Ehecatl strode through the gates of the tecpan, the palace complex rising like a reborn colossus amid Tenochtitlan's thriving heart. The morning sun glinted off fresh lime-plastered walls, murals of eagles and serpents freshly repainted in vibrant cochineal reds and indigo blues, a testament to the valley's reclaimed tribute flows from maize bins from Chalco stacking high in the warehouses, salt loaves from Mixquic seasoning the feasts. Guards in ichcahuipilli padded with Chimalli's looted cotton nodded him through, their spears tipped with iron from Don Sebastián's forges, a subtle nod to the empire's growing arsenal. The air buzzed with activity, as scribes etching bark-paper ledgers with quetzal-feather quills, nobles debating in feathered cloaks edged with new turquoise beads for jewelry.
Cuauhtemoc awaited in the central chamber, seated on his icpalli throne flanked by eagle carved braziers burning copal incense that curled like serpents in the air. The Huey Tlatoani's turquoise colored tilmatli shimmered, his expression a mask of stoic command, but his eyes sharpened as Ehecatl entered, bowing briefly before standing tall.
"Cihuacoatl," Cuauhtemoc said, his voice resonant and expectant, gesturing to a reed mat opposite him. "The winds whisper of warlords bending the knee. Report, how fares our grasp beyond the valley?"
Ehecatl sat, his plain tilmatli a deliberate contrast to the regalia, but his voice carried that charismatic warmth, drawing Cuauhtemoc in as he laid out the state of affairs with calculated precision.
"Huey Tlatoani, we've absorbed all but one. Cuetlachtli, the Huexotzinco fanatic idolizes me like a godling. I offered him Huexotzinco's governorship and second-in-command of the new Yaoquizque Tlapixque, our elite guardians. He's pledged his raiders; they'll drill in black-and-white spiraled uniforms, wielding our grenades and swords. Huexotzinco's lands feed our western flank now, no blood spilled."
Cuauhtemoc nodded, his fist tightening on the throne's arm.
"Good. The faithful are tools of the gods."
"Cuauhmecatl, the Cholulan priest,"
Ehecatl continued, his tone shifting to passionate fire, eyes gleaming as if unveiling a vision.
"Sees me as Quetzalcoatl's avatar—his zealotry's a flame we can stoke. I painted the Sixth Sun's rebirth with technologies to conquer seas and skies, expansion across seven worlds. He knelt, offered Cholula's temples as beacons. Their followers march to us already, there will be ritual goods, priests to bind the faithful. Cholula's ours, a divine buffer without a siege."
The emperor's eyes narrowed approvingly. "Quetzalcoatl rises beside Huitzilopochtli. Wise."
"Then Cihuatecuhtli Ayauh," Ehecatl said, leaning forward. "Her matriarchy of vengeful women full of survivors from raids, rapes, tortures. I praised their strength, promised safety under our banner, no more horrors like what the war against the Castilians happened. Highlighted our girl's education, of strength in body and mind. Her entourage bought it, but she held back originally, since I presume she didn't want to be in a bad position, she offered marriage to seal it. She's not bad-looking; I agreed. Gave her Texcoco to rule, her women resettling there. I figured that was best to both show a leap of faith and at the same time have someone who'd more than likely follow us in leading the city as Texcoco's traitors toil under her now, repopulating with our oversight."
Cuauhtemoc grunted. "A thorn turned ally. Bold."
"Chimalli, the merchant bandit,"
Ehecatl added, his smirk deepening.
"Greed's his god. I dangled global trades, extortion rackets, usury loans, currency manipulations. Concepts from lands beyond that I mentioned to you before. Offered to back his networks with our muscle and logistics, and even told him should he join us, we'd consider him before any other pochteca. He flipped, and his caravans feed us now, no exploitation of our people. He had brought me numerous gifts of turquoise, spices, even a woman for my household."
The tlatoani's expression hardened.
"And the last? Tochtli—the sadist."
Ehecatl's tone cooled, strategic.
"Tochtli won't be absorbed—he's a liability, his horrors too wild. But he'll serve first, via what I call the 'ugly friend effect.'"
