The five of them broke through the last stretch of overgrowth, the thick tangle of vines and branches giving way to a strangely still clearing, that sounded like it was devoid of all life, yet looked to be teaming with it, and what stood in the center of the clearing made all of them stop walking at the same time.
It was a raised stone structure that curved downwards like the arched, raised neck of a tortoise, maybe eight feet at its highest point, overgrown with thick layers of moss after years of being untouched, positioned on the upper north side of the central island.
"I think this is it," Deacon said, glancing down at the manaphone in his hand, absentmindedly brushing his wet hair back and away from his eyes. The soft light from the device's screen, spotty from a bit of rain, reflected off his jawline as he held it up, the map overlay flickering faintly in the jungle's thick air. "Map lines up perfectly."
"You sure?" Bonehead asked, already moving past him.
Bonehead crouched by the tunnel's sloping mouth, reaching up and brushing his fingers across a patch of the moss-draped surface. It peeled away easier than expected, damp and soft, and revealed something different from the worn stone beneath.
Deacon stepped in closer, peering over Bonehead's shoulder. What they saw wasn't stone. It was brick, made out of sundried mud with faint patterns; lines, dots, and stylized depictions of birds and sunbursts ran along the surface like a story frozen in time.
They looked like the very same type of brick they'd seen in the Ruins of Elarin, the very same one that was filled to the brim with traps and beasts.
He wiped the rest clean with the side of his leather gloves, revealing more of the etching. As the etching became longer, twisted down the frame of the arch in lines and spirals, they formed into script, and by the will of the Tower, the words translated themselves within their minds.
Teocalli of Huitzilopochtli.
Jass blinked. "Teocalli?" she muttered, then said it again, slower, testing the syllables. "That means–"
"God's House," Esmerelda cut in, her voice a little quieter than usual. She was staring at the bricks with a knitted brow. "It's the Aztec word for temple. Teocalli of Huitzilopochtli means… Temple of Huitzilopochtli… This is an Aztec temple."
"Huitzi-who?" Sam asked, scratching the side of his head. "I've never heard the name of such a god before… I've never come across such a name in my Family Archives, nor in the Academy Archives… Who was this god that these Aztec people worshiped?"
"Well," Bonehead muttered, standing back up. "Can't wait to see what kind of welcome mat he rolls out for us."
Jass let out a quiet exhale and adjusted her grip on the handle of her glaive before glancing at Bonehead, who was passing out a couple of Poison and Fire Resistance Potions to everyone. "Bonehead, have you created that thing that would allow us to actually damage spectral creatures?"
"No," Bonehead said, shaking his head despondently. "But, I am close to creating something using the spectral dust they left scattered around."
"Well, if we see one in there, we'll just retreat immediately. I don't think Jass and I want to fry our mana channels again, having to get us all out like before," Deacon said, lowering the manaphone and nodding toward the darkened tunnel mouth.
No one said anything else after that.
Deacon shifted the strap of his Spatial Sling Bag off his chest, letting it rest against his right hip as he slid the manaphone inside, and tightened the straps before securing the clasp. The faint glow of the screen disappeared, swallowed by the dimness of the clearing, which, for some reason, unnoticed by them, returned the sound of rainfall on leaves and distant insects to fill the air around them.
"Alright," he said, more to himself than to the group, before stepping into the sloped mouth of the temple's entrance.
The air changed the moment they entered the tunnel, much to their delight. The damp jungle heat gave way to a cooler breeze that tingled their damp heads, save for Bonehead, who couldn't perceive the touch of temperature.
The pitter-patter of the rain softened behind them until it disappeared entirely like before as they descended into complete darkness.
"Wisps of Light," Esmerelda softly cast as she lifted her hand, two fingers curled slightly, the other two extended.
A soft pop echoed in the tunnel, and from the tips of her fingers, small orbs of pale blue light shimmered into existence, drifting upward to hover just below the arched ceiling. One, then two more. They drifted ahead a few feet, casting ghostly, calm light across the walls.
The walls were damp and uneven, their surfaces covered in the same spiraling patterns of birds, suns, jaguars, and warriors as outside. Except here, the etchings looked cleaner, protected from the weather and the growth of the jungle.
Jass moved in behind Deacon, her glaive held low, her gaze tracking everything. Her boots made dull thuds on the stone beneath them, the sound echoing faintly through the corridor. Bonehead and Sam brought up the rear, weapons out, but held casually for now.
"We're still going down," Bonehead murmured after a few steps, eyeing the slant of the tunnel. "We've been going for ten minutes now."
He wasn't wrong.
"This feels like the entrance to a crypt," Sam said, his grip on his staff tightening.
"It's not a crypt," Esmerelda said without looking back, her voice calm, like she'd already decided. "Unless Huitzilopochtli was some sort of undead god, most temples in mythos weren't used to bury the dead; that would be sacrilegious. Temples like the ones on Floor Zero and in most mythos were used to speak to the gods of those they worshiped. Sometimes with prayers." She paused. "And sometimes with ritual."
The silence after that hung a little longer than necessary.
Jass exhaled sharply through her nose. "You just had to mention that last part."
