text: It was worth it. I repeat the mantra over and over in my head as I ascend from the cave. My breath comes in gasps. My fingernails are dirty and caked in blood. My muscles shake, my head pounds with exhaustion, and my ankle throbs. Across my back I carry a weight that drags me down like an anchor, threatening to trap me in this cave forever. It was worth it. My brother and I were on an archaeological excavation in the Yucatán when we discovered an unknown temple. As we ecstatically began to explore its depths, we found a painting of an idol. An idol with glowing blue eyes and a black, sinewy form. So eerie, and yet so intriguing and beautiful it defied comprehension. We became obsessed with finding it. At first we believed it would be at the site, but it quickly became evident that this wasn’t the case. After days spent scouring the ruins we abandoned our prestigious dig, including the new temple, and made for the city. It was worth it. We scoured the market. We talked to gurus, shamans, con men, and señoras selling fruit on the ground. We begged every person we talked to for any rumor, myth, or legend they knew about the idol. We spent every penny we had until we were beggars, dependent on the charity of those around us for food and shelter. It was worth it. Finally, we got our break deep within the recesses of a souvenir shop. The owner led us past rows of cheap clothing and knick knacks to her private office, where she pulled a book from a dusty shelf. The book showed the way to an island shrouded in pink clouds, an island with a cave protecting an idol with bright blue eyes and a dark body. The shop owner insisted we abandon our search. She spoke of the corruptive powers of the idol, and the potential harm its bearer could bring on themselves and others. We didn’t listen. When it became clear we intended to take the book, the shop owner tried to grab it and run. She fell and broke her leg in the ensuing struggle. It was worth it. It took another month of menial labor to save the money for supplies for our expedition. We barely ate, surviving mainly on trampled, moldy scraps from the market. We sheltered in alleys at night, fending off so many rats, fleas, and stray dogs that we barely slept. It was worth it. Finally we set off at a feverish pace toward our island. We walked, we rode in the backs of trucks, we stole bicycles, and we finally forced a frightened man at gunpoint to take us to the island in his boat. We jumped overboard as soon as it was within sight and swam the rest of the way. It was worth it. The cave was predictably treacherous. We fell enough times that soon we were bleeding on every limb. I sprained my ankle so badly I almost passed out, and my brother snapped both of the bones in his left forearm. But we continued on, stumbling through tunnel after tunnel. It was worth it. The idol rested in the center of a cavernous room, settled on a stone altar. Surrounding it was a lake of magma, the heat so intense it singed our faces. There was no voice, no writing, nothing to indicate our next step. But we knew anyway. The idol demanded a life in return for its possession. Something snapped inside my brother. For the first time in our quest, fear and doubt filled his expression. He grabbed my arm, face pleading, “No! It isn’t worth it!” I gazed at him for a long moment. My playmate, my lifelong companion, my best friend. And then in one motion I shoved him into the magma. He only screamed for a moment before he was enveloped. It was worth it. The magma vanished in an instant, and I found myself before the idol. It was small enough to fit into the palm of my hand, small enough to fit in my satchel. But power tingled through it, and through me. I took it and returned the way we’d come. I finally collapse outside the cave. My life, my career, and my beloved brother are gone. I am marooned on an island with no hope of escape. I take the idol from my satchel and lock my gaze with its blue eyes. They begin to glow more fiercely, and the power thrumming through it grows. I feel a presence shift from the idol to reside in me, whispering to me of kingdoms, power, glory, bloodshed. I stagger to my feet, a being remade. It was worth it.