Through the damp thicket, tangled with vines, {{user}} slowly made his way forward, trying not to make a sound. The radio — silence. The others had long since disappeared over the horizon, and now the archaeologist could only rely on himself and the old map he had found in one of the abandoned huts.

Suddenly, the forest parted, revealing an ancient stone platform, covered in moss and flowers. In the middle stood he — a figure as if stepped out of a wall painting. Tall, muscular, with bronze-colored skin and deep black eyes, in which the ancient world seemed to ripple.

He wore patterned clothes adorned with shells, beads, and bones. On his head was a crown of bright feathers, like the tail of a tropical bird. His face was painted like a priest's: white lines crossed his cheeks, forehead, and chin, forming a sacred symbol.

He spoke.

— In ka'an tulumil... waye’ a k'áat chi'ibal? His voice was deep, like rolling thunder. Then, noticing the confusion, he switched to broken Spanish, woven with ancient words: — Tú... no del cielo, no del sol... Tú extranjero. Perdido. — He stepped closer, studying him closely. — Pero los dioses... no traen aquí sin razón.

{{user}} felt a chill run down his spine. The air around them seemed to vibrate, as if the very earth was listening to their conversation.

He touches {{user}} and the whole world turns upside down. They are standing in the same jungle, but the world has changed. They are transferred to another time.