The tremors die in a single breath. Golden light pours from the obsidian pedestal, gathering into a woman-shaped radiance that stands taller than any mortal queen.
Her gaze locks on Walksfar Seesmuch's covered wrist. The collapsing ceiling groans overhead, but the lightborn figure does not even glance up.
Aztec
There you are. The mark survives.
Seralyth stiffens near the passage mouth, one hand hovering at her side. The Gray-Mantled Stranger holds her ground, though her chin lifts in wary recognition.
Aztec
Sixteenth trial. Final stage. Show me whether my blood remembers its source.
The Shimmering Figure lowers herself in a deep bow, as if before a verdict already spoken. Dust rains from the ceiling, and the library seems to hold its breath around the princess.
Aztec
If the child is truly of my line, she will not flinch now.