The Sunbearer Trials

The novel’s opening structure establishes a foundational conflict between mythic tradition and the contemporary world of the narrative. The Prologue is rendered in a lyrical style that frames the world’s cosmology and social order as divine and immutable. Its omniscient narration recounts the deeds of gods in formal, elevated language, presenting the Trials as a sacred ritual. This mythic framework is interrupted by the shift in Chapter 1 to a third-person limited perspective grounded in Teo’s modern, colloquial voice. Teo’s internal monologue directly challenges the solemnity of the prologue by reducing the Trials to an “Academy advertisement” (5) and a source of social alienation. This structural choice positions the central narrative as a deconstruction of the world’s founding myths, questioning whether divinely ordained hierarchies are just when viewed from the bottom up.

Thomas’s thematic exploration of The Injustice of Inherited Social Hierarchies is codified from the outset through the recurring motif of Gold and Jade, which defines Reino del Sol’s rigid caste system. The geography of Thomas’s world also reflects this social stratification: Wealthy Gold cities cluster around the central Sol Temple, while Jade cities like Quetzlan are relegated to the periphery. In social spaces, Golds and Jades typically remain separate, with Golds refusing to associate with those outside of their privileged class. Ocelo’s entitled behavior—shouldering through a group of Jades—evidences the assumed superiority inherent in the system. The selection of two Jades for the Trials acts as the narrative’s inciting incident, a direct challenge to this rigid order. The shock that ripples through the crowd reveals the system’s deeply ingrained prejudices; Jades are not only less likely to be chosen but perceived by Golds as fundamentally ineligible for the honor.

Teo’s character arc introduces The Power of Self-Acceptance in a World of Prescribed Norms and Expectations as a central theme in the novel through his struggles with identity, gender dysphoria, and societal pressure. Teo’s binding of his brown wings—a characteristic that marks him as the child of Quetzal, assigned female at birth—reflects a profound internal conflict. The wings provide a direct link to his divine heritage, yet they are also a source of dysphoria due to their female coloration, which is incongruent with his identity. This internal struggle is compounded by external expectations rooted in prescribed social norms. Huemac’s sharp declaration that “[y]ou are not a Hero, Teo” (26) reinforces the societal belief that a Jade cannot fit the heroic mold, an idea Teo has partially internalized. His impulsive rescue at the bakery directly refutes this norm, demonstrating an innate heroism rooted in compassion rather than social status and privilege. The tension between his true self and the pressure to conform is captured in his mother’s gentle question about his binder, “[d]oesn’t it hurt?” (31), which points beyond physical discomfort to the emotional pain of suppressing a fundamental part of his being.

The opening chapters deconstruct The Glorification of Heroism Versus the Reality of Sacrifice by juxtaposing the state’s sanitized rhetoric with the raw terror of the competitors and their families. Diosa Luna, as the high priestess of Sol, is the voice of the institution, framing sacrifice as the “greatest honor of all” (54). Her grandiloquent words are immediately undercut by the grim physical evidence on the altar: a stack of golden skulls belonging to past sacrifices. This macabre display serves as a silent, visceral rebuttal to the glorious narrative, revealing the brutal reality beneath the ceremony. The emotional responses of the characters further dismantle the official dogma. Teo’s response to Niya’s selection as a competitor is panic over the potential death of his best friend. The most powerful challenge to the glorification of sacrifice comes from Dios Mala Suerte. His furious, protective rage transcends divine decorum, as he threatens, “I would tear this city to the ground before I would let you take [my son] from me” (62). His anger exposes the state-sanctioned sacrifice from the perspective of a parent: not an honor, but the violent death of a child.

Thomas’s choice of narrative point of view reinforces his central themes. By filtering the mythological events through Teo’s limited third-person perspective, the author grounds the immense stakes in a relatable, personal experience of fear and resentment. The grandeur of the Sol Temple is constantly mediated by Teo’s anxieties and critical observations of social dynamics. When Teo is chosen as a competitor, his emotional response explicitly outlines the injustice of Reino del Sol’s social hierarchy: “[The Golds] have been training their whole lives for this and I’m not even allowed to go to the same school!” (61). This point of view critiques the power structures from a marginalized perspective, positioning the systemic injustice feel immediate and threatening.

Thomas chooses Spanish-language names for his dioses that underscore the plot with thematic significance—a notable convention of allegory. For example, the tabloid journalist, Chisme, is named for the Spanish term for “gossip,” while his sister Verdad’s name echoes the Spanish word for “truth.” The siblings represent opposing approaches to narrative, with Chisme sensationalizing the semidioses and Verdad seeking a more grounded story.