Xiulote hastily stepped into the great hall. He knelt on both knees, paying his respects with deep bows, the Obsidian Divine Crown hanging low. Just as he was about to make a request, he abruptly stopped. On the ground, Quetzal's smile was right before his eyes.
The High Priest stared blankly ahead. An old comrade of several decades, an old adversary of over a dozen years, now lay peacefully asleep on the ground, his expression joyous and serene. He had planned numerous times how they would clash upon their next meeting, how he would counter tonight's arguments. Yet, unexpectedly, the other had returned to the Divine Kingdom.
A fleeting joy crossed Xiulote's heart, immediately followed by a surge of deep chill. He then bowed his head again in respect, without uttering a word, as sweat slowly soaked his back.
The elder calmly gazed at the High Priest. After many years, little Xiulote had also aged considerably. It was some time before the elder slowly began to speak.