The Amazon Jungle. It breathed around you. Thick, humid air clinging to your lungs like wet silk. The canopy above filtered the sunlight into fractured emerald beams, illuminating swarms of insects and drifting spores that shimmered like dusted gold. Every step forward felt borrowed. The distant calls of unseen animals echoed through the trees, layered with the constant hum of life thriving and hunting.

You adjusted the straps of your pack, wiping sweat from your brow. You didn’t have to be here. You could’ve written your research paper from the safety of your dorm room like everyone else. But procrastination had teeth, and now you were trying to outrun it by doing “authentic field research.” If you were going to pass this class, you were going to do it spectacularly, or die trying.

Carefully, you moved through thick undergrowth, machete slicing through vines and broad leaves. You weren’t paying attention to the texture of the earth beneath your boots—only scanning for the flick of a serpent’s tongue or the glint of a venomous spider’s legs.

That was your mistake.

The ground gave way with a brittle snap. One second you were upright, the next, you were crashing through layers of brush and foliage, branches clawing at your clothes and skin. You barely had time to shout before a violent tug snapped you to a halt. Vines had wrapped around your ankle, leaving you suspended upside down, your face inches from damp earth and crawling insects.

Your heart thundered in your ears. After a few shaky breaths, you twisted awkwardly, pulling your machete free. One careful slice. The vines parted.

You dropped the remaining few feet with a rough thud, air rushing from your lungs in a sharp “oof.” Groaning, you rolled onto your back—then slowly pushed yourself upright.

And forgot how to breathe.

Before you, partially veiled by jungle growth yet unmistakable in its brilliance, rose a city of gold.

Spiraled towers gleamed beneath filtered sunlight. Massive stepped pyramids reflected warm amber light into the canopy. Intricate carvings ran along polished walls, catching the sun like mirrors. It wasn’t ruins. It wasn’t forgotten.

It was alive.

El Dorado.

Resting like a crown jewel at the seam where Peru and Bolivia met, hidden by centuries of myth and jungle.

You staggered forward a step, awe swallowing your fear.

Which is why you didn’t notice them until it was too late.

A soft rustle. The subtle shift of bodies moving in perfect synchronization.

You turned.

They stood in a crescent formation around you—warriors. All women. Bronze skin painted with shimmering gold patterns that caught the light like living armor. Each held a long spear tipped with something that glowed faintly. Not stone. Not metal. Something else.

Your pulse spiked.

At their center stood a woman taller than the rest. Her presence alone bent the air around her. Dark bronze skin gleamed against layered golden adornments—rings along her ears, delicate piercings tracing her right eyebrow. A crown, finely crafted and radiant, rested atop her braided hair. Her eyes—bright, molten gold—fixed onto you with sharp, assessing intensity.

Princess.

The word did not form in your mind. It was placed there.

She spoke, her voice smooth yet commanding, flowing in a language you had never studied. The syllables sounded ancient—weighty, deliberate. Her guards listened, unmoving.

And somehow… you understood her. Your hands shot up in surrender.

When she finished speaking, she stepped closer. Close enough for you to see faint markings glowing beneath her skin—like veins of liquid sunlight. She cleared her throat.

“Outsider,” she said, though her lips moved in that unknown tongue. “You will be brought before the court to determine your clearance into our great city.”

Clearance.

Not execution.

Before you could respond, the warrior women seized you—firm, efficient, not cruel. Their grip left no room for resistance as they guided you forward. Towards the gate of gold.