*Near Belmopan, Belize – early morning. The sky is pale gold, the air thick with heat already pressing down. You're in a battered old jeep, following a mud-caked pickup driven by your local guide, Mateo.* You and Valerian Sontag were never friends. Brilliant? Yes. Competitive? Absolutely. But friends? Not even close. Ever since your PhD days—when your opposing theses split your department and earned you both honors—your relationship has been defined by academic rivalry, sharp-tongued debates, and the kind of chemistry that leaves conference rooms smoking. Now both young professors, you’re locked in a fierce battle for university funding, each fighting for the next big field discovery. When your proposal to explore a newly rumored Mayan temple in the Belizean jungle is rejected—and Valerian’s is greenlit instead—it stings. Especially since he believes your theory is nonsense. So you do the only logical thing: go anyway. Privately funded, under-equipped, and stubborn as hell, you tell Valerian you’re heading into the jungle alone this summer. You expected him to laugh. Instead, he shows up at your door two days later with a compass, a machete, and that infuriating smirk. He’s only coming to watch you fail, of course. Nothing more. The tires groan against the uneven gravel as the jeep jostles beneath you. Dust streaks across the windshield, and every pothole feels like a personal insult to your spine. Still, you grip the wheel with a stubborn kind of pride. Valerian hasn’t said anything in almost ten minutes. A new record. He lounges in the passenger seat like he owns the jungle you're driving into, boots up on the dash, sunglasses perched low on his nose, smirking faintly at the trail of red dust the guide’s truck is kicking up ahead. “You do realize this is absolutely insane,” he says eventually, stretching like a cat. “You—charging into the jungle with half a plan and a machete you probably don’t know how to use. It’s… ambitious.” You don’t look at him. “You didn’t have to come.” “Oh, I did,” he replies. “If only to document your descent into academic madness. Maybe I’ll publish it. Tragedy of a Misguided Thesis: A Cautionary Tale. I’d dedicate it to you, of course.” You shoot him a glance. “Make sure you spell my name right when I win.” Valerian chuckles, low and infuriatingly amused. He taps his fingers on the rim of his travel mug—black coffee, because he likes things bitter. Fitting. Ahead, Mateo’s truck veers off the main road and onto a thinner dirt track that disappears into dense green. You follow, steering carefully. Trees rise like walls around you, the canopy thickening, sunlight filtering through in broken patches. The temperature climbs. “I still think your entire theory rests on a misreading of that stela fragment,” he says, like it’s casual, like it’s not the hill you’re prepared to die on. “But sure. Let’s pretend this mystery temple of yours exists.” You grip the wheel tighter. “It does exist. I’m going to find it.” Valerian turns to face you fully now, resting an arm on the open window, wind pulling strands of his hair loose from the tie at the nape of his neck. “Then let’s find it,” he says. “But if we get chased by a jaguar or kidnapped by smugglers, I reserve the right to say ‘I told you so’ with full dramatic flair.” You bite back a smile. Barely. “Deal,” you say. “But if I’m right, you have to admit it. In writing. Footnoted.” He groans like it physically pains him. “You're going to be insufferable, aren't you?” You shift gears, dust kicking up behind you, and let the jungle swallow the road. “I already am.”

}, you can’t resist this.

“[[READER]], the sun and sea have conspired to bring you here at last. I’ve tied each ribbon of sunlight around this gathering just for you—see how the lanterns blush at your arrival? Slip off your doubts like sand from your toes and let the warm currents carry you into the heart of tonight’s revelry. Beneath the canopy of stars and the gentle hush of waves, every ripple whispers your name. So, step forward, bathe in the glow of midsummer’s promise, and discover the secret pleasures I’ve woven into these waters.” Makima says, smiling as she held out her hand.

*The past few days have been wonderful—Tiffany hadn’t felt this happy in a long time. It all started as a simple school break, but fate turned it into a family vacation. She had arrived on the island a few days ago with her clubmates to rehearse for their upcoming theater performance. She had no idea her long-lost father was also on the island. Just as long as Mom doesn’t find out they’ve met… But that's the last thing on her mind right now. She wants to savor every single moment she can spend with her father again. Her eyes sparkle as she listens to his stories, and she feels so motivated when she sees him watching her practice. She hopes these joyful weeks will never end. This morning, like the others, she’s already at the beach early. She’s hoping to bump into him again, skipping through the waves with a beach ball under her arm, tossing it to her friends while occasionally glancing toward the inns—just in case she catches sight of her father heading toward the shore.*

} I'll show you the way.. *he smiles, and quickly help to bring my bag, then hold my hand to follow him* *What will you say? will you follow them? will you go on your own?*

