“I have a brother,” he improvised. “He rules the sea. And the people who die in his domain are off-limits to me. I tried to steal one of his souls to do a buddy a favor—he wanted to be reunited with his girl—but that broke some sacred rules. So, lesson in humility and all that: they took my powers away. I have to recharge them here before I can go back. So, uh… I really hope the person you want back didn’t drown.”

“No,” Iliyan said grimly.

Apparently, the story sounded believable enough.

“So you were betrayed by your brother, because you only wanted to help someone.”

There was a sharp bitterness in Iliyan’s voice. Did he have issues with his own brother?
“Yeah. Something like that,” Emilio said. “Kind of childish of him not to just help.”

Iliyan fell silent.

From the corner of his eye, Emilio watched the wiry young man beside him. Something in the story had clearly struck a nerve—he was gripping his club so tightly that his arm muscles bulged and his fingers had gone pale. Emilio could only hope the guy wouldn’t crack his skull open with it once he realized Emilio had been lying to him this whole time.

They walked on in silence. Insects buzzed in the dark; now and then, a black shape darted through the air. Bats. Birds. His thoughts drifted to Juan and James. Where were they now? Were they being treated halfway decently? He hoped Juan could keep his panic attacks under control, though he wasn’t optimistic.

Not that his own future looked any brighter. If this guy hadn’t helped him, he’d still be stuck on the beach. Thinking back to the moment Iliyan had appeared, Emilio could feel the shock ripple through him again. Someone who spoke English. The oracle tongue, Iliyan had called it. It was insane. Completely insane.

“The asshole who sent me away didn’t know the oracle tongue,” Emilio said. “So why do you know it? You some kind of priest?” He’d mentioned a warriors’ quarter, so Emilio figured he was a fighter.

Which would explain the muscles.

“One day, the oracle came to me,” Iliyan said. “She told me I had to learn this language. That one day a god would come who could grant my heart’s desire.”

It just kept getting weirder. Had someone actually predicted he’d pretend to be a god? He didn’t believe in prophecies. Then again, that morning he hadn’t believed in time travel either—and look how that had turned out. And if someone existed outside of time, predicting events probably wasn’t that complicated after all.

“What did the oracle look like?”

“She was a young girl. A child.”

Emilio’s jaw tightened. Sawa. First she’d lured him through the portal. Then she’d claimed he had to save the world. And now she’d manipulated this guy into learning a language no one else spoke—just to help him.

Granted, without Iliyan’s help he wouldn’t last long in the wilderness. He just couldn’t see how this warrior was supposed to help him return with the corpse of a creature that didn’t exist. Still, he didn’t dare bring it up. If he admitted he didn’t believe in mythical beasts, Iliyan would bolt—and Emilio would be on his own again. No. For now, he needed to keep the guy close. And in the meantime, come up with a plan to prove to that smug higher bastard that he really was a god.

Unfortunately, planning was not exactly his strong suit.

At least five hours had passed, and all Emilio could think about was how wrecked his body felt. His feet were covered in blisters, probably bigger than his toes by now. The temptation to climb onto the llama was growing by the minute.

By the time the sky began to lighten, the terrain grew hillier. The ground remained rock-hard, with only sparse, brittle-looking shrubs. A glance ahead made Emilio’s stomach sink—the hills rose higher and higher, merging into serious mountains in the distance. The thought of having to make their way through those made him exhausted before they’d even started.

Beside him, Iliyan rubbed his eyes. Emilio could barely keep his own open.

“Maybe we should find a place to sleep,” Emilio suggested. The idea of sleeping on the ground didn’t exactly thrill him, but it wasn’t like they were about to stumble across a hotel. There wasn’t a building in sight.

“Yes.” Iliyan actually looked relieved, as if he hadn’t dared suggest it himself. “I did not know if gods slept.”

“Oh, this one definitely does,” Emilio said with a grin. “Preferably in a bed with a decent mattress. Though right now, I’d kill for an air mattress.”

“An air mattress?” Iliyan looked up. “Do gods usually sleep on clouds? And why must one kill for this?”

“God jokes,” Emilio said. “Way beyond mortal comprehension.”

Iliyan shot him a wary look, then turned away and muttered something in his own language. Soon enough, he picked up the earlier thread again. “There is shelter.” He pointed toward the riverbank winding alongside the path. A few trees and low shrubs grew there.

Emilio had no idea whether it was dangerous to sleep out in the open—whether other travelers might attack them, or if there were crocodiles in that river.

Caimans, James’s annoying voice corrected him. No crocodiles here.

Who the hell knew the difference? When James had corrected him days ago, Emilio hadn’t felt like asking. Now he regretted not remembering more of the guy’s stupid trivia. Emilio might think the Canadian was an asshole, but there was no doubt he was better equipped for this mission.