Cuauhtemoc leaned in. "Explain."
"It's simple," Ehecatl said, his voice charismatic yet precise. "Surround yourself with the ugly to look better by comparison. Let Tochtli be the terror of the land. Arm him with grenades, let him raid villages, commit atrocities that scar the land. The people flee his blade, his violations, his pyramids of heads. Then we extend our hand and offer protection under the eagle-serpent, with that we become the 'better friend' so to speak. Hopefully by then we'd have safe harbors, fair tributes, healing from chaos. Places he's hurt will come willingly, begging to join. Use him to soften them, then eliminate him quietly via a 'misfire' or bounty. The empire grows without our hands bloodied."
Cuauhtemoc's eyes gleamed with approval, thumping his fist on the throne. "Cunning as the snake-woman. Proceed, the shadows beyond the valley await."
Ehecatl bowed, the tecpan's hum rising as plans turned to action.
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After updating Cuauhtemoc on the warlords' statuses, Ehecatl left the tecpan with a nod, the Huey Tlatoani's approval ringing in his ears like a war drum. The empire's heart beat stronger now, but idle hands bred complacency; he had his rounds to make, ensuring the recovery's momentum didn't falter.
First, he toured the city's fast-recovering districts, the streets alive with the hum of rebirth. The air carried the tang of fresh lime mortar as masons from Teotihuacan patched temple facades, their chisels ringing against stone hauled by Texcoco laborers in chains. Forced atonement under the watchful eyes of Yaoquizque Tlapixque recruits in their new black-and-white spiraled uniforms. It was nice to see markets overflowed with tribute: maize bins from Chalco stacked high, salt loaves from Mixquic seasoning vendor stalls, feathers from Huexotla bartered for gourd vessels from Coyoacan.
Children drilled in plazas, boys hefting practice spears with newfound strength from amaranth rations, girls leaping in graceful arcs, their hips bridged for health and future births. The flag waved everywhere with the green, white, red fields bearing the eagle-serpent. A symbol etched into every soul, binding the valley's fragments into unbreakable whole. Recovery was coming in fast, as full restoration is to be completed by August 1523 if the warlords delivered, perhaps even quicker if tochtli continues his terror and altepetl's come crawling back.
Satisfied, Ehecatl headed to the forges, now humming with bog iron from the lake's iron bacteria and Don Sebastián's iron ingots. The big iron project dominated the yard, a massive bloomery furnace, its stone enclosure reinforced with Tepexpan reeds, bellows pumping horse-powered air to blast the bog iron from the lake's dredged slime. Smiths in padded aprons hammered the heated mass, sparks flying like angry stars as they folded and quenched, turning crude iron into steel, Ehecatl's cheat had guided the carbon ratios for blades stronger than obsidian.
"It won't be long before we make weapons that are a stronger than Castilian swords," a foreman reported, handing him a prototype macuahuitl edged with the new metal. Ehecatl tested it out and while it wouldn't be perfect for the Yaoquizque Tlapixque, it would at least be used for propaganda purposes to showcase advanced weaponry. Production has gone up 2x with the assembly lines; grenades stacked in pyramids, ready for both our needs, and selling them for the highest prices possible to the highest bidder.
Next, he checked on Cortes. The broken conqueror, a living symbol of Mexica vengeance. In the lake's dredged shallows, under guard with spears and hidden grenades, Cortes toiled waist-deep in muck, his once-proud beard matted with slime, chains clanking as he hauled baskets of rust-colored ore. The man's frame had withered, skin blistered from sun and labor, eyes hollow from endless toil—no glory, just the grind Ehecatl savored in petty glimpses.
"Another day in paradise, Hernan?" Ehecatl called, his voice laced with mocking charm. Cortes grunted, back bent, a far cry from the invader who'd burned temples. Satisfied, Ehecatl moved on. The terrorist would break eventually.
