It was strange, he thought, with a sudden laugh. As a historian, he regarded the world in hindsight, but history was never dead. It was furiously alive even if it was lost, even if it existed only as phantoms haunting conquerors or woven into bedtime stories whispered to children. All his life, Enrique had traced the edge of truth in those tales and fiercely believed, but now he knew. The difference was more than night and day … it was like standing before the very first dawn and watching the world draw into focus.

“I … I can’t believe it,” he said, trying to speak around what he’d witnessed.

Beside him, Laila was quietly shaking. Enrique’s heart lurched, thinking that she was weeping … but no. She was laughing. He hadn’t seen her smile like that in more than a year. A loud exhale caught his attention. Hypnos knelt on the ground, his lips parted and eyes wide. Even Zofia seemed stunned.

Finally, his gaze went to Séverin, and for a moment it was as if nothing had ever soured between them.

Séverin smiled, and Enrique recognized that old grin. It was the sly and yet giddy look of disbelief that used to follow a successful acquisition. And this time, Enrique shared it with him.

Silently, they turned back to the temple. The wonder of the place had not faded, but now his eyes had adjusted to the brightness. Little by little, he was able to pick apart the details … to notice the way the room came together.

There was something about the giant automatons that caught his attention. He had assumed they were automatons, but they did not move.

Enrique didn’t even notice he’d taken a step forward until Séverin raised his arm, blocking him right before his boot touched the glassy floor, the circumference of which was surrounded by a meter-wide ring of the same soft clay ground from outside.

“Wait,” said Séverin gently.

“What’s there to wait for, mon cher?” asked Hypnos, grinning widely. He flung out a hand, gesturing to the ziggurat. “We know exactly where to go! Merely climb the steps and voila! Eternal life, eternal joy … eternal Laila.”

Laila shook her head, smiling.

“Yes … yes to all of that and more,” said Séverin, looking at her. Enrique noticed something painful flash in his eyes. “But we can’t risk recklessness … not yet. We need to understand our surroundings.”

“My tools are gone,” said Zofia. “I don’t have anything except my Tezcat necklace and matches and this—” She lifted her arm.

Hypnos frowned. “The use of one’s right arm?”

“No,” she said. “It’s a Forged sleeve that can act as a torch without harming the individual. Enrique has one too.”

“I do?” he asked.

She nodded, pointing her chin at the bit of silver cloth he had tied around his arm. It was a remnant from the Carnevale costumes. He had kept it on his person as a talisman for good luck.

“That’s all well and good, but we don’t need any fire,” said Séverin. “What we really need are knives and rope in case something obstructs us … Do we have that?”

Zofia shook her head.

“I have this?” said Hypnos, waving around his fan.

“Maybe there’s something left in the rucksacks,” said Laila. “Give them to me.”

Séverin shrugged his off, handing it over.

“I lost mine,” said Enrique, thinking of the skeletal sirens.

“This won’t do much,” said Zofia, tapping her necklace.

“Mine is on the other side of the cave…” said Hypnos.

“I suppose we’ll have to rely on powers of observation instead,” said Séverin. “What do you see? Enrique? What caught your eye?”

Enrique pointed to the towering automatons.

“I thought they were … kings,” he said slowly. “But now I’m not so sure. I believe the art dates from the eleventh-century Pala period of South Asia. Note the serene, almost tantric expressions—heavy-lidded eyes, relaxed mouth—likely influenced by Buddhism.”

“Are they guards?” asked Séverin.

“I don’t think so … they hold no weapons,” said Enrique. “If they’re the automatons I think they are, then they should be in possession of … what’s it called again, Laila?”

“Bhuta vahana yanta,” said Laila, frowning as she pulled out a frayed length of rope. The gilded box that had once held the map to Poveglia caught the light. “Technically it means spirit movement machines, but it’s thought to be powered by Forging.”

“Exactly,” said Enrique. “But I don’t see any machines.”

“Could they be in … whatever that is?” asked Hypnos, gesturing at the silvery fog that shrouded the temple.

“Maybe?” said Enrique. He didn’t like the idea of something lurking in the mist. Watching them. “But the key is not to trigger their appearance.”

“Fair enough, but how do we avoid them showing up?” asked Hypnos.

Séverin stared at the floor, frowning a little. “Did the room always look like this in the images the temple showed us?”

Enrique tried to think back to all the images that had flown through his head. He remembered sunlight haloing the ziggurat.

“The floor…” said Zofia. “It’s … it’s changing.”

Enrique’s eyes flew open. Sure enough, the glass floor before them slowly lightened. The stars faded. A tinge of blush seeped out from the base of the ziggurat. He turned to ask Séverin what he thought it might mean, when an unfamiliar sound tore through the air.

“What was that?” asked Hypnos, spinning around.

Behind them, the archway made by Hypnos’s fan still glowed brightly. Something flickered in its distance. Light off the water, perhaps?

“Séverin,” said Laila sharply.

Enrique looked to her. Moments ago, she had been rifling through the contents of their sack. But now she was holding the gilded box in a white-knuckled grip.

“The box is Forged,” she said.

Séverin’s eyes widened. “What?”

“I think—”

Something boomed in the distance, shaking the ground. Enrique lost his balance, his arms pinwheeling. Another boom rattled through the temple. Past the archway, stalactites crashed into the lake.

A high-pitched moan swept through the temple, raising the hairs on Enrique’s arms. Smoke and fog bloomed through the void surrounding the ziggurat. Above them, the lush forest ceiling trembled. Vines and branches clattered to the brightening floor. Enrique’s wound throbbed suddenly, and he winced as he brought his hand to cover it.

“What’s happening—” Hypnos started, but his words were swallowed up as the archway went up in roaring flames.

A blast threw Enrique on his back. The world spun. Noise bled into silence and back. Smoke burned his lungs, and he fought for breath, waving at the air before his face.

Just as quickly … the smoke cleared.

And when Enrique could finally open his eyes, he saw that he was staring at the sharp point of a golden dagger right between his eyes. Beyond it, standing in the torn mouth of the archway …

“Hello, friends,” Ruslan said, smiling.