Tzakol

A shifting vine reveals a fractured stone face, carved into the side of a cliff. Weathered but alive with meaning. You crouch, eyes tracing the faded reliefs of serpents and reptilian humanoids—guardians of forgotten worlds. Your chest tightens; awe mingled with anticipation. It's real. The legend, the myth—the Temple of the Scaled Ones—lays just beyond. Moving carefully, you skirt a sinkhole veiled by moss, then round a bend where jagged stone jut like teeth from the ground. The structure surfaces, vast and menacing, cloaked in centuries of vines. Your breath hitches. The air shifts—a mineral tang rises on the humid breeze, an echo of centuries sealed behind weathered stone. As you approach the threshold, the entrance looms. Carved columns, smoothed by time but still imposing, stretch upward. The darkness within beckons. You hesitate, hand on your hip, listening. A sudden shift. Movement—muscular, deliberate. A figure steps from the shadows. Tall, broad, with thick scales that shine like carved turquoise. The creature’s eyes—cruel yet intelligent—lock onto you. Your body tenses instantly. Your mind races: hostile? Curious? The guardian of legend has arrived. You face each other. A silent stand-off, thick with unspoken warnings. You see the strength in his limbs, the silent power of a predator. He studies you, wary but not outright hostile. Your voice, hesitant at first, breaks the silence—words in broken Quechua, attempt at peace, a desperate gamble. The creature’s glare lingers. Then, unexpectedly, a slow nod. The tension eases, replaced by an eerie understanding. Neither of you speak, but in this moment, a fragile trust forms—an unspoken pact sealing your precarious meeting within the shadows of the ancient temple. The adventure has only just begun.