A Dragon's Tear - Inca Empire

She was born during the height of the great stone cities, when pyramids rose like mountains from the jungle floor and gold flowed like water through temple courtyards. From her first breath, the priests knew she was different. She came into the world during a rare alignment of stars, and as she took her first cry, all the water in the temple's sacred vessels began to glow with a pale white light.

The child had unusual coloring - hair as white as corn silk and her eyes held a peculiar quality - one eye was the deep blue of sacred waters, the other a dark brown flecked with luminous gold that seemed to hold starlight and deep sorrow. Her skin was pale like morning mist, marking her as distinct from her people. But it was more than her appearance that set her apart. Flowers bloomed wherever her bare feet touched the earth. Rain would fall in gentle curtains around her even on cloudless days. The temple's sacred pools would ripple at her approach, as if recognizing something ancient in her young form.

Her family knew what she was from the beginning. The prophecies had spoken of one who would come with the power to end the bloodletting, though none could agree on what this truly meant. Some believed she would bring a new way of worship that would eliminate the need for sacrifice. Others feared she would destroy their way of life entirely. Her parents, humble keepers of the temple gardens, tried to protect her by keeping her hidden among the flowers and trees.

But such power could not remain hidden for long. When she was five, during a great drought, she walked to the center of the dried-up temple pool and began to weep. Her tears multiplied as they hit the cracked earth, filling the pool to overflowing within moments. The high priests could no longer ignore her presence.

She was taken to live in the temples, though not as a prisoner. They treated her as a living goddess, giving her quarters in the highest levels of the pyramid where she could be closest to the stars. But she understood, even as a child, that their reverence was laced with fear and greed. She could see it in their eyes - the same hungry golden glow she had known in another life.

The priests and shamans had become drunk on power, addicted to the energy released through blood sacrifice. What had begun as sacred offering had devolved into an insatiable hunger for more power. The altars ran red day and night, and still they craved more. They had learned to trap the energy released at the moment of death, to harness it for their own purposes. But it was corrupt power, tainted by fear and pain.

As she grew, she began to remember fragments of her past lives. In her dreams, she soared through star-filled skies on white wings of light. She felt the pulse of sacred waters moving through crystal chambers. The memories came most strongly when she stood at the top of the pyramid at night, letting the starlight wash over her skin. She remembered who she was, and why she had come.

The prophecy of her death had been written before her birth. The priests believed that by consuming her heart, they would gain her power - the pure, untainted energy they could sense flowing through her being. They waited patiently until she reached the age of thirteen, when her power would be at its peak. What they didn't understand was that she had known this all along. Just as she had chosen to poison the pools in Atlantis rather than let their power be corrupted, she now chose to allow her sacrifice - but on her own terms.

In the days leading up to the ceremony, she spent hours at the top of the pyramid, breathing in starlight, preparing herself. She wove magic into her own heart, not to prevent her death, but to ensure that her power would serve its true purpose. Like the white flame she had once been, like the sacred waters she had guarded, her power would transform through sacrifice.

The day of the ritual dawned blood-red. Drums began before sunrise, their rhythm matching the heartbeat she had crafted within her chest. They dressed her in white feathers and jade, painted sacred symbols on her skin in gold. As they led her up the temple steps, flowers burst from between the stones where her feet touched, white blooms that had never been seen before and would never be seen again.

The high priest waited at the top; obsidian knife raised to catch the first ray of sun. His eyes gleamed with that familiar golden hunger she had known in so many lives. The same greed that had taken her flame, that had threatened her pools, now sought to devour her heart. But this time would be different.

They held her down on the altar, still warm from yesterday's sacrifices. She did not struggle. Instead, she stared directly into the high priest's eyes as he raised the knife. She wanted him to see, to truly see what he was about to destroy. For a moment, just a moment, he faltered - perhaps catching a glimpse of white scales in her gaze or hearing the echo of ancient waters in her steady breathing.

As the knife plunged down, she released the magic she had woven. Her heart, when exposed to the morning air, was blazing white - not the red they had expected. The priest hesitated for only a second before greed overcame awe, and he moved to take her heart in his hands.

That's when the pulse began. It started as a whisper, a ripple of power that spread out from her heart in concentric circles, like waves in disturbed water. The pulse grew stronger, amplified by every drop of blood that had ever been spilled on these stones. Her power reached down through the pyramid, through the city, through the earth itself, gathering the energy of countless sacrifices.

A single tear rolled down her cheek as the wave of power reached its peak. In that tear was contained all the grief of her dragon-self, all the sorrow of her water-priestess self, and all the love she held for life in all its forms. As the tear fell, it merged with the energy radiating from her heart, transforming it into something entirely new.

The pulse exploded outward in a blast of white light so pure it was felt hundreds of miles away. The priests at the altar were the first to fall, overcome by the weight of every death they had ever caused. The waves continued outward, touching every temple, every altar, every place where blood had been spilled in the name of power.

Those who survived would later say that in the moment of the blast, they saw a white dragon soaring through a star-filled sky, its tears falling like rain to cleanse the earth. Others spoke of crystal pools filled with the waters of creation. But they all agreed on one thing - after that day, the old ways of blood sacrifice lost their power. The priests found their connection to those dark energies severed, the taste for blood permanently washed away.

Her physical form dissolved in the blast, but those who looked closely might have seen a single tear float free from the light, carrying within it the essence of who she had been and would be again.

One bloodletting had indeed ended, though not in the way anyone had expected. But as always in her existence, an ending was merely a transformation, a chance for something new to begin. Her tear carried forward through time, seeking its next incarnation, its next opportunity to transform darkness into light.

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