The Training Years
The academy in Tenochtitlan thrived with the intensity of purpose. Few women were chosen to walk the path of priesthood, fewer still would dare rise to such prominence. Xochitl had arrived there at six, clutching a child’s blade—polished obsidian set into macuahuitl wood by her silversmith father. Her mother, a healer, had wept that night, though her tears were quiet.
"Destiny," her father had whispered, planting a kiss on her head as he knelt to her level. His hands, burned and calloused from years of crafting metal and stone, lingered on her shoulders. "The gods shine upon you, Little Star. Remember that even the gods are reflected in mirrors." He had handed her a jaguar-tooth pendant on a simple cord—a protection charm—and pushed her forward toward the city gates where emissaries of the priesthood waited. Her world had quickly turned into one that spun on war cries, roaring fires, and ritual battles.
Yet as she aged, the lessons those early priests fed her no longer quenched her internal questions. Why mirrors? What did they hold beyond reflection—a mere trick of water or polished stone?
The Day of Deliverance
Today, atop the pyramid, she could feel her father’s hands once more, as if the gods themselves whispered through memory. Her pendant—still strung across her collarbone like a lifeline—burned hot against her skin. Perhaps it was ceremonial in some way she couldn’t yet fully grasp. Or perhaps it radiated truth.
“Xochitl,” whispered Ehecatl at her side. The young priest had been her closest companion since childhood, though his hair was bound in sky-blue ribbons characteristic of acolytes. He placed a steadying hand on her wrist. His words dropped only for her ears amidst the chants. “Question not, or our people suffer drought. You feel doubt because you bear their burden.”
Eyes wild like the jaguar-emblem of her pendant, she released every ounce of uncertainty from her voice while shouting back, "Or perhaps lies feed us when priests offer half-truths pretending blood seals harmony."
The crowd gaped audibly. Even Ehecatl reeled, staggering a pace backward. The High Priest’s authority finally turned on her, a face twisting into something less immortal… and more acutely frail.
The Source...check out the great article that inspired this amazing short story: How to Improve Your Relationship with Yourself: A Guide
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