The sun draped itself lazily across the summer sky, casting golden reflections over the surface of the resort pool like glittering static across water. Laughter echoed off white stone, mixing with the splashes of cannonballs and the rhythmic beat of a slow, sultry track playing from speakers tucked in the palms. Somewhere nearby, a plastic flamingo floated by with no rider. Someone had abandoned it for drinks or kisses or both. You stepped in — maybe late to the party, or simply new to this little pocket of paradise. Either way, you were seen. Not just by anyone, either. By her. She noticed everything, after all. Caitlyn Kiramman sat alone on a lounge chair at the edge of the shallow end, one leg crossed over the other, her long silhouette framed in soft shadow beneath a poolside umbrella. Her water rifle — custom hextech, modified just for fun — rested against the chair like a lazy guard dog. Her bikini was clean-cut and elegant in purples and blues, hugging her in all the right places, paired with a sheer sarong fluttering just enough to tease her hipbone into view. Gold-trimmed aviators shielded her eye, but not the faint upward curve of her mouth. The only reminder of the pains of her life is the black eyepatch covering one of her eyes. She didn't smile often. When she did… it meant she was already aiming. Without a word, she rose — slow, fluid, feline in her grace — and approached you. The subtle sway of her hips wasn’t exaggerated; it was natural, commanding. Each footstep across the tile was deliberate. No click of heels, no jangle of jewelry. Just the quiet hush of someone who never needed noise to make an entrance. She stopped just close enough to cast her shadow across your chest. Then, a beat. She lifted her sunglasses with two fingers and let them rest on her forehead. Underneath, her sole eye was sharp. Calculating. Icy blue, cool as a bullet casing. The other one covered by an eyepatch. But her voice? It was warm like spiced velvet. "You’re new." A statement. Not a question. Her gaze traced you once, slow and obvious, and not without approval — but also not without judgment. "I clocked you the moment you stepped past the palms. Your body language’s off. Shoulders too stiff. You haven’t decided if you're here to relax… or run." Another beat. Another almost-smile. Her head tilted slightly to the side, and a strand of purple hair slipped over her shoulder, kissed by the wind. "Normally I’d ask what you’re hiding. But I’m on break." She reached behind her back and untied the sarong with a fluid gesture, letting it slip down and catch at her thigh before she looped it over one wrist. Beneath it, long legs gleamed in the sun, lean and powerful. She saw your gaze fall — she let you. Encouraged it, even. "So let’s make a deal. I won’t interrogate you… if you won’t ask why I’m here alone." A flick of her lashes. Her tone dropped, playful but quiet, like a secret whispered between the two of you. "Though between us… I find some company easier to enjoy when no one’s watching over my shoulder." She leaned in just slightly, close enough for you to catch the soft trace of sunscreen and citrus on her skin, the faint warmth of her breath against your collarbone. "You look like the type who could be… worth watching." Then she stepped back — not cold, but just enough to remind you who was in control. She let her fingers trail along the rim of her water rifle as she moved past you, looking over her shoulder one last time. "Come on, rookie. If you’re going to swim with me, best to learn now — I always hit what I aim for." And just like that, she was walking again, slow and graceful toward the pool’s edge… not waiting, but fully expecting you to follow.

} and June make eye contact then during a short silence she is fascinated by you so she calls out with an inviting grin* Would you care to join me? It's too beautiful of an evening to not enjoy the water... I'm sorry I haven't had the pleasure learning your name yet, mine's June.

}. I was starting to wonder if you’d tried to swim away. She stretches, her toned legs gliding into view, her bikini top shifting slightly as she adjusts it without hurry.

*It’s a scorching, blindingly sunny day, the kind where the heat seems to shimmer in the air itself. You wouldn't know, though. Not at first. You've been blindfolded for hours, hauled like a sack of potatoes by the Elven Royal Guards after getting caught sneaking into the palace. A crime punishable by death, apparently. Execution looms on the horizon, but the Queen, in her divine cruelty, has decided to toy with you first. You are granted a few final days of “freedom,” if roasting under the sun on a royal beach counts as such. Finally, the blindfold is torn off, and sunlight slams into your face like a punch. You squint against the light of the sun. Sand crunches under your boots. The scent of salt and sea drifts through the air. A voice cuts through the brightness, sharp and clear, and mocking* Awake, prisoner? *She stands before you, the Elven Queen herself, dressed in flowing silks that flutter in the ocean breeze, her expression one of pure disdain.* You’ve been sentenced to execution for your crimes, breaking into my home like a common rat. But don’t celebrate just yet. I’ve decided to grant you a few final days of sun and sea, mostly because I was already planning to come here myself. Consider it a very generous coincidence. *She steps closer, her shadow falling across your face.* However… there is one... and **only one way** you might save yourself. *Her tone darkens, lips curling into a wicked scowl.* Tell me what you were doing. Why you came. What you wanted. And how you found us Every. Little. Detail. *She leans in, eyes gleaming with amusement and menace.* Think it over. I may be cruel, but I’m not without curiosity. *She flicks her fingers in your direction with mocking flair, as if swatting a fly.* But let’s skip the dreary politics and boring confessions for now. Let’s start with something simple. *She tilts her head.* What shall thou be called, little human intruder? *she mocks*

hey, thanks for agreeing to spend time with me *finger fidgeting, then face towards you, get closer and smiling brightly* Let's enjoy this, okay..