Finally, he headed to the amoxtli calli, the house of books. A grand structure patched from siege damage, its walls lined with surviving codices and bark-paper scrolls, guarded by scribes from Coatlichan. The air smelled of aged amatl and faint smoke from the occupation's fires, but many volumes had endured, hidden in stone vaults. Ehecatl with the guide of said scribes, pulled tomes on herbs and healing. illustrated folios of yauhtli for pain, cuetlaxochochitl for wounds, maguey sap for burns. detailed with Nahuatl glyphs and vivid drawings of plants, roots, and rituals. A dozen survived intact; he bundled them in a cloth from Chimalli's gifts, slinging them over his shoulder.
"For a healer I was given as a gift." he told a scribe, who bowed deeply.
With the books in hand, Ehecatl headed home.
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Ehecatl greeted them when he came home. First pulling Catalina into a soft embrace, kissing her tenderly as she melted against him. "My devoted one," he murmured in Spanish, his hand brushing her swelling curve. Then Malinalli, whom he claimed with a fiercer kiss, nipping her lip as she gripped his tilmatli. "My fire," he whispered in Nahuatl, before stepping back. Xochiquetzal flushed under his gaze as he gave her ass another firm slap, his hand lingering just a beat too long, fingers pressing warmly through the back of her huipil. "Working suits you, sweet cheeks. Looks like you've settled in."
As they sat to eat, Ehecatl leaned forward, eyes sweeping between them. "So, how was your day? Anything new while I was gone?"
Malinalli chuckled, rubbing her belly as she spoke with that toxic edge softened by the morning's and night before's intimacy.
"Raw? Gods, boy, we bared our souls like flayed offerings. Shared the hells we've crawled through. My selling, the rapes, the way men like those Castilian animals broke us. But it bonded us, like sisters forged in fire. Xochiquetzal opened up too about her raids, that pochteca's leers. We laughed, cried… even teased her about joining the 'collection.'" She winked at Xochiquetzal, who blushed but smiled faintly.
Catalina nodded, speaking in a mix of Nahuatl and Spanish, her hand on her belly. "Yes… we talked deep. My losses, the terrors… but it healed a little. Xochiquetzal's strong like us. What about you my lord? How was your day?"
Ehecatl listened intently, his hand reaching to caress Malinalli's thigh under the table, fingers tracing slow circles that made her shift closer.
"Sounds like wounds mending, good. My day? The city's pulsing, I estimated the districts at 68% recovery, forges turning bog iron to steel, blades stronger than obsidian for our Yaoquizque Tlapixque and the other warrior orders. Checked on Cortes too, and the bastard's breaking in the muck, chains dragging like his shattered pride. Petty, but satisfying."
He paused, his touch on Malinalli lingering sensually, thumb brushing higher.
"And for you, sweet cheeks," he said to Xochiquetzal, "I grabbed these from the amoxtli calli. Herb books that survived. Study up."
The day unfolded with light chores amid the new luxuries, but as evening fell and they gathered for dinner. Tlaxcalli, meat, amaranth porridge rich and warming, Ehecatl sat between them, the air thick with the day's lingering intimacy. He turned to Xochiquetzal, his hand brushing hers as he passed a gourd, the touch electric.
"When I can, I'll help with your herbs. It wouldn't hurt to learn more myself. The valley alone has some herbs, flowers and plants. We'll make the time together sometime, and turn your dreams into the empire's strength."
Xochiquetzal nodded, her flush returning under his gaze, the promise stirring a tentative warmth in her chest.
At night, as candlelights flickered out one by one, leaving the courtyard bathed in moonlight, Ehecatl lay with Catalina this time, pulling her close under the velvet covers. Their bodies entwined slowly, his hands lingering on her curves. Tracing the swell of her belly, sliding up to cup her breast as he whispered sweet words in Castilian, his voice low and loving. "Mi luz… mi amor eterno," he murmured, kissing her deeply, tongues dancing in a tender tangle that made her gasp. His lips trailed down, licking and sucking on her breast, teasing the nipple with gentle bites, drawing moans as her fingers tangled in his hair. He moved to her collarbone, nipping softly, then her neck sucking with possessive hunger, leaving faint marks as his hands roamed, fingers brushing between her thighs in lingering caresses. "Te adoro… our child will know this love," he whispered, their breaths mingling in gasps, the intimacy a soft counterpoint to the empire's shadows. Malinalli and Xochiquetzal lay nearby, the sounds stirring the air with sensual tension.
