Golden Glade first dawn

Mictec watched Atoztli's movements with quiet reverence, her marigold eyes fixed on the raccoon’s crooked claw now resting among the offerings. The shrine seemed to hum faintly, as though acknowledging the priestess’s devotion.

The shrine, with its obsidian core and golden-banded adornments, seemed to pulse faintly in the moonlight, absorbing the weight of Qvasir's offering and words alike.

She stepped forward, her movements careful, reverent, as though not to disturb the fragile balance of the moment. Her marigold eyes traced the etched markings on the bird’s skull, lingering on the intricate patterns and the distinct curl of claw. These offerings were unlike what tradition dictated but to Mictec, it did not matter. Though she had chosen to retake her trial, the others endured enough to not have to take it themselves, the scars they bore enough to prove their merit.

And so, she bowed her head briefly to the shrine before stepping back, her presence radiating a quiet strength, as though the shrine had reaffirmed her purpose.  

Quetzalcoatl, Feathered Serpent, bringer of wisdom,  guide our steps with clarity and grace.  

Huītzilōpōchtli, Sun and warrior, ignite our courage to face the battles ahead.  

Xōchiquetzal, goddess of beauty and renewal, bless us with compassion and the power to create.  

Tezcatlipoca, lord of shadows and truth,  reveal what lies hidden and strengthen our spirits.  

To you, we offer our hearts and walk this sacred path. May your blessings guide us always.

The etheral quality of her voice took her slightly aback, how it blended so much of what she rejected from la madre and respected from la abuela. The path forward never changed but how it was built was dictated by Mictec. So as she turned to address them, she now carried the hunger to conquer.

Each offering is a story, a thread in the web. Your threads are strong. It will not fray.