this companion so that he might have the strength to walk the path.

And so, the two mantas set off, following the path the crabs had just taken. This part of the ocean was not too deep, and as they passed through increasingly barren areas—devastated by the deadly blows of ships—Atlcemican was filled with sorrow and dread. The remains of dried, colorless coral, and even ghostly remnants of once-living creatures, had turned the place into a graveyard.

Before long, the distant sound of a ship reached him, and adrenaline surged through his body. His companion’s face bore the same expression as his—courage resisting fear. “When the net comes, we must focus on surviving, dear friend. Only then can we hope to reach the gods.” His companion silently agreed, as the sound grew louder.

Soon, they began to meet herds of fish swimming desperately toward them, fighting with all their strength to escape. Watching in horror and astonishment, they saw a dark mass appear on the blue horizon. To the unknowing, it might have looked like a wave or a cloud of sand—but the cries and the roar of the engine carried with them the death and fear entangled in the nets.

With the force of the collision, Atlcemican and his companion lost consciousness. Yet, in the moment they felt they could no longer breathe, a desperate urge pulled them back to life.

They found themselves among thousands of other creatures, spread out on a great metal surface. The gods were casting some back into the water, ignoring or separating others. Atlcemican was so large that when he thrashed, he quickly drew all attention to himself. Now the gods gathered around him, studying him. Atlcemican cried out, telling them that the ocean, his school, and its creatures needed them. With all the breath his gills could give, he offered them prayers full of gratitude.

Upon this, the gods withdrew, only to return some time later with hooked chains in their hands.They hung Atlcemican by both wings with these chains and stretched him against an iron pole.His beloved companion, the stingray, had vanished from sight by then.

Atlcemican thought, perhaps they had returned him to the water.As he took his final breath, he closed his eyes in peace, knowing that he had tried to reach the gods for the sake of his people and all sea creatures.

But then, a miracle happened—yes, indeed.Atlcemican opened his eyes once again, in a new body.

Years passed. He grew, and like so many others, he adapted to the order of the world, carrying on with life. Yet fate had a plan for him, and he first understood it at the age of seventeen, when he went swimming in the very ocean where, long ago, he had once beat his wings.

It was late summer, a rainy day. There was no storm, yet the clouds were black as night.A miracle occurred—one granted to no human before—and as Atlcemican swam, a lightning bolt struck his back.The lightning did not kill him, but neither would he ever be the same again. For the lightning, leaving his body unharmed, had ignited a transformation within his mind.

At first, he thought he was losing his sanity, doubting his very existence.In a rush of adrenaline and fear, he swam without caring where he was headed.As he drifted farther from shore, it was as if all his memories were injected into his brain at once.For a moment, he thought he had died—yet he was very much alive.

In these memories that flooded his mind, he longed to dive deep like the stingray that had once filled his thoughts, to leap above the waves, to swim by beating his wings.For the first time, he shared the desires, passions, and fears of such a creature.He was seeing himself through its eyes, as the past and the present merged into one.

Then, suddenly, it all ceased.The water stilled.Time stood still.His soul and mind were at peace.And there, in the middle of the ocean, with rain falling upon his face, Atlcemican knew—at that moment—he had reached the god.