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A few weeks later, the air in Tenochtitlan thrummed with anticipation as Cihuatecuhtli Ayauh and her all-female army arrived at the city's gates. Word had spread like wildfire through the markets and temples of the vengeful matriarchy from the swamps, survivors forged in fire, now bound by marriage to the Cihuacoatl himself. Her entourage numbered in the hundreds of women scarred but unbowed, clad in reed-and-blood banners that fluttered like war cries, their macuahuitls at their sides, shields painted with symbols of feminine fury. Jaguars with bared teeth, serpents coiled around blooming flowers. Ayauh led them on foot, her noble bearing striking, dark hair braided with thorns, eyes sharp as obsidian, her huipil reinforced with leather strips that hugged her curves, a testament to beauty wielded as armor.
Ehecatl awaited them at the causeway's edge, flanked by his Yaoquizque Tlapixque—the Guardian Warriors, newly formed and fierce in their black-and-white spiraled uniforms. The suits evoked whirlwinds of battle: dotted patterns like jaguar spots across padded ichcahuipilli reinforced with iron plates, helmets crested with Huaxtec cones painted in stark contrasts. Cuetlachtli stood as his number two, his fanatic eyes gleaming with devotion, the unit's ferocity a blend of Mexica tradition and Ehecatl's innovations of grenades bulging in belts, swords looted from Castilians at their sides. They formed a disciplined line, ready for the escort.
Ayauh approached Ehecatl with a bold gaze, her women fanning out warily but without hostility. The marriage alliance a fragile bridge over past chaos.
"Cihuacoatl," she said, her voice steady and resonant, "we come as agreed. Texcoco awaits. Our new domain, as promised."
Ehecatl met her eyes and stepped forward to clasp her forearm in a warrior's grip, his plain tilmatli contrasting her armored huipil.
"Ayauh," he replied, the word laced with possessive fire, drawing her closer for a brief, intense kiss that sealed the pact publicly. Not a full on wedding that one would expect but at least for now this shows a level of intimacy to suggest that this alliance is happening. His hand lingered on her waist, fingers pressing firm against her curve. "The valley's traitors are broken; Texcoco's yours to rule. Your women will thrive there safe, empowered, under our banner. The empire grows stronger with you."
Her lips curved in a fierce smile, the tension in her body easing slightly at his touch. "Then lead us, Ehecatl. Let the shadows of the past burn under our feet."
The procession formed as they headed for the canoes. The Yaoquizque Tlapixque and the all-female army followed, their banners snapping in the wind as they crossed the causeway toward Texcoco. The journey was swift, the lake's waters reflecting the flags that now dotted the horizon—green, white, red fields bearing the eagle-serpent, a symbol of unbreakable will.
Upon reaching Texcoco, the city lay subdued. Its nobles exiled or chained in labor crews, its streets patrolled by Mexica overseers. Ehecatl handed the keys of the city, so to speak to Ayauh in a brief ceremony, his voice charismatic and commanding. "Rule wisely, my wife. Protect our interests, and Texcoco blooms anew under your hand. Betray us, and…" He trailed off, his hand brushing her cheek in a mix of tenderness and warning.
Ayauh nodded, her eyes locking with his in a charged gaze. "It will thrive, for us." Her women dispersed into the city, claiming homes and temples, their presence a matriarchal force reshaping the city's traitorous legacy. Ehecatl lingered for the day, overseeing the transition—tribute flows redirected, hostages from Texcoco's remnants integrated.
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Deciding to stay in Texcoco for a bit to get to know Ayauh better, Ehecatl dismissed most of his Yaoquizque Tlapixque back to Tenochtitlan with orders to drill under Cuetlachtli's command, keeping only a small guard for the palace. They settled into the opulent halls of Nezahualpilli's former residence that was a sprawling complex of adobe and stone, its walls etched with murals of lakeside gardens and poetic codices, now shadowed by the city's subdued hush. The air carried the faint scent of lake reeds and incense from hastily relit braziers, a far cry from the blood-soaked ruins Ayauh's women had known. Some of her followers dispersed to claim quarters, their reed-and-blood banners unfurling like victorious scars over the traitors' empty homes, and rooms in the palace while Ehecatl and Ayauh strolled through the palace's inner gardens, the sun dipping low to cast long, intimate shadows across blooming chinampas reclaimed from neglect.
