The rhythmic chant, thick with the scent of copal and something metallic, scraped against Xilotsa’s eardrums. A dull throb pulsed behind her eyes, and the taste of gritty earth coated her tongue. *Last rites? Already?* Her eyelids fluttered open, revealing the blurry, ornate ceiling of a high-vaulted chamber. Figures in feathered robes moved in a solemn procession around a stone slab. She was on the slab. Cold, hard, and unmistakably a sarcophagus lid. A small, smooth stone, jade by its slick feel, rested heavy on her tongue. “The Ancestor will guide her soul to Xibalba,” intoned a voice like grinding stones, close to her ear. Xilotsa’s eyes snapped into focus. A man with a severe face, adorned with dark volcanic glass ear spools and a towering crown of green plumes, leaned over her. His hand, bony and cold, was already reaching for the jade in her mouth. She reacted without thought, a surge of adrenaline ripping through her weakened limbs. She spat. The jade pebble clattered against the stone floor, rolling away with a sharp *clink*. Her arm, surprisingly functional despite the overall malaise, lashed out. A crisp *smack* echoed across the stone as her palm connected with the officiant’s cheek. The man, whose mantle marked him as Itzcoatl, the household's elder, stumbled back with a sharp intake of breath. “What in the name of the Sun-God, Xilotsa! You are dead!” he shrieked, a red mark blooming on his pale skin. Dead? No, not dead. Just… *transmigrated*. The memories, a deluge of a spoiled noblewoman named Xilotsa and the tragic novel *The Eclipse of the Sun-God*, crashed into her mind. She was the villainess, destined to die ignominiously, a pawn in a larger, bloody drama. A pension plan. That was her new life goal. A quiet retirement, far from blood gods and dramatic sacrifices. And to do that, she needed a very strong ally. “Not today, old man,” she rasped, pushing herself up. Her muscles screamed, but a stubborn will, honed in her previous life, propelled her. “Where are the sacrificial dungeons? And be quick about it, unless you wish to join me in Xibalba early.” Itzcoatl, still nursing his cheek, hesitated. “The… the offerings are being prepared for the Chiconahui ceremony, Lady Xilotsa. The Star-Demon ritual is… delicate.” “I’m sure it is,” Xilotsa said, already striding towards the ornate double doors. “Lead the way. And if you attempt to delay me, I’ll have your liver offered to the Jaguar Knights by dawn.” Her voice, though weak, carried an undeniable authority, startling even herself. The sheer audacity of her new persona was invigorating. The priest, pale and trembling, led her through a labyrinth of torch-lit corridors, descending deeper into the earth. The air grew heavy, thick with the smell of damp stone and something else, something metallic and sweet. Distant, guttural chanting vibrated through the very bedrock. They passed frescoes depicting stylized star-demons tearing at human hearts, their jade eyes glowing eerily in the flickering light. Finally, they reached a cavernous hall. A dozen robed figures, lesser acolytes, surrounded a central slab of black volcanic glass, where a terrified, bound man awaited his fate. But her eyes were drawn past them, to a smaller, more intimate horror. In a niche carved into the living rock, a boy no older than ten huddled, naked and bruised, his skin etched with radiant, scarlet runes. He was encased within a lattice of polished jade, thick as a man’s forearm, forming a cage that hummed under dark sorcery. His eyes, enormous and a startling shade of deep violet, remained fixed on the approaching figures with rigid terror. This was Tlanextli, the Star-Demon boy, whose raw power would be harvested in a gruesome ritual. “Stop this abomination,” Xilotsa declared, her voice cutting through the ritualistic drone like a honed edge. She walked directly to the jade cage, ignoring the gasps and stares around her. Itzcoatl rushed forward, spittle flying from his lips. “Lady Xilotsa! You cannot! This is the ancient Rite of the Serpent’s Heart! He is a Star-Demon, a corruption! His blood strengthens our connection to the gods!” Xilotsa ignored him, reaching out a hand. The jade cage thrummed with protective magic, repelling her touch with a faint buzz. She pressed harder, a fierce defiance burning in her eyes. This boy was her ticket to a peaceful life. This boy was her pension plan. She would not let him die. With a low cry, she slammed her fist against the luminescent jade. A crack, thin as a spiderweb, appeared. She hit it again, and again, channeling every ounce of her frustration and desperation into each blow. The cage groaned, and the air crackled. The boy inside flinched, his violet eyes watching her with a mixture of fear and dawning confusion. *CRACK!* The jade splintered, showering the floor with emerald fragments. The boy scrambled back, blinking at the sudden rush of cool air. He looked impossibly small, vulnerable. His shoulders were covered in scars, old and new. Xilotsa dropped to one knee, ignoring the sharp bite of stone against her knees. She pulled a folded piece of cloth from the pouch at her waist, revealing a piece of warm, steaming maize bread. It was a simple offering, a stark contrast to the blood and screaming that permeated this place. “Here,” she said softly, extending the bread. “Eat. You’re free.” Tlanextli stared at the bread, then at her face, his gaze wide and uncomprehending. He’d known only pain and terror in this place. A small, dark-plumed creature, vaguely resembling a winged axolotl, zipped past Xilotsa’s ear, landing with a soft *plop* directly on Tlanextli’s head. Miztli, her loyal companion, chirped, its wide, dark eyes blinking at the startled boy. Tlanextli jumped, a choked sound escaping him, but Miztli merely settled in, nestling into his dark hair. A faint, almost imperceptible tremor ran through the boy’s body. Slowly, tentatively, he reached out a trembling hand, taking the bread from Xilotsa’s palm. His fingers, thin and bruised, brushed hers with barely any pressure. “From this moment, you are my ward, Tlanextli,” Xilotsa declared, her voice ringing with an authority she hoped she possessed. “No one will harm you again.” As she stood, a sudden, searing pain ripped through her chest. A violent cough erupted, harsh and rattling, shaking her entire frame. She brought a hand to her mouth, the cough catching in her throat, leaving a viscous, dark stain on her palm. Black blood. The reality of her borrowed body, its failing systems, hit her with sickening force. She quickly curled her fingers, hiding the evidence from Tlanextli’s searching gaze. “Let us go, boy,” she said, her voice rough, pulling him gently to his feet. “We have much to discuss.” As they ascended from the dungeons, leaving the stunned priests in their wake, Itzcoatl watched them go, a venomous whisper escaping his lips. “Eight years, Xilotsa. Eight years you have stolen from the gods. And now, the true count begins.”

The Jade Cage and the Maize Bread