Ehecatlina Tlāzohtecpa had been trapped in her chamber ever since the failed ritual—imprisoned within the inner sanctum of her father's temple.
She had studied, read countless books, spoken with a few of her maids… and yet she was bored.
The outside world had been promised to her after she completed the Rite of Passage. But now, that freedom had been revoked. She was hidden from society once again.
With little else to do, Ehecatlina threw herself into her magic, hoping—desperately—to gain control over it.
Thankfully, the inner sanctum held a powerful barrier within her practice field: a space built for her training, equipped with dummies, swords, bows, endless quivers, and everything she needed to master the art of combat.
She was no stranger to any of the weapons on display. In fact, she had favorites—a ceremonial blade gifted to her at twelve, and a beautifully crafted bow she received at fifteen. Both were well cared for, preserved with a reverence she didn't afford to the others. She rarely used them, choosing instead from the many spares available for practice.
But today, Ehecatlina wasn't focused on weapons.
Today, it was the wind she aimed to master—the wind her father seemed to fear.
With a flick of her hand, she summoned sharp wind blades that tore through the reinforced stone dummies, slicing them into slabs of finely-cut rubble. The dummies would slowly reform, but the delay in their regeneration tested her patience.
She shifted focus, concentrating on the air around her. She tried to make the wind spiral gently across her skin, carefully adjusting its strength so it wouldn't shred her latest dress. It was probably the thirtieth one she had gone through since she began training.
She still didn't understand why her father hadn't just given her a garment with self-repair enchantments, like his own divine robe. But she didn't question it. Couldn't question it. He hadn't visited her once during this confinement.
That silence weighed on her more than she cared to admit.
Drawing in a breath, Ehecatlina stretched out her hand again, testing the limits of her power. She wanted to feel how far she could go without fearing the wind.
The last time she tried something like this, a stray current had nearly torn her fingernail off.
This time, however… the wind curved gracefully around her palm.
Alive.
It moved with awareness, responding to her intent rather than her command. Something had changed. Subtle, yet undeniable.
As if, far beyond the sanctum's walls… someone—or something—had touched this wind.
Altered it.
It was strange, but Ehecatlina could sense emotion within the breeze. The element itself seemed to recognize someone, not her, but another. Like a lover drawn to their beloved, the wind yearned to return to whatever presence it had once known.
She could feel it.
That yearning stirred something within her, tugged at her chest like a forgotten memory. It was… intoxicating.
She had always been able to wield her father's wind—speak to it, even joke with it on rare days when it was playful. It had been her friend since childhood, a gentle guide and protector.
But this new wind—the one bestowed upon her during the failed ritual—was different.
It didn't speak to her the same way. It didn't laugh or whisper like the old one.
It dominated and at times overwhelmed her completely.
It silenced the wind she had known all her life.
Ehecatlina lowered her hand slowly, her gaze distant. She felt alone in a way she hadn't expected. The winds were still hers—but not the ones she had known.
"This isn't Father's wind… so whose is it?" she whispered to herself, calming the tempest that was swirling around her.
Her heart ached with the realization that she might never again speak to the wind she had known all her life. And yet… there was something alluring about this new power—something intoxicating in the way it surged around her like an untamed promise.
It was powerful—far more than anything she had ever wielded before. And strangely, it felt like it could truly become hers—if only she could learn to tame it.
Ehecatlina slowly began condensing the wind around her palm, attempting to anchor it, just as her father had taught her when she was eight.
Start small, he had said. Master a single breath of wind before you attempt the storm.
Wind was the wildest of elements. Free by nature. Destructive when cornered. Trying to trap it in one place went against its very essence. But it was the first lesson for any child of the wind: control the contradiction.
Bind the breeze to prove you are worthy.
Only then would the wind listen. Only then could it begin to accept as a wielder. And—if one survived long enough—it might even merge with them, elevating them into divinity. A deity of wind, like her father.
Ehecatlina wanted that.
She longed for it, but part of her also feared it.
Several of her brothers had perished attempting that final step, shredded by the very wind they sought to claim.
Still, she would not stop. Not because of fear.
She wanted her father's recognition—his approval. A desire all her siblings had shared.
And this new wind, terrifying as it was, might be the only way to earn it.
She continued compressing the wind in her palm. What had once been the size of her fist shrank to the size of her thumb—a perfect cylinder of focused air, thrumming with deadly energy. It pulsed violently, the air around it warping and whistling like a blade ready to snap.
If her concentration slipped for even a moment, it could easily kill her.
Then, just as she steadied her breathing, honing her focus, someone called out.
"Princess Ehecatlina," came a voice from beyond the chamber doors, far but clear. "The Wind Court has summoned you. Your presence is required—immediately."
The wind in her hand flared, sensing her momentary distraction and yet it did not try to attack her. She clenched her fingers around it, forcing it to dissipate into harmless gusts that passed through her fingers.
A summons?
She hadn't been called to the court since the day of the failed bestowment. Whatever this was, it wasn't a routine summons.
She exhaled once, brushing a few strands of dark green hair from her face.
"Finally," she whispered, though whether she welcomed it or not, she couldn't yet say.
She changed in a hurry—her training attire was unfit for an audience with her father. Over her new robes, she secured her ceremonial blade, resting it across her back where it hung from a finely braided cord. She wasn't sure if she would need it, but she always carried it just in case. In her world, worth was often proven through strength, and if it came to that today, she would be ready.
Ehecatlina adjusted the rest of her outfit, allowing one of her maids to do a final inspection before stepping out. Appearances always mattered, especially now.
To reach her father's temple, she needed to ascend two levels of the sanctum: first through the private corridors, then up into the divine court. As his daughter—and a wielder of wind—she had access to a special vehicle crafted for the royal line.
It was not a matter of status, but of power.
Only those with a strong command over the wind could operate it.
The contraption was a small ceremonial cart, suspended by a system of ropes and pulleys enchanted with divine wind channels. To outsiders, it might have seemed mechanical—but in truth, it responded only to the will of the wind.
And Ehecatlina had been strong enough to command it since she was ten.
Today, though, the cart was moving a bit too fast for her liking. Her perfectly arranged hair had become a fluffy mess.
"Why don't you listen to me, little one?" Ehecatlina said sternly to the wind. It blew her hair back in response, as if trying to help.
"No, no… just let it be." She sighed. She'd have a maid fix it before seeing her father.
As she stepped off the cart, three maids were already waiting, ready to escort her to the summoning chamber.
As one of the princesses, Ehecatlina was constantly attended to, doted on to the point that solitude had become a luxury. Only within the sanctum was she ever truly alone.
She was used to it by now. It was simply normal.
They entered the extravagant temple—a towering structure perched atop the city's highest platform, its steps carved from ivory stone and gold-veined marble that shimmered softly in the daylight. The wind never ceased here; it flowed through the open corridors as though summoned by the breath of Quetzalcoatl himself.
Inside, the temple was adorned with emerald figurines and elaborate feather motifs. Silver and jade etchings traced the walls, illustrating the divine journey of Quetzalcoatl across the heavens. Massive feather-shaped columns flanked the path, their tips vanishing into a ceiling painted in delicate gradients of sky blue and pale gold.
Delicate chimes of polished bone and crystal hung from high arches, ringing softly with every breeze that passed through.
Within a few minutes and after having her hair set back in place, Ehecatlina stood before the grand doors of the chamber where her father and his ministers awaited.