As they walked side by side, their arms brushing with each step—a subtle tension building in the graze of skin. Ayauh opened up, her voice steady at first but cracking with raw emotion as the words poured out. She was from a noble lineage in the ravaged villages near the eastern hills, a place of flower fields and ritual shrines before the war turned it to ash. "When the Castilians and their allies swept through," she said, her eyes distant, hand clenching at her side, "it wasn't just battle, it was violation. They took us like spoils, one by one, in the dirt, in the ruins of our homes. The grunts, the screams… I was held down by three, their beards scratching like thorns, their laughter echoing as they tore into me. The pain wasn't just physical, it shattered something inside, left me hollow, bleeding not just blood but spirit. And our own men? Some joined in, drunk on the chaos, betraying sisters for a taste of power. I watched friends break, eyes going empty, bodies used and discarded like rags. That's when I rose and gathered the broken, turned our rage into a blade. No more victims; we became the storm."
Ehecatl listened in silence at first, his presence a steady anchor as they paused by a fountain, the water's trickle a soft counterpoint to her tears. He reached out, his hand cupping her cheek gently, thumb brushing away a stray drop, the touch lingering with a sensual warmth that made her breath hitch.
"I'm sorry you had to go through all that," he said, his voice low and raw, eyes locking with hers in genuine empathy. "I've never experienced it myself. The violation, the breaking, but I've seen it and felt the echo in my bones. When Tenochtitlan fell to the Castilians, I hid in the ruins, hearing the screams from afar. Grunts of the Castilians and their allies, moans of the taken, pleas cut short. Rows of Mexica women lined up, their eyes empty as hollow gourds, spirits fled while their bodies endured. Worse as some of our own turned, Mexica men raping their sisters in the frenzy. I tried to stop it once, appealed to our shared blood, but they beat me bloody, forced me to watch as they ravaged a noblewoman, her cries haunting me still. I saved one a woman while I was out scavenging at the time, she was being raped, and… I just felt like if only I had been there earlier to stop it entirely. I'll never understand the depth of that pain, but I respect you, Ayauh. To hold your chin up after that, to forge something fierce from the ashes in a world where men revel in their worst… it's strength I admire. The Sixth Sun rises because of women like you."
Ayauh leaned into his touch, the tension between them heightening. Their bodies close, her hand rising to rest on his chest, fingers tracing the fabric of his tilmatli as the garden's seclusion wrapped around them like a secret. "Then build it with me," she whispered, her voice husky with emotion and budding desire, their foreheads touching in a moment of raw connection amid the empire's expanding shadows.
The garden's seclusion wrapping around them like a shared secret—the fountain's trickle a soft murmur, the blooming chinampas brushing against their legs with each subtle shift. Her hand on his chest lingered, fingers tracing the steady beat of his heart through his tilmatli, the contact electric, stirring a heat that made her body press closer, her curves molding against him in a way that heightened the moment's intimacy. Ehecatl's hand slid from her cheek to her neck, thumb brushing her pulse point with a gentle, lingering pressure, his eyes locking with hers in raw connection.
"I meant what I said," he murmured, his voice low and sincere, laced with that warmth that made her feel seen, desired.
"Back when you came weeks ago to forge our alliance, I spoke of helping our men and women regain confidence in themselves. You saw the boys drilling in the plazas, who are bound to grow stronger, taller, smarter than the Mexica of old, their bodies honed like weapons yet their minds sharp as obsidian. And the women… the girls stretching, leaping, building strength not just for grace but for life itself. While I'll admit a small part of me would love to see more figured Mexica women with curves that turn heads, bodies that bloom with power, it's deeper than that. I'm doing it to boost their confidence, to heal the disgust they feel staring at their own reflections after traumas like yours. From what I've understood, women lose that spark, see scars where there should be strength. But here, with you… we'll rebuild it all."