Deacon slowed his pace only briefly to examine the left side of the wall, eyes scanning over another set of Aztec writing that translated to English in his mind.
They spoke of Huitzilopochtli; they mentioned how he was their god of war and sun, how he appeared to be a man whose skin was bluer than the ocean, was a warrior, and donned the feathers of a hummingbird atop his humanoid form.
They continued down the steps for a couple more minutes, where, much to their appreciation, they saw the end.
As the stairs ended, they were greeted with a wide, rectangular, decorated chamber.
The Wisps of Light followed them in, hovering higher now near the domed ceiling, and illuminating the room that they were walking into.
The walls were covered in murals of various Aztec warriors with jaguar skins draped over their shoulders, their faces were decorated with red markings, and in the center of all the warriors, looming high above them was a blue-skinned humanoid, holding a serpent-shaped staff in one hand and a shield ringed with feathers in the other. His hummingbird helm gleamed in the paint.
Bonehead whistled low. "I wonder who that could be."
But Deacon didn't answer. His eyes were already tracking something on the far end of the chamber.
Jass followed Deacon's line of sight. There, across from them, sat a smooth stretch of wall, unlike the mural-covered others, and in the center of it, spaced evenly and deliberately, were five horizontal slits. They looked no wider than the average textbook, perfectly cut and shadowed on the inside, too dark to see anything past the opening.
Bonehead walked toward them without much hesitation or fanfare, but as he neared the wall with the five horizontal slits, he came to a full stop as he felt mana pulse from the wall.
Thin golden lines snaked across the wall around the slits, spiraling out in neat writing. They brightened for a heartbeat before the System translated the words in his mind.
Prove your faith.
"Ah, for fuck's sake," Bonehead groaned and took a long step back. "… Really?"
"What?" Jass asked as she walked toward the wall, just before the very same words became visible to her.
"'Prove your faith,'" Bonehead repeated out loud, crossing his arms. "Yeah. That's never a good sign."
Sam moved to his side, stared at the glowing script, and then let his head fall back with a long, tired groan. "Of all the things we could've been asked to do, they want us to do this?"
Jass didn't say anything. Neither did Deacon. Esmerelda was the one who broke the silence.
"Yeah," she said, tone almost too casual as she, along with everyone else, walked closer to the wall, "but worst case, if our hands do end up chopped off, we can just regrow them with overheal from the Health Potions or Regeneration Potions."
Sam just stared at her. "You're not supposed to say that kind of thing out loud before we do it. That's how you jinx it."
With Sam's words, everyone stilled and snapped their jaws shut.
Eventually, Deacon sighed and rolled his shoulders once, cracking the tension out of them. "Alright. Let's just get it over with."
One by one, they stepped in front of the wall.
Jass glanced at her hand for a second, flexed her fingers, then slowly reached forward.
Her palm hovered an inch from the slit. The others lined up next to her, everyone taking their place. Bonehead on the far left, then Sam, Deacon, Jass, and finally Esmerelda at the far right.
A beat passed.
"On three?" Deacon said quietly.
No one responded, but none of them backed away.
"One… two…"
They all slid their hands in.
As their hands slid into the slits, the inside felt smooth, cold, but nothing met them on the opposite side.
And for a few seconds, nothing passed.
The quiet stretched, uneasy.
Bonehead opened his mouth, ready with a smart-ass remark on his tongue.
Click!
All five of them stiffened at once.
Aw… fuck! were their thoughts in that exact moment, seconds before pain erupted from their hands.
Each of them felt something stab clean through the tops and bottoms of their wrists – thin and needle-like.
Bonehead hissed sharply, jerking his arm, but it was too late. "I don't even have a hand, why the fuck does it – Agh!"
The slits snapped shut around their wrists like metal vices, locking them in place. Jass and Deacon grunted, trying to wrench themselves free, using all their might, but there was no give.
Not even a centimeter.
Something started to encase their wrists, it was cold and liquidy, with a texture that felt gelatinous, like the slime from a slime, sliding over their skin, or bones in Bonehead's case, before hardening into something solid and tight.
Deacon was just about to smash his fist against the mud-brick wall when the wall gave a soft thunk, and then… released their hands free.
They all staggered back a step, just a breath away from asking the first, "What the fuck was that?" when the floor directly beneath each of them dropped.
However, they didn't fall as a group.
Each of them dropped down individual shafts, cleanly cut squares tailored to them perfectly to fall through without any part of their body catching the sides of the walls.
Deacon hit the angled slope that suddenly came out from under him after a five-second drop, shoulder bashing hard against one wall before his head smacked against the mud-brick wall in front of him, before his arm jerked back and the wall behind him struck his funny bone, sending the nerves in said arm to spasm for a few seconds.
Bonehead's scream echoed from another shaft entirely, followed quickly by Sam and Esmerelda, who were attempting to cast Gust to break their falls, but both spells only splashed harmlessly against the tunnel walls.
Jass attempted to do something similar to Sam, but tried to manipulate the mud-bricks around her to wrap around her hands as she pressed them against the walls on her sides, but the mud-bricks did not move.
It was only after a couple more seconds of them sliding in the darkness that they felt the slanted bricks beneath their feet disappear.
Each of them hit the bottom of their tunnels face-first.