Arc of the Bleeding Sun

Crimson. 

A glow in the sky at just the right time. 

If you follow that glow it will be too late. 

Under the roots of trees and soil. 

In Mictlan you will meet your fate. 

They were somehow on their backs again.

Cenotlatlacatl groaned, turning his head to find Kamelotl beside him, sprawled like a wet pup, his gill-branches twitching in the dust.

"It seems this keeps happening to us," he muttered, exhaling with a grin.

Above them, the sky of Mictlan stretched in eerie stillness—until a red streak began to expand across it. Not a cloud. Not a rainbow. It was a wound. A ribbon of bleeding light tearing slowly through the heavens. Crimson, pulsing, widening as if being peeled open by unseen hands. It reached toward the other side of the river—a side they could not see, if there even was an edge. The far horizon rippled like a hallucination, too distant, too dream-warped to be real.

They chuckled.

Kamelotl sat up first, brushing off phantom dust with a dramatic shake.

Then, tail wagging furiously, he leapt to his feet with a jolt of excitement.

"We finally answered one right!" he beamed, hopping in a tight circle, his tail-hand smacking the ground like a drum. "We get to live another day!"

Cenotlatlacatl laughed, more softly, and let himself be pulled upright.

"That's the third time you've said that," he muttered, "but somehow it still feels like the first."

Kamelotl's gills flicked outward in joy, feathers of obsidian bark catching the light from the crimson arc. "That's because this one felt earned. Did you see their faces? The way they stopped—frozen like statues! Even the tall one with the claws flinched when Xólotl showed his—his twilight!"

Cenotlatlacatl nodded, watching the arc ripple above them like the bleeding of a god across the sky. His expression darkened—not in fear, but reverence.

"It's not a reward," he said after a long silence. "It's a reminder."

Kamelotl stopped bouncing. "Reminder of what?"

He didn't answer immediately.

Instead, he tilted his chin upward, watching the red light stretch and bend.

Somewhere in the depths of his memory, the shape of an obsidian eagle falling through fire flickered and vanished. Blood. Sacrifice. Descent.

"Of what it costs to guide the sun."

A mist followed behind the descent of the red streak, falling slowly like mist off the mountain almost unnoticeable if you weren't paying attention. All of a sudden after inhaling the mist. Cenotlatlacatl noticed something was off. 

The crimson arc dimmed, and something stirred beneath his ribs.

Not rage. Not resolve.

But something softer. Something older.

A melody rose—not from the sky, but from within.

Steel strings without a source.

A lullaby half-remembered, whispered into bone.

He stood still. The world slowed.

He walked without walking,

gliding forward in silence, eyes glassed in reverie.

Each step—an echo.

Each breath—unclaimed grief.

There was a house with no walls.

A warmth that had no name.

A scent of marigolds and clay,

smoke from a fire long since extinguished.

Copal, poxotl and ocote, fragrant and feeding the flames and the gods at times. 

And then—

A hand. Small. Warm. Pressed to his chest.

Not to hurt. Not to hold.

But to steady him.

If I could have loved her before the gods tore us apart…

If I had known her warmth instead of her sacrifice…

Would I still be this?

The lullaby wept like sleepwalk steel.

A doll blinked with one glass eye.

A shadow hummed just out of reach.

He reached for it.

His claws passed through smoke.

"Hey," came Kamelotl's voice beside him, suddenly close.

His paw pressed gently to Cenotlatlacatl's shoulder. "You okay?"

Cenotlatlacatl blinked, breath hitching.

No.

But he nodded anyway.

The melody faded.

Only the ache remained.

The specter of Xólotl appeared before them again.

No howls this time, the searing eyes within the reflections of puddles and flames. Sometimes even from the shadows, it all brought a great pressure. No sounds were necessary for them to understand they stood before a God. 

He stood where the mist once curled, his obsidian paws leaving inverted prints that shimmered like polished bone. Flames danced along his spine, petals of crimson, orange, and sickly green bursting upward with every breath he took. His skeletal mask, colorful with the patterns and colors of remembrance, faced them with unblinking stillness.

And yet…

There was warmth.

Somehow, his mere presence had brought life and color to this level of Mictlan. The cracked ground beneath their feet softened, taking on the hues of autumn—the season of Cuāuhcuīltic. Marigolds bloomed in the crevices, their heads turning not toward the sky, but toward him.

The arc above pulsed once, as if in recognition.

Kamelotl gasped, not in fear but wonder.

"Did he do that?" he whispered, eyes wide. "Is he… changing this place?"

Cenotlatlacatl didn't answer right away. He stepped forward slowly, watching the way the flames that circled Xólotl responded—curling toward him like wind-blown memory.

"No," he finally said. "He's not changing it…"

He knelt, placing one clawed hand into the blooming earth.