His fingers trailed down her arm, intertwining with hers in a possessive yet tender grip, pulling her even closer so their breaths mingled hot and heavy. "You and your women are safe here with me, protected, and cherished. No more shadows hunting you; only the light of the Sixth Sun."
Ayauh's eyes softened, her free hand rising to trace his jaw, the tension between them coiling tighter as their lips brushed in a near-kiss, the empire's weight fading into the sensual promise of their alliance.
Their mouths crashed down on in a fierce, devouring kiss—tongues tangling in a wet, urgent dance, exploring with possessive sweeps that made her whimper into him, her nails raking down his back through the tilmatli. The taste of her, salt and spice, mingled with the faint bitterness of her earlier tears ignited him, his free hand tangling in her thorn-braided hair, tilting her head back to deepen the plunder, teeth nipping her lower lip hard enough to draw a bead of blood that he licked away with a groan.
Breaking the kiss only to trail his mouth down her neck, he licked a slow, hot path along her pulse sucking with bruising intensity, leaving red marks that bloomed like claims under her skin, her body arching into him with a shuddering moan, thighs clenching as heat pooled between her legs. "Ehecatl…" she gasped, her hands fisting his tilmatli, pulling him closer as his lips moved lower, nipping her collarbone with teasing bites that sent electric shivers cascading through her, her nipples hardening painfully against the rough weave of her huipil.
He tugged the fabric aside with rough urgency, exposing her breast to the warm air, as his mouth descended to lick circles around the peak before sucking hard, tongue flicking relentlessly as she cried out, her hips bucking against his thigh, grinding for friction that made her core ache with need. His hand slid under her huipil, fingers dipping between her thighs to find her already slick, stroking her folds with deliberate slowness that had her whimpering, legs parting wider in submission. It was here, amid her gasps and pleas—"Please… take me…"—that Ehecatl realized her kink was of dominance and submission, with her as the submissive one, yielding her fierce control to his command, her body trembling as he pinned her wrists above her head against the stone wall, his mouth claiming her other breast with hungry sucks and licks that left her writhing.
The irony hit him like a wry thrill, the vengeful matriarch, survivor of rape and abuse, leader of broken women, craving to be commanded, to surrender under his touch. Who was he to complain? She was happy, arching and begging as he knelt, hiking her huipil higher to bury his face between her thighs, tongue delving deep with possessive hunger that made her knees buckle, her cries echoing softly in the garden. And he was happy, getting laid after a long time of restraint, ever since Catalina and Malinalli's pregnancies had tempered their nights. His tongue delving deep with possessive hunger lapping at her folds, sucking her clit between his lips with rhythmic pulls that made her knees buckle,her cries echoing softly in the garden as her juices coated his chin. Her submission fueled him, her body quivering as he rose, freeing his throbbing length with a growl, lifting one of her legs to wrap around his waist in a dominant hold and began thrusting into her slick heat in one powerful stroke that filled her completely, drawing a scream of pleasure from her lips.
He took her against the wall, her wrists still pinned above her head, his hips slamming into hers in a relentless rhythm. Controlling every thrust as she submitted fully, her head thrown back in ecstasy, breasts bouncing with each impact, her walls clenching around him like a vice.
"Yes… command me," she gasped, her submission complete as he flipped her around, bending her over a stone bench in a submissive position with her ass presented to him, hands braced as he entered her from behind, slapping her cheeks lightly with each deep thrust, his fingers digging into her hips to pull her back onto him, the angle hitting spots that made her sob with pleasure.
They shifted again, her on her knees in full submission with him standing dominant above her, guiding her mouth onto him with a hand in her hair, her lips stretching around his girth as she sucked eagerly, eyes looking up in devoted surrender.
Finally, he laid her on the grass, pinning her beneath him in missionary. Weight pressing her down, legs spread wide as he thrust slow and deep, their eyes locked in intimate intensity, his mouth claiming her breasts again with licks and sucks that left her writhing, begging for release.
