The grey magical pulse didn't attract inquisitors, but it did alter the balance of the house. Dad lived with his gaze fixed on the window, expecting to see the grey shadow of a friar. Mom, in contrast, more practical, watched her son with a mix of fear and pride. She had seen what I did, or at least, she had felt the echo. The magic of "her Xóchitl" wasn't just a passive gift; it was a force that responded to the world's pain, and that made it as beautiful as it was terrifying.
For my part, I dealt with a more mundane but equally overwhelming frustration: I wanted to speak. It was annoying not being able to communicate. Every time I tried to say something, it translated into babbles and crying—not practical for an adult in a child's body.
It was a month after the incident, during the spring. I spent the whole time, concentrating all my trapped adult will into the vocal cords of a nearly one-year-old baby, finally taming his babble. Mommy was feeding me hot atole, blowing softly on the spoon.
"Drink it, my sky, it will make you strong," she murmured.
I just stared at her intently, held my breath, and with an effort that turned my face red, I pronounced:
"M... Ma-ma."
The word came out clear, perfect, undeniably intentional.
Citlali dropped the wooden spoon. The atole spilled over the table, but she didn't notice. Her eyes instantly filled with tears. They weren't tears of simple joy, but of deep recognition. In that perfect word, spoken too soon, she saw confirmation of what she already knew: the soul inside that small body was not that of an ordinary child.
"Álvaro!" she shouted, her voice broken by emotion.
Don Álvaro ran in from outside, alarmed. "What's wrong? Is he okay?"
"He speaks! Our son speaks!"
Álvaro approached, incredulous. "Miguel... did you say something?"
It can't be, I barely managed to say 'Mama'... it seems my lexicon, even at an early age, will be frustrating. Feeling my father's scrutinizing gaze, I knew I had to be careful. I couldn't give a speech. I played my part. I smiled with drooly baby slobber, babbled a little, and then, looking directly at my father, I could only say something I thought would make him happy: "Da-da."
It was less clear than "mama," but enough. Dad collapsed into the nearest chair, a wide, unguarded smile breaking his tense face. The fear dissipated for a moment, replaced by pure paternal wonder.
"He's... he's a prodigy," he muttered.
» ACHIEVEMENT UNLOCKED: 'BREAK THE SILENCE'.
» EFFECT: Basic communication established. Warning: Maintain facade of accelerated, not supernatural, infant development.
» NEW PASSIVE ABILITY: 'TWO-LAYERED THOUGHT' activated. Layer 1: Internal adult dialogue. Layer 2: Translation to babble/simple infant words.
---
From that day on, Alejandro had an outlet. He could ask for water, food, point at things. But in his mind, the monologue was constant:
'Mother, the hearth fire is too low, combustion is incomplete and fills the house with smoke. You should open the upper ventilation more.'
What came out of his mouth was: "Mama, smoke. 'Ajo'!" (his childish version of "abre" [open], the closest word he could pronounce).
It was liberating and frustrating in equal measure.
---
Learning to walk was, for his coordinated mind, easier than talking. By fourteen months, he took steady steps. By sixteen, he was running around the dirt patio, his Feet that Feel the Wound picking up only faint vibrations at home (domestic pains, small sadnesses trapped in the ground).
With mobility came his parents' desire for him to socialize.
Citlali wanted him to meet the children from Tlatelolco's indigenous neighborhood. "He must know where he comes from, Álvaro. He must see their faces, hear the language."
Álvaro, though reluctant, agreed, but with one condition: "He must also meet the children of Spanish artisans, of soldiers. He must learn to navigate this world, not just the one that's gone."
Thus, Alejandro, nearly two years old with a carefully rationed vocabulary of about fifty words, began to alternate between two worlds.
With the Spanish children, he was "Miguel." He clumsily played ball, listened to their simple stories about horses and saints, and smiled kindly while his mind analyzed their incipient prejudices and the curious absence of magical perception in them. They were, for the most part, blind to the other world. Their magic, if it existed, was the weak reflection of the "Echo of Order" he still carried within, a feeling of structure and limit.
With the Nahua children, he was "Xóchitl" (in whispers). He played by the canal, learned plant names, listened to short stories the mothers told, now stripped of explicit gods but full of nature spirits. Here, he sometimes saw flashes. A child who made a stone jump into his hand without touching it. A girl who sang and nearby flowers seemed to bend. Earth Magic, timid, hidden.
But nothing prepared him for the girl at the market.
---
It was in the great tianguis of Tlatelolco. Mom was holding my hand, looking for colored threads. In a corner, away from the main stalls, there was a family selling obsidian and jade amulets. They didn't draw attention. They were indigenous, like many. But there was a girl.
