Eztli found the temple by chance.
The forest was made gray and monotonous in the twilight. She ran towards the valley, its darkness promising shelter from the shouts cresting over the hill behind her. It was thickly forested at the bottom, the last line of vegetation before the foothills of the mountain. She let herself be carried further down the slope. Her people stayed far from the mountain. The only explanation she was given is that it was wrong to walk over the skin of power.
This time, she was not so disturbed by it.
She made it to the bottom, covered in bruises from the steep descent. Ahead, a small, muddy stream ran into an even darker line of trees. For a moment, she faltered. Glancing behind her, she could almost see the smoke that climbs into the dark sky, fires from home making hot meals. But a strong wind carried away any wisps of smoke from the air, stoking the embers of her anger with it. Her vision blurs with tears as she runs under the thick canopy.
In not two steps, Eztli stumbled, shocked by the immediate coldness of the misty air. She turns, finding no light from a moon that was rising during her descent. All around her, dark trees drip with the last rain onto the glistening undergrowth. She wades through it slowly, losing track of time without the sky overhead.
Just before trepidation turns to dread, her shin hits stone. Crying out, she stumbles backwards. She had missed shards of rock peeking from under the leaves. Her blood stains the closest stone, her skin cut open. She barely notices the blood running down her leg.
Ahead, a structure of dark stone is illuminated by soft moonlight. A construction of gargantuan stone slabs rises from the forest as if it had assembled at the time of creation. its weathered stone and hulking presence could only belong to a temple. She walks around its perimeter, finding an entrance of shallow steps and a chipped arch leading inside.
Without any of her usual cautiousness, Eztli enters.
It is lighter inside, great gaps in the ceiling letting moonlight through from an open sky. The sound of dripping water reverberates against the stone walls. She has the sudden feeling she is somewhere intimate, personal. It is not something she is used to.
Channels in the floor run further into the temple, falling from elaborate carvings. They are set into the walls at even intervals. All circles filled with patterns, small figures, stone flowers forever blooming. Each slightly different, they beg for attention that Eztli does not provide. The channels that stem from them have slightly different paths, converging in the center and continuing into a smaller chamber.
All else forgotten, she follows the channels into a small circular room. Here, the darkness is almost complete. It is impossibly cold, her breath clouding around her. Still she steps further, towards the only discernible shape in the room. A stone figure in a deep indentation carved into the back wall, lit by cool light without a discernible source. It is vaguely male, standing in a static position, its loincloth and long hair carved with care.
It has been so long.
Eztli gasps, staring at the simple features of the figure. Only a simple mouth and a heavy brow over a straight nose. But its eyes are shadowed, and she can almost sense their gaze. The voice that spoke was smooth, sultry. It was not something Eztli could have fabricated, and yet there was no echo in this stone place.
Tell me, how did you find us?
It dawns on her where she is, horrified she didn’t realize immediately.
“The gods.” Eztli whispers, pressing a hand over her mouth.
Everyone is warned of them, their selfish power and unrelenting violence.
The elders only tell the bloody ends to their stories, to children just old enough to understand the word ‘terror’. It steered their minds away from thoughts of limitless power, towards the world that sustained them, without promise of salvation. They are taught to turn from all power without control, to worship nothing but their own breath.
That way those children don’t grow up to rebuild temples left to crumble.
“I didn’t mean to come here.” She rasps, her voice apologetic.
The stone figure does not move, but she can hear a smirk in its voice.
Yes, you did. You always meant to come here.
Eztli found she believed it, this voice in the dark room. After all, why had she run this way? She had never ventured into that valley when she ran away before.
Why are you here? You must want to explain it to yourself, to me.
“I was running.” She waits for a response, met only by silence. It does not ask why she was running. She has the feeling it already knows. “I was running from my village, they were going to kill me.”
They fear your potential, just as they fear us.
“What potential?” She asks, hope rising in her chest.
She had never been told she had any potential. At least, any positive potential.
Inside you, there is room for great power, bestowed by us of the old earth. And the best part is, you are willing.
She was.
Smoke, pale as bone, spills from the base of the statue. It coils in the air, bobbing towards her. The air somehow becomes even colder, but Eztli does not move, shivering violently.
It has been so long since we have had such devotion. It repeats, its tone almost giddy. She has the feeling if smoke could grin, its smile would be as bright as the crescent moon.
No more hiding, no more running.
The smoke drifts past her and into the center of the first room. Eztli follows, mesmerized by how it floats through the still air. It pools where the channels meet in the floor. Without being told, Eztli steps in the center, relieved when the smoke parts around her feet. She does not want to be touched by it, not until she has to.
Extend your arm.
She does, pointing it towards the room where the stone statue faces her with a crude stare.
The smoke rises, curling around her arm as goose bumps prick her skin. It tapers, hardening to a point no longer than a jaguar's claw. Without warning, it plunges into her forearm. She gasps as dark blood pools and runs down her arm. Her legs weaken, and she drops to the floor. The smoke does not release her arm, guiding it over the channels. Her blood falls and quickly pools in the center, running towards the walls as it multiplies in volume.
All sound falls away as her vision slowly darkens. Her breath roars in her ears, coming faster and faster as her lungs restrict.
With one last feathery breath, everything goes black.
It is darker than night in the temple, the shadows so completely black at first Eztli does not realize her eyes are open. A figure lies on their side, facing away from her in the center of a room identical to the one she was just in. They were lit by cold light that does not illuminate anything else. Blood pools around them, staining their clothes as it flows into channels. They begin to stir, and Eztli cannot fight the sense of horror that is dawning on her.
Slowly, they stand, shaking out their feet and hands.
Outside, the light is that of a dawning morning, dew dripping on the lush vegetation Eztli missed on her walk down. The figure turns towards this door, their face revealed in profile.
Her, wearing a confident smile, a grounded stance making her unrecognizable.
It is not her. She is nowhere, dissolved into the abyss of the temple.
The god walks in her skin towards the exit. They glance over their shoulder, their eyes lazily drifting towards the dark corner where Eztli watches. She feels her sense of self shattering, seeing that god inch closer to the exit. They will never return, not without the blood of her people on their hands.
You should thank me, little one. You will be left alone from now on. No more hiding, no more running, you will only be a shadow in this temple.
And we… They smile with that same, giddy satisfaction. We will be ignored no longer.