The night after Xochitl's burial, the moon did not move.
It hung above the valley like an unblinking eye—half grief, half fury. The priestesses kept their torches lit, afraid to sleep. Even the owls were silent, as though the world itself awaited judgment.
Far beyond mortal sight, in the silver stillness between earth and stars, Metztli wept. Her tears fell through the firmament as comets. But grief is a seed, and in the soil of eternity, seeds do not die—they awaken.
From the far side of the moon came Tecciztecatl, the Hidden Twin, the Pale Hunter.
He was older than sunlight yet younger than shadow, born from the same celestial womb as Metztli but exiled to silence for daring to covet her light.
He had watched humankind build temples to her name and none to his.
He had watched them pray for beauty, not for justice.
Until now.
When he saw the defilement of her priestess, he rose.
"Your worshippers suffer, sister," he said, voice like shifting tides.
Metztli's reply trembled through the craters. "Their hearts are pure, but their hands are weak. I gave them peace, and peace failed them."
"Then let me give them strength," Tecciztecatl answered.
"Strength corrupts," she warned.
"Only if untested," he said. "Let me test them."
And for the first time, the light of the moon split—silver and violet, twin streams twisting through the night sky.
One fell upon the temple ruins, finding Tonalnan kneeling in vigil beside Xochitl's grave. The light curled around her like breath, lifting her gaze upward.
"Who speaks?" she whispered.
A voice within her mind replied:
"The twin of your goddess. The unseen face of her light."
Tonalnan bowed low. "What do you seek of me, lord of the moon's shadow?"
"Not worship," he said. "A promise.
If mortals will not guard the night, I will forge one who can. But the vessel must choose pain willingly, as Xochitl chose love."
Tonalnan trembled. "Where shall I find such a soul?"
"You will not find him," Tecciztecatl said. "He will be born under an eclipse, centuries from now—when the gods are silent and machines sing louder than prayers. My power will sleep until that dawn."
The vision burned itself into her memory—an image of a man cloaked in light and shadow, eyes reflecting both mercy and wrath.
When it faded, she found in her hands a fragment of the amulet, now cold and translucent, like frozen moonlight.
"This," the god whispered, "is the Veil. Guard it. One day, it will awaken my champion."
Then the voice was gone. The moon began to move again.
---
Tonalnan returned to her sisters and said nothing of what she had seen.
They built a shrine over Xochitl's grave and placed the fragment at its heart. Seasons passed. Empires rose, fell, and were forgotten.
But beneath the dust, the Veil slept—gathering every prayer, every cry for justice whispered beneath the moon.
And when humanity's light grew so bright it began to cast its own shadows, the Veil stirred once more.