Inti rose over the peaks of the Andes, his light gilding the stone terraces and valleys below. For the Inca people, he was the life-giver, the warmth that allowed crops to grow and the empire to flourish. The Incas looked to him for guidance, for his presence meant abundance, his absence, hardship. Inti’s golden rays were soft, but they carried with them the weight of kingship. His descent into the west was not a departure but a promise, a cycle that spoke of continuity. The world beneath him would change, empires would rise and fall, but to the Inca, Inti’s light would always return, steady and sure, from horizon to horizon.