Emilio stared at the girl for a fraction of a second. Then he shook his head.

“What—what is she saying?” Juan asked, staring at Emilio with wide eyes.

“Nothing but nonsense.”

“We have to leave. Now,” the girl urged. “Desecrators can be punished by death.”

Emilio sighed. Whatever. He’d play along until they were outside, then drag Juan back to the car. Maybe this was just the Peruvian version of an escape room or something.

Satisfied with that explanation, Emilio peeked around the corner. The corridor was empty. Arched openings in the walls let light spill through. Sand drifted inside; apparently, there was no glass.

He had to admit: for an escape room, this was insanely well done. His irritation faded, replaced by excitement. Should he suggest it to Juan? Or was Juan in on it and would that ruin the whole thing? Considering his friend’s anxiety disorder, he was taking this whole situation way too lightly. It had to be staged.

Emilio stepped into the corridor. Left or right? Didn’t really matter. He went left. Before long, he reached a window in the wall. Only then did he notice it was shaped like a crescent moon. The next window was already a bit fuller.

Emilio stopped and looked outside. Warm air blew against his face and he rubbed his eyes. They were still recovering from that bizarre white light. Frowning, he stared ahead. Where there had just been one massive sand dune, there were now countless buildings. Orchards stretched out below, people in colorful clothing wandered around. He even spotted a pack of llamas—there was far more life than he’d expected.

Juan came to stand beside him. He sucked in a sharp breath. “What—what is this?”

Emilio saw the disbelief on his face. So Juan wasn’t in on it. The guy had both hands clamped around the window frame, so tightly Emilio suspected he’d collapse if he let go.

“We must’ve found some kind of passage to a nearby village.”

“There was nothing but sand for miles!”

“Apparently not,” Emilio replied flatly. Then, more skeptically, “Or do you honestly think we just traveled back more than a thousand years? That’s fucking insane.”

Juan took a deep breath and looked at him. He nodded hesitantly. “Yeah… that’s really… ridiculous.”

Emilio clapped him on the shoulder. “Exactly. Now let’s find the exit and hunt down a cold beer.”

Just as he was about to move on, raised voices echoed through the hall.

Emilio glanced over his shoulder.

Two men in purple robes covered in trinkets, wearing strange headdresses and large golden disks in their ears, entered the corridor, shouting something in a language that definitely wasn’t Spanish.

One of them had a crescent-shaped blade hanging at his waist. Would he use it if Emilio picked a fight? It probably wasn’t real. But getting kicked out of the game for violent behavior would be a waste, too.

“This way!” James and Sawa were standing by the next window, which was perfectly round. Full moon, Emilio guessed. James already had one leg through it.

Emilio hesitated. Were they really going to run off like a bunch of idiots? He didn’t feel like being chased—that surely wasn’t how you solved this puzzle.

He grabbed James by the leg as he tried to climb through and pulled him back into the corridor. “Wait. That makes us look like criminals. We should just act like it’s the most normal thing in the world that we’re here.”

“How?” James’s voice was shrill.

“By not running away like a complete idiot,” Emilio hissed. He glanced over his shoulder at the two priests hurrying toward them, alarm written all over their faces. His gaze flicked back to the scythe-like blade.

It’s a game. They’re not really going to gut you.

He needed to think logically. He might not be as highly educated as James, but that didn’t mean he was stupid. They were in a temple now—what stopped so-called priests?

Gods.

“We tell them we’re gods.”

James and Juan stared at him. “What?”

“We just appeared in the middle of their holy sanctuary! I’m guessing random people don’t just wander in here all the time, right?”

Fair enough—since this was a game, that did happen. But they had to treat those two weirdos like NPCs in some kind of game.

“Sawa, you speak their weird language too, right?” Earlier she’d sung in an unfamiliar tongue—that had to be a hint. “Tell them we’re gods who just appeared here.”

“This is insane,” James muttered.

Emilio ignored him and looked at the girl.

Her lips curled into a faint smile. She was clearly signaling that he was on the right track.

She turned away from the window and stood in the middle of the corridor as she addressed the men.

“Do you really think this will work?” Juan whispered. His rapid breathing gave away his nerves.

“No idea,” Emilio admitted with a half grin. He nudged Juan’s shoulder. “It’s just a game. Like an escape room, you know?”

Juan met his gaze. He didn’t look convinced, but he didn’t argue either, listening intently to the incomprehensible exchange between Sawa and one of the priests.

“They’re going to ask us to prove we’re gods,” James muttered. He glanced toward the window. Running was clearly still his backup plan. Even if he tried, Emilio didn’t really care if he got booted from the game.

“We’re supposedly in the ninth century or something, right? Can’t be that hard to impress people. I’ve got a lighter, we’ve got our phones…” His eyes briefly landed on James’s glasses. “And hey, there’s bound to be someone around here who’s near-sighted. Put your glasses on them and boom—miracle healer.”

James rolled his eyes and refocused on the conversation further down the hall. The two men were watching them warily, but at least the blade was still hanging at his belt.

