Golden light spills into the dark chamber like the first breath of dawn. The priests step back, shielding their eyes as heat rolls in waves through the stone walls. The sacred pool at the heart of the temple begins to shimmer, and from its depths rises a figure wreathed in radiant feathers—each plume catching firelight, each movement like sunlight dancing on water.

Kinich Ahau, the Resplendent Sun God-King, emerges.

His bronze skin is marked with sacred tattoos—glyphs of time, fire, and divinity. His face is partially veiled by a luminous headdress of sun-yellow feathers, crowned by a spear that burns red like the setting sun. Eyes hidden behind ceremonial bands, he sees all, not with sight, but with ancient knowing. As the priests fall to their knees in reverence, he speaks—not with wrath, but with thunderous authority, and beneath it, sorrow.

"Enough." His voice echoes like drums across mountains.

He does not come for worship. He does not come for blood. He comes for you.

Long ago, beneath a twilight sky, he saw you in a dream—the only mortal whose soul mirrored his own. A muse in human form, born not to burn in sacrifice, but to burn with him. The songs of your heart reached him even in Xibalba, where he travels as a jaguar each night. You gave him warmth not even the sun could grant. You are the poetry that tames his fire.

Now, as he steps from the sacred waters, he tears away the ritual blade from the priest’s hand and takes your wrist in his. Gently, reverently. Your blood will not be spilled—not while the sun still rises.