“I had hoped you wouldn't wake for this, truly. It is a waste that this must happen at all. But it must. I’ll try to be quick Xiomara,” Yaotl said evenly, solemnly raising his war club, the obsidian blades embedded in the sides shining cruelly in the firelight.

Xio took a moment to acknowledge her world breaking down around her, and then moved past it. There would be time to think, and to grieve, later. If she lived at all.

“You fucking bastard! Your father was a rotting corpse and the gods forgot your mother! You shower in llama piss and bribe your way through duels!” she hissed. He faltered for a moment after processing the bevy of insults at him, and she took the opportunity to take her discarded drink and hurl it at his face, splashing his eyes as the wooden cup hit him on the forehead with a dull thud.

She leapt to her feet the moment her makeshift projectile connected and ran. Ignoring the cursing behind her, she went straight to where her father would most likely be - inside the archaeology dig. She raced away, blending into the chaos and shadows of the ravine. A single glance told her that the shadowy assailants guarded the only way out of the deep ravine, a set of scaffolded stairs. So she kept going down the sloped stone, descending down into the cave that held the icy ritual chamber. She was proven right immediately, spotting her father in battle against a trio of warriors, several corpses already scattered at his feet. His magic hummed in the air around, a twisting snakelike thing, the air shimmering like a mirage where it passed. It flowed around him like the ribbon dancers she had seen at festivals, and where it touched limbs went limp and his assailants scrambled to move. His arm moved in a blur as a blade left his hand to bury itself in the abdomen of one of the attackers, and the moment of hesitation cost two of them their lives, his magic sweeping through both their hearts. Their bodies hit the ground, but the last reluctant attacker did not react.

Lord Mictlan dusted himself off and immediately went to her, wrapping her in a hug. “My girl, my light. I have you now, don’t worry.” She trembled in his arms as the reality of what lay above them truly hit her.

“Shh, my heart. It will be alright,” he said softly, before addressing the strangely passive remaining attacker wearing the colours of House Tezcatli. “I assume you had heard no whisper of this betrayal from House Tezcatli?”

The man shook his head. “There was no sign of the attack until too late my lord. I rushed here as soon as I could.”

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Her father nodded. “I assumed as much. There is little we can do against the men above,” he said, glancing down at her still in his arms. “But you will ensure my heir escapes, and take word to our allies of what happened.”

“My lord, I am unsure if my position among their men is secure enough to smuggle out your daughter. I am sorry for this one’s incompetence.”

Her father shook his head. “You’ve not had the time to establish yourself. Worry not, I have the way. Xio, lay on the ground. When the betrayers reach here, and it will not be long, I will be struck down. I’m sorry it had to be this way.” His voice was firm and calm, as though the words he spoke were the weather rather than his death. His death. To protect her.

“Please no, there has to be another way!” she begged. Her eyes cast around the chamber, desperate to find a different path. There was nothing but the cold and the ruins.

“It is the only path we have Xio,” her father said, brushing back her hair with his hand. “This is not your fault. Only the fault of traitorous and greedy men. Live well. Live for yourself.”

Footsteps could be heard now, coming down the stone and scaffold of the excavation. Lord Mictlan gently pushed her to the floor, taking a stance against the ‘Tezcatli’ guard. She froze on the ground, watching through lidded eyes as a full force of real Tezcatli warriors, led by Yaotl, entered the chambers, fanning out around the fight. She almost missed what happened next. The spray of blood, a gasp of air from her father. The knife buried in his chest. He fell backwards onto her, and it was all she could do not to gasp or sob. He was warm. Of course he was. Out of sight of the approaching warriors, a hand smeared blood across her face, before grabbing hers. It squeezed hers. His grip wasn't as firm as before. Loosening. Fading. Please. He would get back off and fight off the warriors. He would laugh in their face. Please. He would reveal his trick. He would discover healing magic. She would manifest healing magic. Something. Anything. Please.

Yaotl laughed at something. Her attention snapped to the conversation that had been happening above her. Something about congratulating the warrior who had supposedly felled them both. Yaotl said something directed at her father and she couldn't even parse it through the rage and grief and disbelief. She squeezed the hand in hers. It didn’t squeeze back. It was still warm. He was still warm. Why wasn't he squeezing back?

The shallow breaths on top of her had stopped. Time seems to stretch out. Her father wasn't moving. He wasn't breathing. He was still warm. He shouldn't be gone. Not yet. She didn't even say goodbye. She’d had the time. She knew what was coming. He loved her so much. Why couldn't she have done something? Why couldn't she get up and kill every single person who had done this? They were right there. Voices echo in the ritual chamber, a chill gripping her from the cold that could barely feel. But it would ruin her father’s last moments. His sacrifice. Gods, his sacrifice.

So she stayed. Face covered in a mix of blood and tears, slowly freezing from the unnatural cold of the dig. Yaotl didn't even check her. She stayed after they left, in the dark and cold. She stayed long after the last firelight stopped glinting from outside the dig. She stayed.

He was so cold now.