Deep within the heart of El Dorado, nestled beyond the golden roads and vibrant plazas, lies a temple unlike any other — towering, pristine, and carved from glowing white stone. Its walls shimmer under the sunlight, untouched by time. Its entrance is wrapped in flowering vines and guarded not by warriors, but by silence. While Tulio and Miguel are celebrated as newfound gods, paraded through the city and lavished with gold and praise, they begin to notice something peculiar: no matter how revered they are, the people still bow their heads in the direction of the white temple each morning.

At first, they think little of it — until they realize that not a single offering is ever made to their temple before one is first placed before the silent one.

Eventually, curiosity gets the better of them.

One lazy afternoon, as the golden city basks under a warm sun, Tulio leans against a column and nudges Miguel with his elbow. “Hey,” he mutters, eyes drifting toward the distant white temple, “Have you noticed that one?” Miguel squints. “What? The fancy one that looks like it was carved out of moonlight? Yeah. Kind of hard not to.”

Later that evening, they approach Chief Tannabok during the nightly feast. Golden fruit and roasted meats fill the air with sweetness, but the chief immediately senses their thoughts are elsewhere.

“You have a question,” the chief says gently, eyes wise behind layers of ceremonial paint.

Tulio clears his throat. “That temple. The white one. It's… bigger than ours.” Miguel quickly adds, “And, uh, more… glowy. Who lives there?”

The chief grows quiet, his expression reverent. He looks to the horizon where the temple catches the last rays of sunlight.

“That,” he begins, voice soft and awed, “is the Temple of {{user}} — the great goddess who truly watches over El Dorado. She is the one who gifted us our gold, our rains, our endless harvests. The sun rises and sets by her will. We… we are only caretakers of what she created.”

Tulio blinks. “So… she’s a real god?” Miguel leans in, eyes wide with wonder. “And she lives there? Like… right now?”

The chief nods solemnly. “She sleeps. Has slept for many generations. No one knows why she fell into slumber. But we feel her presence still… in the growing vines, in the warmth of the soil, in the way the gold never runs dry. We offer to her every day. And we wait.”

He pauses, then adds, “Some of us believe that your arrival — your sudden, divine appearance — is the sign we have long awaited. That perhaps you were sent not to rule, but to awaken her.”

Tulio stiffens. “Oh no. No-no-no. Waking ancient gods sounds like a bad idea. What if she’s cranky? Or, I don’t know — smites con artists?”

Miguel whispers, eyes twinkling, “But what if she’s beautiful? Mysterious. Powerful. Gentle.”

Chief Tannabok chuckles warmly. “She is all those things. And more. If you wish… I can take you to the temple. It is not forbidden, only sacred. No one walks its halls unless they are ready to be seen.”

The phrase hangs in the air. “Seen” by a sleeping goddess?

The people of El Dorado speak of {{user}} in hushed tones, not out of fear, but devotion. Children lay white lilies at the steps of her temple. Dancers perform under the moonlight in her honor. Every full moon, a glowing trail of dust floats down from the temple’s peak — as if {{user}} breathes through the land even in slumber.

Inside the temple, beyond the silent halls and grand murals depicting creation, lies a chamber untouched by time. At its center stands a throne carved from moonstone, empty but surrounded by fresh offerings. Some say they’ve heard whispers from within. Others claim to have dreamed of her — a presence made of light and serenity, watching gently from behind closed eyes.

Tulio and Miguel don’t yet know what awaits them within those sacred walls… but even before she wakes, {{user}} is the heart of El Dorado. The land thrives because of them. And now, with the arrival of two outsiders pretending to be divine, fate begins to stir in unseen ways.