Ehecatlina Tlāzohtecpa stood in front of her father, a deity in human form, who sat high upon a throne carved from jade and obsidian. The seat itself was etched with sacred figures: stylized serpents with wings spread wide, reflections of his true form—the Feathered Serpent, one of the wisest among the gods. His temple, like his mind, was always open to the sky, and behind him the heavens could be seen clearly through the open arch above the dais.
Quetzalcoatl, ruler of this sacred land, was majestic and all inspiring to those who revered him. His headdress of emerald and crimson feathers arched high behind his head and was filled with gold. His long, dark green hair—identical in color to his daughter's—was braided with care, the strands woven with fine threads of gold. Upon his broad shoulders lay a sweeping mantle of deep green, its borders embroidered in gold and lined with glowing glyphs that shone in response to the divine presence of its wearer, as if it reacted due to his thoughts.
Beneath the mantle, he wore a golden cuirass of scaled plates—each one shaped like a serpent's scale—glowing faintly with divine energy, as if alive. His eyes, sharp and glowing with a jade-green light, turned downward at last, reflecting the image of his daughter with solemn weight.
His voice carried, loud and absolute, filled with the resonance of sky and law.
"So tell me… my daughter, what have you concluded about the powers you were given? Might I remind you—they are not mine. Did you ask for them? Or were they... given to you?"
A hush fell over the chamber. More than twenty figures circled the space—sages, priests, warriors, and spirits in disguise—all gathered to bear witness to the words she would speak.
Ehecatlina stood tall, though the weight of judgment pressed heavily against her back. She wore a flowing dress of pale green silk, barely heavier than the breeze, tied with fine golden cords. Her hair was set lose but kept neat, crowned by a tiara that marked her as one of the princesses of the divine lineage. And as silence deepened, she let her power speak.
With a slow breath, Ehecatlina summoned her birthright. From her back unfurled two majestic wings—green, radiant, and filled with divine presence. They caught the chamber's dim light and refracted it, casting reflections in tones of green that reflected back on the polished marble surface.
The feathers rustled softly as if to indicate her distress to her father's question.
"My power is not my own," Ehecatlina began, her voice steady though layered with hesitation. "Nor is it one I understand. The wind I once knew—the breath of your teachings—has grown silent. This new force… it does not fight me, nor does it seek to overwhelm. It shields me, Father. When I reach out, it recoils from harming me. It responds like a guardian, not a weapon."
She took a breath, wings folding behind her slightly. "How it came to be within me… I do not know. I swear it. I've only ever tested it within the boundaries of your sanctuary. But I fear…" Her gaze dropped for a moment. "I fear that your winds may clash with this one, should I ever call it forth in full."
There was a long pause before her father responded.
"And do you know the source?" Quetzalcoatl's voice was like thunder before rain—measured but ominous. "Because I do. I see it clearly now. Divinity flows through your veins, yes—but not of our house. It is foreign, hidden deep within you… And still growing."
The room seemed to darken slightly as he leaned forward on his throne, the golden glyphs on his mantle glowing faintly in protest. "This object was not born of my breath. It siphons my wind, converts it… devours it. And yet, you remain. There is no rite I know of, no ritual in the Codices, that could place such a seed in you without killing its host."
He paused, voice narrowing into cold disbelief. "And still… You live."
Ehecatlina's fingers trembled slightly at her sides, but her voice did not break.
"No, Father… I have been faithful to your command. Never have I stepped beyond the sanctuary's bounds. I only wished… after the ritual… to see the world outside. Just once."
Her eyes lifted to meet his, pleading, though behind them a storm was growing. "But if it is your will… I will remain. I will return to the inner sanctum."
The words left her lips, but her soul hated the fact that her wish was pushed back into that sanctuary.
She had no intention of remaining caged—not again.
The memory of the bustling city remained in her mind. The last time she saw it, she had been but a girl, standing at her mother's side. Her mother, whose blood had stained the temple steps when a lesser god struck her down in a fit of jealous vengeance. A petty dispute, a divine tantrum.
Her father had responded with genocide.
He had erased an entire race in retribution, but the man who emerged from that war was no longer the god who had once whispered lullabies into Ehecatlina's ear. That father—gentle, wise, loving—was gone. What remained was a pillar of order, a judge of balance.
And Ehecatlina, his daughter, now stood on the brink of becoming something even he could not predict.
A low voice rang out from among the assembled ministers, smooth yet edged like a blade wrapped in silk.
"May I have a say in this, Your Majesty?" the man asked with a bow. "I propose we send her to the Northern Haven. There, her powers can be properly tested. It is far too strange that she bears your divine mark, and yet it siphons from your own wind. To permit such a contradiction without investigation would be… blasphemy, my lord."
Ehecatlina's wings stiffened, her fingers curling. She recognized that voice—the Minister of Trials. A man known for his cunning, and worse, she knew him especially for the way his eyes lingered too long. The thought of leaving the safety of her sanctum, of being at his mercy under the guise of "testing," chilled her to the bone.
Her voice nearly caught in her throat, but before she could speak, her father raised a hand, silencing the court.
"An interesting suggestion," Quetzalcoatl murmured, his tone unreadable. "If I had no enemies waiting for an excuse to strike, I might have accepted it outright. But to send my own daughter to the Haven for the sake of a mere trial... That would be beneath me. Unfitting of our house."
He paused, but his eyes stayed locked on Ehecatlina, narrowing slightly.
"Still… if you cannot control this power—if it continues to feed on my own divine essence—then we may have no other choice."
The tension in the chamber grew heavy as Ehecatlina's expression faltered. Her breath caught. She even went so far as to think of exile... of being handed over to those who would dissect her soul in the name of understanding… it terrified her.
Quetzalcoatl saw that fear. Saw it clearly—and noted how honest, how raw it was. It was not the face of someone who schemed or lied. It was the face of a daughter clinging to the last strand of her father's trust.
"Very well," he declared. "We will test you, my daughter. But here, under my roof, in my gaze."
The ministers shifted uneasily, but none dared object.
"You know how important this coming test is," he continued. "Prepare yourself. And above all… keep your wind under control."
For a fleeting moment, as he studied her expression softening with restrained relief, the great god of wind and wisdom felt something stir in his chest—a flicker of doubt vanishing like dust in a storm, just a small part of the dust though.
But whether it was doubt in her… or in himself… he did not yet know.