Sawa turned back to them. “They want you to meet His Holiness. He’s some kind of king and deity.”

Emilio nudged Juan. “Looks like we’ve reached level two.” He laughed. “This is like fucking Jumanji.”

They were clearly doing something right, because the priests now bowed respectfully and avoided eye contact. One of them gestured with his hand, then turned away.

Relaxed, Emilio followed him.

Juan walked beside him. “We don’t even speak their language. Aren’t gods supposed to be all-knowing?”

Emilio shrugged. “Probably not. Priests are just mortals. Didn’t they use to have oracles for that? Or people who mediated between gods and humans?” He’d seen that in TV shows.

“You talk about this way too easily,” James said.

Emilio glanced back and grinned. “I enjoy looking down on others. This god status suits me.”

James snorted. “Why doesn’t that surprise me.”

They were led deeper into the temple. Emilio slowed when he passed a mural depicting naked prisoners. Just like in the ruins… Only now it was pristine. He brushed it off as an impressive reconstruction, yet an unpleasant, prickling knot formed in his stomach.

The temple was eerily quiet, which got on his nerves. He hated silence. “Pretty impressive replica, don’t you think?” he said to Juan.

Juan nodded without speaking. He looked pale—this clearly wasn’t a fun game to him.

They reached a gate and stepped into the sunlight. Emilio squinted. Remembering the sunglasses hanging from his collar, he put them on.

They stood on a sandy hill dotted with large cacti. A massive stone staircase led downward. No one was walking there, but two warriors stood on either side of the gate. Their clothing was duller than the priests’, yet still covered in busy patterns. They held spear-like weapons with a bulbous tip. Their gazes were rigid, fixed straight ahead—Emilio had to fight the urge to wave a hand in front of their faces. They too wore crescent-shaped blades at their hips, so he decided not to test his divinity.

They overlooked clay-like buildings with reed mats for roofs. Without speaking to each other, they followed the path downward until it crossed another road. Passersby stopped to stare at them.

At barely 5'11", Emilio had never felt particularly tall, but here he, Juan, and James towered over everyone else. Everyone wore strange robes, and he got the distinct impression they’d never seen a tourist before.

They’re just really good actors. That’s all.

No matter how often he repeated it to himself, the uneasy feeling wouldn’t go away. It was too bizarre, too grand for a game.

The two priests led them to a building made of two connected pyramids with flattened tops. The path sloped gently upward to an entrance at least three meters above the ground. The lack of a railing wasn’t reassuring. Had anyone ever fallen off when it got crowded?

Two warriors stood guard on either side of the entrance. They stared straight ahead, as if trying to imitate statues. They only came up to his chest—not particularly intimidating, in Emilio’s opinion.

Emilio stopped beside one of them. “Do you get paid well for this job?” he asked in Spanish. “Standing in the blazing sun all day wearing a ridiculous outfit?”

The man ignored him completely. Whether he understood him was impossible to tell.

Juan nudged his shoulder. “Stop screwing around.”

“I was just curious if I could provoke anything.”

Something that proved this was still some vague open-air event. The fact that he was looking for proof made him shake his head. Of course it is fake. Come on.

He glanced sideways. Juan was visibly nervous, fiddling with his watch, his gaze darting around.

“We just have to convince this so-called king-god that we’re gods and that we want to leave. Then we’ve solved the puzzle and can go back to the hotel.”

“I don’t think it’s a game, E,” Juan murmured.

Emilio raised an eyebrow. “So you really think we got tossed a few hundred years back in time?”

“No.” Juan’s answer was barely audible. He didn’t offer an alternative either.

Emilio didn’t argue. He’d be proven right soon enough.

As they were led inside, he let his gaze wander over the walls, which were covered in colorful tapestries. They clearly loved color. He found it chaotic—he’d probably go insane if he had to walk around here all day.

Halfway down the corridor they stopped. One of the priests went ahead through an opening. Several minutes passed. Then the man returned, said something to his colleague, and motioned them forward. Emilio assumed they’d been granted permission, because the priest led them into a hall.

On a raised platform sat a young man—Emilio guessed he was around his own age, mid-twenties. He sat on a gilded throne, his head tilted with interest. Only slightly—he couldn’t move much with the massive headdress he wore. A woolen cap with intricate patterns covered his head, topped by a gold-colored crescent structure so tall Emilio could barely reach it with an outstretched arm. Colored feathers hung from the base of the cap, hiding most of his black hair.

The priests spoke with their ruler in a language Emilio didn’t understand. He turned away to take in the room. The floor was covered in dark brown carpet. The walls were brightly decorated here too, though a heavy shadow seemed to hang over them. Less light entered through the windows than expected, which likely caused the ominous atmosphere. The space was surprisingly empty—no furniture except the enormous throne, as if the guy sat there solely to listen to others talk. Emilio scanned the room for power outlets, lighting, anything that proved they were still in the twenty-first century.

He found nothing.