The jade-weaver cannon shrieked, a sound of tearing light. Teozcal, slumped against her spine, felt the last embers of his solar tether sputter into ash. His body felt like stone, heavy and useless. But his eyes, wide with sudden, terrifying clarity, saw Yaotl’s twisted grin, the weapon’s glowing muzzle aimed not at the colossal dragon beneath them, but at the woman he held. At *her* head.
Time became a stretched cord. There was no thought, no plan, only instinct. A wild rush of panic surged through his marrow. He shoved himself off the beast's feathered ridge without a glimmer of solar draft to break his fall. He pitched forward in a ragged heave of bare muscle and bone.
His body, propelled by a will stronger than any magic, twisted in the air. He rotated, flinging his ribs across her path with arms spread wide to catch the blast. The flash was blinding, a concentrated bolt of emerald fire that devoured all other colors. It slammed into him with the force of a falling meteor. He felt an agonizing, all-consuming heat, not the comforting warmth of his own sun-magic, but a searing, external inferno that ripped through flesh and bone.
A raw shriek cut through the crackle of burning cloth. Then the world exploded into static, a white-hot nothingness. His torso slammed backward off the serpent, tumbling limp across the platform. He skidded across the flagstones in a spray of loose masonry, smoking and inert. A dark, ugly burn marred his chest, a hole blasted clean through his tunic and into the skin beneath. His eyes stared blankly at the fading, corona-ringed sun, then lost their light, turning glassy and still.
She gasped, the cry tearing hoarse and wet from her ribs. She slid down the beast's flanks, landing hard on the pavers beside his prone form. Her hands, trembling, hovered over the gaping wound, not daring to touch. His skin was cold. His breathing, absent. The vibrant light in his eyes, gone.
“No,” she whispered, choked on dust. “No, no, NO!”
Her gaze snapped to Yaotl, still standing at the rim of the great hole, the smoking cannon still clutched in his hands, a triumphant, deranged smile twisting his lips. The sight of him, smug in his victory, ignited a cold, terrifying fury in her chest. It wasn’t just grief; it was a primal, all-consuming rage that dwarfed even the solar dragon beside her.
“YOU!” she roared, her voice echoing through the ruined sanctuary, shaking the very stones. Her knuckles tightened, spitting sparks of erratic amber. “You did this! You killed him!”
The winged beast snarled at the scent of her venom, swinging its crested snout toward Yaotl. Its hide rippled with the cold, bottomless pitch of the abyss.
“Swallow him,” she rasped, pointing toward the precipice. “Strip the foul rot from his bones. Leave nothing.”
The great serpent lunged, an ear-splitting bellow flattening the dust. Talons scraped stone as the monster bounded across the terrace. Its vast maw, lined with teeth like obsidian shards, opened wide. But it wasn’t a bite it was after. A vortex of white-hot corona and abyssal night vomited from its gullet, an unraveling vortex that devoured shade and stone alike.
Yaotl’s triumphant sneer vanished, replaced by an expression of absolute, soul-shattering terror. He dropped the cannon, clawing up a feeble curtain of dusk that dissolved under the beast's celestial fury. The blast engulfed him instantly, drowning his shriek in a crackling void that erased flesh and bone. His body began to unravel, not burning, but simply ceasing to be, consumed by the absolute annihilation of the Sun-Eater’s power. He was gone, leaving nothing but a lingering scent of ozone and the silence of a void.
She turned her back on the empty rim, eyes locked on Teozcal. The solar eclipse was nearing its end, the last sliver of the sun’s corona blazing like a celestial ring in the sky. It was a rare, sacred moment, a unique confluence of light and shadow, and she knew, instinctively, what she had to do.
She knelt beside Teozcal, pressing both hands over the charred wound on his chest. Her gaze held nothing now but stubborn terror. “You absolute fool,” she choked out, tears streaming down her face. “You stupid, kind-hearted idiot. You can’t leave me now. Not after all this.”
She drew breath, channeling the leftover solar flare that thrummed through the beast's tether, seizing the ring of solar flame overhead. She guided the white fire through her marrow into the charred wreck under her palms. Her body trembled, a raw conduit for such immense power, but she didn’t falter.
A brilliant, golden light, the color of a newborn sun, erupted from her hands, pouring into Teozcal’s chest. The brilliance flooded into the black crater of his chest, forcing the creeping chill out through his pores. Slowly, agonizingly, the charred edges of his wound began to knit. His skin, once cold, warmed. A faint, almost imperceptible tremor ran through his body. His lips, previously blue-tinged, softened.
Then, with a sudden, ragged gasp, Teozcal’s eyes flew open. They were still wide, still hazy with pain and confusion, but the light was back. A deep, familiar golden light.
His gaze drifted up to her ash-streaked brow. Memory crashed over him like a falling temple lintel. He saw his ruined chest, felt the lingering ache, but more importantly, he saw her. Alive. And he was here. Alive.
“Itzelia,” he rasped, saltwater spilling over his bruised cheeks. “I… I am so sorry. For everything. The lie, the Gala, the Cenote. I ruined you. I almost got you killed. I deserved to die. How could you… why did you…?” He collapsed into breathless sobs, clutching weakly at her skirt. “I’m so, so sorry. I’ll do anything. Anything you ask. Just… please… forgive me.”
She looked down at the ruined mess of him, nostrils flaring as grief gave way to exasperation. She reached down, not to strike him, but to cup his face in her hands, silencing his frantic apologies. Her eyes, still shining with unshed tears, bore into his. Dropping to her knees, she dragged him upward by the tunic and crushed her mouth to his. It tasted of sulfur, copper, and salt, rough with bruised pride and unyielding relief.
She pulled back, her forehead resting against his. “Listen closely, Teozcal of the Zenith,” she murmured, her voice rough, but laced with an undeniable tenderness. “You are going to live. You are going to apologize every single day for the rest of your life. And you are going to be the most doting, insufferable, ridiculously overprotective, fake-then-real boyfriend this city has ever seen. Understand?”
Teozcal, still weeping, still disoriented, could only nod frantically, a watery smile breaking through his tears. He reached up, his trembling fingers tangling in her hair, pulling her closer, ready to begin his lifetime of penance and devotion. Above Tenochalia, the golden rim cleared the moon's black disc, washing the ruined Calmecac in unfiltered morning glare.