They left the sandy path and descended toward the riverbank, weaving around tall cacti with needles so long they made Emilio itch just looking at them.

At the water’s edge, Iliyan knelt and splashed a handful of water onto his face.

Emilio washed his hands, then dropped onto his ass. A few stiff little trees blocked the view of the road.

He unzipped his backpack and pulled out his water bottle. Only a pitiful layer remained. No choice but to switch to river water later—hopefully he wouldn’t catch some nasty disease or end up with explosive diarrhea. Without toilet paper, that thought did not spark joy. He tipped the last bit back, then refilled the bottle from the river. Thankfully, it didn’t look too murky, though he wished he could’ve boiled it.

Iliyan tied the llama to a tree with a rope, then lay down on his side and closed his eyes.

Emilio rubbed his neck. Well. He makes it look easy.

It was maybe twenty degrees. A blanket wasn’t strictly necessary, but it would at least soften the ground. He went over to the woven bags hanging from the pack animal and felt a bit more hopeful about getting a few hours of sleep when he found a wool blanket. He spread it on the ground and used the other one to bundle into a makeshift pillow.

This is as good as it gets.

He sank down and closed his eyes. Hopefully, he could grab a couple hours.

They were nothing but shallow dozes. Emilio kept shifting, searching for a better position, but the ground was hard as hell. He’d hoped the overload of the previous day would knock him out cold—no such luck. By the time it was fully light, he sat up. His back ached, and his feet felt twice their size. He already dreaded forcing them back into his shoes.

With mild envy, he looked at his companion, still fast asleep. Dark hair fell to Iliyan’s shoulders, with two thin braids behind each ear. There was a hole in his earlobe big enough to stick a thumb through—apparently he’d worn earrings once. Emilio couldn’t quite place his age; the lack of facial hair made him seem younger, unless they had razors here. His hand automatically brushed his own jaw, where stubble scraped beneath his fingers. Beards didn’t suit him. He cursed not bringing his razor.

What he had brought was a can of Axe.

He pulled it out, shook it, and sprayed under each arm.

Iliyan shot upright. “What is that?”

“Oh. Deodorant. Otherwise I smell like ass.”

Iliyan sniffed a few times, studying the black can with curiosity. “What is inside it?”

“Uh…” Emilio shrugged. “A kind of scented cloud?” God, that sounded ridiculous. “Everyone in my world sprays it on in the morning.”

“It smells strange.”

“Yeah, well, better than my sweat, I promise.” He stowed the can. Despite the locals’ questionable hygiene, Iliyan didn’t smell bad, so Emilio wasn’t about to waste his deo on him.

Just before zipping the bag shut, he spotted the wrapper of two chocolate cookies. Figuring the chocolate had hardened overnight and would melt again soon, he decided it made a decent breakfast. It was a twin pack, so after tearing it open he handed one to Iliyan. The guy had obviously never had chocolate—no way was Emilio depriving him of that experience.

Iliyan took it, sniffed it, and eyed it warily. “What is it?”

“Food of the gods,” Emilio said with a crooked grin. “Makes every human happier.”

Especially in a place like this, where they probably lived on weird game and vegetables.

Iliyan brushed his thumb over the smooth brown coating, then took a bite. His eyes widened.

“Well?” Emilio grinned. “Fucking good, right? In a month I’d probably kill for this.”

Iliyan stared at him, and Emilio burst out laughing.

“Kidding. Hopefully I’ll be gone by then. But hey—” he nudged him. “Pretty good, huh?”

“Yes… it is… like honey.” He held the cookie up close. “What is it?”

“A chocolate cookie.”

Iliyan repeated the word. Emilio didn’t bother correcting his pronunciation—the first sound was way off. He let the guy enjoy his miracle snack. He took a bite himself, letting the chocolate melt on his tongue, trying to imagine tasting it for the first time. He couldn’t. Instead, he told himself this might be the last time he ever would.

The thought tightened his chest.

The idea of never returning to his own world was unthinkable. He couldn’t imagine building a life here.

You should be glad if you survive at all. If this guy ever figures out you’re lying, he’ll slit your throat or leave you behind. On your own, you wouldn’t last a week.

So—don’t think too far ahead.

Though Emilio wasn’t exactly an environmentalist, he stuffed the cookie wrapper back into the front pocket of his bag. His fingers bumped into his pack of Marlboros. He looked at it uncertainly. Normally, he’d light one up without hesitation. He flicked it open with his thumb.

His face darkened. Barely ten cigarettes left.

Swearing under his breath, he snapped it shut. What a hellhole.

He pulled his shoes toward him. As expected, he regretted it the moment they were back on his feet. Walking barefoot wasn’t an option either—he’d shred his soles in no time.

“Well. Let’s get moving again.”

His words rang hollow.

Because what were they even walking toward? A beast that didn’t exist. He was wasting time—just waiting for the lie to catch up with him.