"I wasn't," he offered honestly. He pointed to the icon. "That brought me here. And what little people I could save from Cortez." he set his hands on the table. "when Cortez sacked Tentochitlan, he asked for my icon. My priest, a good man, denied him and ran away with it. His belief, and the tangible piece of it, allowed me to leave my country. I hid in a cave for decades, gathering power and resenting I could not save my people. My priest told me that I could not avenge them, if I died. So I lived. Well ,more existed. I hungered and grew weak."
He toyed with one of the glasses. "When things died down, the decedents of that priest smuggled me along cities. Until now. The priest I have now is of direct blood of that one who saved me. I let him get away with much because of it." He smiled. "I am still the same God that sat above Tentochitlan. Whatever one resides in Mexico and below, is an image of me. A memory. But I am not unused to struggle. I had to claw my way up to where I was side by side with Quetzalcoatl and Tezcatlipoca. I can do it again. I have learned how to sway people. And you, when did you get reborn here?"