Chapter 7
The Truth of La Reina
The mystery of 'La Reina' is unveiled: it's not a mythical beast, but their grandmother's pampered cat, freshly groomed. Camilo's heroic vision deflates.
The air, thick with the scent of exhaust fumes and the faint, lingering perfume of yesterday's rain, hung heavy as we finally approached the hallowed gates of "The Pet Palace." My heart, which had been thrumming a heroic ballad against my ribs for the better part of an hour, began to falter, a single, mournful horn blast in the symphony of my anticipation. Juliana, bless her practical soul, was already fumbling in her purse for the necessary payment, her brow furrowed in that way it does when she's calculating the exact number of minutes until we can return to the comforting embrace of our sofa. Negra, however, trotted along with an unwavering enthusiasm that mirrored my own initial fervor. Her tail, a black flag of pure joy, wagged with the rhythm of a thousand marching drums. She, at least, understood the gravity of our mission, the sheer, unadulterated importance of retrieving La Reina.
"Are you sure this is it, Camilo?" Juliana’s voice, a gentle breeze of reason, brushed against my increasingly agitated thoughts. "It looks… less like a dragon's lair and more like a place that sells tiny sweaters for poodles."
I drew myself up, puffing out my chest, a gesture I’d practiced in the mirror that morning, imagining myself standing before a council of kings. "Juliana, my dear sister, appearances can be deceiving. This is merely the outer shell, the unassuming facade that guards the true prize. The ancient texts, which in this case, were Mother's rather cryptic instructions, often speak of such trials. The path to glory is rarely paved with gilded banners and cheering crowds. More often, it is shrouded in the mundane, testing the resolve of those who dare to seek it."
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