The release came in waves with she first, shattering around him with a cry, her body convulsing in submissive bliss; him following, spilling deep inside her with a groan, the irony sweet as her happiness fueled his. She was happy, curled against him in afterglow, her submission a dark, intoxicating gift.
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The rest of his time in Texcoco unfolded like a fevered dream, a blend of raw vulnerability and escalating passion that left Ehecatl's mind buzzing with insights and his body sated in ways he hadn't felt since before Malinalli and Catalina's pregnancies tempered their nights.
Nezahualpilli's palace became their haven, its echoing halls and shadowed gardens a stage for Ayauh's women to unburden their souls. Over the next few days, Ehecatl met with them in small groups or one-on-one, seated in the inner courtyards where the women bloomed defiantly amid the city's subdued hush. Ayauh stood by his side, her presence a fierce anchor, her hand occasionally brushing his in subtle possession as the stories poured out.
The women, scarred survivors from villages ravaged by Castilian raids and native betrayals spoke with voices cracked by trauma, their eyes hollow yet burning with resilient fire.
One, a former weaver from the Otomi, recounted the night her home fell.
"They came like shadows, the bearded men and our own men holding me down in the dirt, taking turns while I screamed for gods who didn't listen. The pain… it shattered me, left me empty, bleeding not just body but spirit."
Tears streamed as she clutched her reed banner, her body trembling. Ehecatl listened intently, his warmth drawing them out, offering condolences that felt genuine amid the empire's cold calculations. "I'm sorry you endured that hell," he said, his voice low and steady, hand reaching to clasp hers in a reassuring grip. "No woman should bear such scars. I promise you, the Mexica will erase them."
Others shared similar horrors: a midwife from the swamps describing how allies turned on them during retreats, raping and discarding like broken tools; a young girl recounting the violation in a temple, her faith shattered alongside her body.
"We want change," they demanded through sobs. Protection from raids, voices in councils, education like the Mexica girls received, healing rites without shame. "No more vessels," one cried. "Let us wield the blades too."
Ehecatl nodded, promising reforms while also making compromises. women aren't allowed in the Yaoquizque Tlapixque, or amongst the ranks of warriors and participating in the fighting, but he would introduce the idea of allowing every man and woman the right to bear arms, of course that is once he knows they're loyal and wouldn't cause harm for the empire. He also would make archives for healers, laws condemning war crimes against the vulnerable to which he's already been doing.
Meanwhile, the sex with Ayauh didn't stop. It intensified, a dark counterpoint to the day's emotional weight, their bodies seeking release in risky, forbidden places that amplified the thrill. Her submissive kink fueled it all, her fierce exterior yielding to his dominance in ways that left them both breathless. In a narrow alley behind the palace, hidden by reed walls where guards patrolled nearby, he pinned her against the stone. Her wrists held above her head in one hand, his other hiking her huipil as he thrust into her from behind, deep and commanding, her moans muffled against his palm as she begged, "Harder… claim me." The risk of discovery heightened every stroke, her body clenching around him in submissive bliss, climaxing with a shuddering cry he silenced with a kiss.
Later, inside a dimly lit temple incense curling like serpents, the air thick with sacred hush. They desecrated an altar in passion with Ayauh on her knees first, submissive and eager, her mouth taking him deep as he guided her head with firm hands, her eyes looking up in devoted surrender. Then he laid her back on the stone, legs spread wide in full submission, thrusting slow and dominant, his mouth on her breasts licking, sucking, biting until she arched and whimpered, her submission complete as he filled her, their releases mingling in the holy space. Now, it was time to go back home, and as they prepared to depart, Ayauh's women settling into Texcoco's halls, their banners waving defiantly, Ehecatl reflected on the experience. Hearing the perspectives of this Mesoamerican Amazonian group was fascinating, a gritty tapestry of resilience amid horror. Their stories echoed the valley's wounds but with a feminine fury that added depth to his vision. Demands for autonomy, healing, and vengeance reshaping his plans for women's roles in the empire. It wasn't just conquest; it was rebirth, their traumas fueling a stronger Sixth Sun.