Darkness stretched through the great hall, bringing a deathly silence. Shadows crept into the heart and fell across faces, blurring their features. Only two pairs of aged, profound eyes remained, meeting in silence.
Clang, clang.
Soon, two elderly Imperial Guards entered with short weapons. They took out fire starters, lit the candles beneath the murals, bowed respectfully, then withdrew without a sound. Candlelight kindled brightness, falling over the two white-haired elders and pulling out long, profound shadows. And the true shadow, Chevali, stood beside them, one arm holding a clay jar, one hand resting on Copper Axe.
Silence spread; stillness had no voice. The Elder lowered his eyes, his face without ripple, waiting patiently. There was no killing intent on his face, nor any urgency. He merely smiled calmly, as though still recalling that long and vivid dream.
The High Priest closed his eyes, and countless memories welled up in his heart. There were his departed father and forefathers, his dead wife, his children who had died young, and the hope that continued on. Distant years flowed through his heart like a quiet river, making even death seem bland.
He remembered his youth: the era of the late ruler Itzcoatl, the newly founded Triple Alliance, the Lake Capital just beginning to show its sharp horns. He remembered his young and middle years: the era of the late ruler Montezuma, Teotihuacan weathered by vicissitudes, the ancient Holy City gradually restored. Then he remembered his old age, remembered the hope that had gradually grown—from the precocious fledgling in the Holy City, to the young feather growing in the capital, until he became the eagle spreading its wings in the west! Gradually, a smile surfaced at the corners of his mouth, then bloomed unrestrained.
After a long while, the High Priest straightened his