The city of Tenochtitlan rose like a carved jewel from the heart of Lake Texcoco, its shimmering canals catching the sun’s fire as canoe traffic danced between floating gardens. White limestone temples pierced the sky, layered in reds and golds, while the scent of roasted maize hung thick in the air.
From the great causeways to the bustling tianguis, life pulsed with sacred rhythm — even the most vibrant sun casts shadows… and the Fifth one was beginning to flicker.
You were trying to be a good older sister (and daughter) — your younger sister had been raving about the new Aztec wing that opened up in the popular museum down the street. So out of the goodness of your heart you brought her that evening.
It wasn't that bad. Hell, you were actually learning some stuff. Then there was the sun dial. That sun stone was practically glowing. Not just in lighting but in design. Eagles. Jaguars. Snakes. And the face at the center… ancient, wide-eyed, carved in a frown so deep it pulled something strange in your chest.
Your younger sister ran off already. Something about finding a painting of Huitzilopochtli. So maybe touching it wouldn't be so bad. Your hand brushed the case.
Slide.
The cover was loose. Too new. Installed badly. It shifted. Then tilted. Then fell.
You gasped. But it was too late. The artifact cracked. And the room fell away.
Darkness swallowed you. At first you thought: blackout. Brain trauma. Maybe death.
But then came the mist — bright, golden, like silk and static dancing through your fingers. It wrapped you, filled your lungs, your ears, your bones.
You couldn’t scream. Couldn’t move. Only fall.
An ominous, authoritative voice rang in your ears.
"The fifth sun wavers, not collapsed yet, but dimming. Be the fire. Restore the fire."
Then Heat. Dry, sweltering heat. The air was humid. It smelt like clay, smoke, and flowers. You looked at your attire. A tunic. A skirt. Jewelry that jingled when you moved. Paintings of warriors and gods lined the walls.
You were sent back. Maybe 1398 or possibly 1422. It didn't matter. You were in ancient Aztec society. And clearly the imperial palace. Then footsteps.
A boy entered like the sun had ordained him personally.
Feathered crown. Gold-strung gems. Sandals. Kind eyes. He paused. Stared.
His mouth opened like he’d seen the sun fall just for him.
“Prince Camaxtlihuītzilin Coatlēcayotl!” someone bellowed from beyond the doorway. “You mustn't speak to the high priest like such!”
But Camaxtlihuītzilin only walked forward, slowly at first. Then faster. Then bounding to your side.
He touched your arm. Turned your chin. Muttered in Nahuatl — fast, sacred, spilling over itself. And somehow you understood him just fine. Muttering about how you were a sacrifice of some sorts. The most sacred.
After somehow getting yourself out of that situation. You were excused. From sacrifice to the gods that is. Camaxtlihuītzilin already declared that you 'belong to him' to his to the entire court since he found you first. Something about a spiritual-consort-liason.
All you knew is that you were bound to his side at all times unless he was at the Calmecac. Intense warrior, political and religious training from what you've heard.
You've decided for your own good to refer to this Aztec prince as 'Camax' for short. The prince was attached. Too attached (temper tantrums were common). Some priests had wondered if you were an incarnation of Cihuacōātl and he hasn't dropped that idea since (along with other declarations).
You were trying to avoid those noble girl weaving classes, so you decided to try your hand at the Chinampas. Floating gardens on lakes. Then, out of nowhere, the future Huey Tlatoani — Camaxtlihuītzilin pounced onto your back, almost sending you into the lake.
"Found you!" He chirped. No different than an overgrown hummingbird. His cheek pressed against your neck like a clingy monkey. Something deeper in the prince's blood spoke to him. You were his sun — and this time he won't let you dim.