She must have been three or four years old. Sitting on the ground, seriously playing with a clay figurine of an eagle. But it was her appearance that was discordant: skin white as polished marble, but hair of a whitish, almost silvery blonde that shone like metal under the sun. It wasn't the dirty blonde of some mestizos. It was a supernatural blonde, inherited.
Seeing her, I was fascinated. And the System exploded in my mind suddenly.
» MAXIMUM ALERT! HIGH DENSITY MAGICAL PRESENCE DETECTED!
» SCANNING…
» MAGIC IDENTIFIED: 'ANCESTRAL CHAOS – TONATIUH'S BLOOD' (Subclass: Corrupt Solar Heritage).
» INFERRED ETHNIC AFFILIATION: Mexica (Tenochca). Lineage: Elite Eagle Warrior (Last Generation).
» STATUS: ACTIVE. PARTIALLY SUPPRESSED (BY CONCEALMENT TECHNIQUES).
» SEARCH OBJECTIVE 'CHAOS MAGIC' CONFIRMED!
» WARNING: THE BEARING ENTITY IS A CHILD. THREAT LEVEL: LOW. CONTEXTUAL DANGER LEVEL: EXTREME (DUE TO ASSOCIATION).
The Eyes of the Fifth Sun activated involuntarily. I saw the girl, and above her, a specter of golden and purple energy. It was like a sun eclipsed by a shadow serpent. From her small body emanated a chaotic, wild, untamed power, but contained by a will that couldn't be her own. It was the magic he had been looking for: not the chaos of environmental pain, but the chaos of a warrior and magical bloodline, broken and hidden.
The girl looked up. Her eyes were dark, deep, but with a golden glint in their depths, like the last sunray before a storm. And I could feel her gaze connecting with mine, my eyes shining with the Fifth Sun. And, for an instant, there was a mutual recognition, silent and absolute, between two children who carried entire worlds within our bones.
The girl's mother, a woman with a face marked by scars and a wounded dignity, followed her daughter's gaze. Her eyes met Mom's. There was no greeting. Just a quick nod, but I could feel her thinking: 'Don't look at us. It's dangerous.'
Mom, intuitive, squeezed my hand. "Let's go, Xóchitl," she murmured, and quickly led me away.
"Mama, sun girl," I said, nodding towards her.
"Yes, my flower," replied Citlali, her voice tense. "But she is a girl with a very heavy burden. Her family... they are of those who didn't surrender. The ones the men in armor want to erase. The Eagle Warriors."
Eagles? I had heard about them in history books—they were fierce, the elite of the Mexica warriors, at least until they were annihilated by the Spanish during the conquest. And according to the System, she might be the last of that lineage. Poor girl.
That night, I asked my father during dinner.
"Dad, Eagles?"
Dad rolled his eyes, uncomfortable. "Ancient warriors, Miguel. Very fierce. But they're gone now. It's better not to talk about them."
But in his tone, I detected fear. Not fear of the warriors, but fear of what their memory could unleash for people like him.
Investigating at the market with my child's ears and adult mind, I overheard the whispers:
"The family with the sun hair... they're from Teotihuacan, they say."
"When the teules attacked the sun temples, they escaped with something."
"No one speaks to them. The soldiers watch them. It's bad luck."
"The girl's grandmother was a Cihuateteo, a warrior woman; they say she could call the sun... but the sun burned itself."
That's when I understood. The girl didn't just have Chaos Magic. She was a living relic. A link in a powerful lineage the conquerors had tried to exterminate in Teotihuacan, not just for conquest, but perhaps out of fear of their solar magic corrupted by defeat. Her blonde hair was a mark of that twisted heritage. And her family was in a social quarantine imposed by collective fear of repression.
» MISSION UPDATED: 'THREE SOURCES' THEORETICALLY COMPLETED.
» MAGICS CONFIRMED: EARTH (Maternal Heritage), ORDER (Friar's Echo), CHAOS (Eagle Girl).
» NEW SUGGESTED OBJECTIVE: ESTABLISH NON-HOSTILE CONTACT WITH THE BEARER OF 'ANCESTRAL CHAOS'.
» RISK: EXCEPTIONAL. POTENTIAL REWARD: ACCESS TO HIGH-LEVEL MAGIC AND FORBIDDEN HISTORICAL SECRETS.
---
Alejandro, lying on his straw bed, looked at the ceiling beams. He was two years old, had words, and legs to walk. And now, he had a clear objective beyond survival: to discover the secrets of the sun-haired girl. Not for the System, not for the goddess. Because in her eclipsed eyes, he had seen something that mirrored his own condition: a prisoner of a destiny she didn't choose, carrying a power the world feared.
The departure was still set for Tlatelolco, but the board had just become much more interesting.
End of Chapter VI