"…His mere presence has brought about a bloom."

The ground had quieted.

The river hushed.

The marigolds stilled.

Even the stars above dimmed, waiting.

Then came the voice—not from a king, not from a god in flame—but from a specter of memory, no longer bound to the solar leash, but free.

Xólotl stepped forth.

His skeletal mask shimmered with twilight patterns—one fang glowing green with ashlight, the other orange with marigold fire. Behind him, his trail of footprints had bloomed into a hundred unopened buds.

"You passed the test," he said, his voice low, layered in echoes—bone, bark, smoke, and starlight.

"And you helped me fulfill my duty.

Not as the chained guardian of the sun…

But as a free entity."

He stepped forward, slow and reverent, until he stood before Cenotlatlacatl. The flames along his back burned gently now, less inferno, more ember-warm.

"The longing you have…

I can feel it in my bones.

Let me show you what you desire most:

A chance to pay back what was given to you through sacrifice."

Cenotlatlacatl didn't speak.

He didn't breathe.

He simply stood—still, silent, and shaking.

A single tear welled in his eye.

It did not fall.

But it wanted to.

And beside him, Kamelotl—so often the playful shadow—exploded with joy.

He began to hop in a tight little dance, his tail-hand thumping the ground in joyful rhythm.

Thump-thump. Tap. Tap. Spin.

Each beat stirred the soil. Flowers unfurled. Fire swayed. Even the river giggled.

The Song echoed in the space between life and death,

not as music,

but as memory made motion.

And for the first time, Mictlan did not feed on blood…

It fed on rhythm.

On release.

On blooming joy.

Xólotl turned toward the crimson arc in the sky, which now pulsed like a divine artery across Mictlan.

"The time for silence has passed," he said. "You've earned answers."

He stepped back and pressed both forepaws into the soil. From the marks he left behind, two flowers emerged—ayōxōchitl, ghost-white with veins of violet and flickers of green. Their petals moved as if breathing.

"These are yours," he said, offering one to each of them. "They will protect you from the sun's descent."

Cenotlatlacatl took his bloom reverently. Kamelotl pressed his to his gills with wide eyes.

"It's hot," he whispered, "but soft. Like fire you're not afraid of."

Xólotl nodded.

"The sun is in Mictlan now. That is why the rainbow bleeds. Why the air flickers. Why time feels heavy here."

"Every night, it dies. And in order to rise, it must cross through here—through all of this. But it cannot do so alone."

"Is that why you accompany it?" Kamelotl asked.

There was a pause.

Xólotl turned his gaze toward the horizon, where the rainbow touched nothingness.

"No." With remorse yet acceptance of his fate, he replied.

"I did my duty, as the shadow carried by the wind. Until I was asked to give my life to sustain the new sun. In my fear of being consumed by another… I ran away. I turned into a maguey plant, then an ear of corn. I was so sure of staying hidden, yet so afraid to be found. My last transform was the creature you are now. A salamander stuck in between his cycles in life, so I dove into the underworld lakes. Now, ironically, in these lakes is where I was shackled in afterlife."

"My story isn't what you came here for, there's only one reason for you to be here."

"The winds still whisper in my ear. The shadows still speak their secrets to me. The flames show me that which gods themselves wish to forget."

"The embers showed me how the sun is accompanied. As well as who's shoulders it rest on. So many shoulders carry it across the sky, yet the one you seek is among them."

"Your mother," he said softly. "Tsïtsïki Sachi."

Cenotlatlacatl staggered.

"Impossible…"

"A contract was made," Xólotl continued. "Long ago. Between Tezcatlipoca and the one who died to birth you. Her spirit was taken, not to be punished—but to guide the sun when it faltered."

"She helps carry it," he whispered. "She keeps it from vanishing."

Kamelotl's tail lowered, and for the first time, his joy stilled.

"But she's just one soul," he said. "What happens if she weakens?"

"She fades," Xólotl replied. "And if she fades, the sun's fire turns wild. The path to the seventh layer collapses. The cycle breaks."

"And when will that happen?"

Cenotlatlacatl asked, voice hollow.

"You have until the rainbow fades."

Xólotl pointed a single claw toward the crimson arc.

"It is your guide. It will lead you to the seventh layer. It is the blood path. The sun's vein."

Cenotlatlacatl's grip tightened around the ayōxōchitl.

"Then how do we follow it to the seventh layer?" he asked.

Xólotl bowed his head.

The Ayōxōchitl's dug into their flesh. Drinking their blood they soon had a crimson glow to them. The roots seemed to be alive, taking root just below the flesh like they were trying to replace their veins. A red glow beneath their skin lighted up. A crimson to match the glow in the sky.

"You ride the arc in the sky of course"

"Ride it well, warrior without a name. And when you reach the seventh layer… speak hers."