"Some debts are remembered not by the living, but by the smoke that once clung to their skin."
—Whisper of the Waters
The lake is still. Xarátenga remains beside them, her presence heavy with unspoken mourning.
In the reflection, they witness it:
A dying woman—blood on her hands, obsidian in her belly.
A child inside her, barely clinging to warmth.
Outside, raiders chant and scatter.
Within, a prayer to the moonlit goddess of returning waters.
she takes an obsidian knife to her throat, offering up her last breath as sacrifice to Xarátenga.
In her realm, Xarátenga receives her soul as tribute. "This child hasn't even been born yet and he's already experienced such a cruel binding to fate. The more I study this soul the more sure I am. His destiny is tied to mine."
She reached out with her hand towards the waters of the lake under the moon. A scene appears of a dying child in his mothers cut open stomach. She gives warmth to the soul to replenish it just enough for the soul to let out a wail.
It is the child's cry—a single note of desperate will, torn from silence, that pulses through realms.
The mothers soul in the realm of Xarátenga is faced with a choice. Bathe in the waters of her lake and fulfill her cycle. Or take on the form of a hummingbird and take a chance on destiny. Xarátenga says "If you're lucky a wandering god will take pity on you and grant your wish for the child."
Without hesitation the mother asks to be turned into a hummingbird.
Appearing once again on the mortal realm. Her rapidly beating wings keeping her afloat. She zigzags like a ceremonial dance outside her tent.
A ripple moves through the sky.
And he arrives.
Tezcatlipoca steps from nothing. From shadow, smoke, memory, inevitability.
The obsidian god kneels beside the child's still form. No emotion. Only thought.
"This was not meant to survive," he says.
He places a sliver of black mirror over the baby's tiny chest.
"This soul… is interesting" afterwards he starts grumbling about how his days of peace will most likely come to an end after this.
He breathes life into the child with a long sigh.
In the memory, the child gasps—smoke departs from the tent like a breeze carrying it on the winds back.
The child lays there crying with no one around.
A flutter.
A hummingbird hovers outside the tent.
The mother's soul, woven into wings of sorrow and starlight, remains nearby.
Tezcatlipoca leaves the village behind, as he passes the fires. They smolder out and turn into billowing smoke. The hummingbird follows along, past the outskirts of the ruined village.
Tezcatlipoca turns, unprovoked.
"You owe me a soul for the one I returned."
"But you are dead. You have no more to give."
"Then serve. Become one of my shadows."
She does not resist.
She folds her wings and descends.
The feathers fall first—then the smoke rises from her skin.
Bone weaves through the mist.
A new form, feminine but fierce, forms from her sacrifice.
Her eyes dim, but they do not close.
She becomes one of the Cihuateteo—servants of Tezcatlipoca, bound to wander where blood once flowed.
A little while after, drumbeats are heard. The sound of the Huehuetl sound with a thunderous boom, like the earth trembling in bloodlust. The Teponatzli accompany them, a message of triumph sounding through the once battlefield. Drowning out the cries of the child. A swarm of hummingbirds appeared from the sky, behind them the sun. Bringing with them a new day. They descended upon the battlefield, gathering together to form a humanoid silhouette. The hummingbirds dispersed and gathered like an army awaiting orders. In neat rows hovering in the air.
The general whose orders they were waiting for stood in place of the silhouette. A loud thunderous boom from the Huehuetl was heard, and the sun god Huitzilopochtli made his appearance. For a moment silence, then a babies cries were heard. Huitzilopochtli turned to look in the direction of the wailing. He turned to The Tonatiuhichan and proclaimed: "Gather up the souls, I'll go see what unfortunate soul is making all that noise." His voice was quiet, yet charged like a blaze ready to burn in an instant.
He entered the only tent remaining, and saw the gruesome sight. Yet it didn't move him at all, he had grown accustomed to this type of scene. What he did find frightening was the blood soaked baby, bawling for a mother that would never be able to comfort her son. He picks up the baby and as quietly as he can, offers his condolences. "Child I don't know if to say you have extraordinarily luck. Or to say you were born under the smoke of Tezcatlipoca… oh no!" He said, looking at the baby's chest.
He hurriedly took some scraps laying around, to form a makeshift Ichcaxochitl (a baby sling). He carried him outside and said to his new warrior souls as quietly as he could muster: "take this baby to a nearby settlement, this is your first task"
The last thing they saw, was those new hummingbirds flying away with a baby in a sling.
The immersion ends and they are back on shore. Xarátenga's face unreadable but there's a mournful look in her eyes if you were to look closely enough.
After coming back to shore the Ahuizotl seems to have perceived something. A whimper escapes his snout, he lays on the beach. A single tear shed.
They stare at her waiting for an explanation. She finally breaks the silence.
"I'm sure you're wondering what the need was for you to see this vision"
Their curiosity piqued, they nodded their heads.
"It was a tragic story, sure but I'm not sure if I understand the message it's telling me. My lady do you mind explaining to this ignorant soul"
She stares deeply into his eyes, they change between silver and a deep blue, sometimes appearing purple.
"It seems like your counterpart has grasped the situation, but I will explain to you."
"That was your story of origin."
Cenotlatlacatl's knees started trembling, his legs gave in.
Cenotlatlacatl, now on his knees at the water's edge, trembles.
"That was me."
He sees her face—her Cihuateteo form—and behind it, the woman he never knew.
His mother.
The one who gave herself in silence.
The one who never touched his hand again.
And still he lived.
And still he raged.