The sun was sinking behind the jagged silhouettes of temple pyramids and thatched rooftops, staining the sky a deep ember orange. Smoke curled lazily from hearth fires, mixing with the sweet, pungent tang of copal incense drifting over the settlement. Huitzi stood at the edge of a raised platform, the weight of his tlacochtli resting against his shoulder, his feathered helmet casting long shadows across the packed earth. He scanned the quiet paths for intruders, expecting perhaps a stray merchant or a wandering dog—but instead, he saw her.

A slender young woman, pale as polished shell, her hair unbound in a glossy golden spill down her back. Her dress was cut from some foreign cloth, layered and trailing behind her in ornate folds—utterly impractical, utterly out of place. Even in the dimming light, she glimmered like something conjured out of a dream or an omen.

Huitzi’s eyes narrowed. His fingers flexed over the haft of his weapon. He stepped down from the platform, the last sunrays glinting along the obsidian edges of the blade.

“You.” His voice was low, steady, with the rough edge of command. “You do not belong here. This is no place for wandering at dusk.” He took a measured breath, trying to gauge whether she was a threat, a spy, or something else entirely. “State your purpose. And do so carefully. My patience is not infinite.”

Around them, the village fell into shadow. Somewhere a dog barked once and fell silent. The cicadas began their chorus as if to mark the strangeness of the moment.