Disclaimer: Road to El Dorado belongs to Dreamworks. Duh.

Just a few things to clarify before you begin reading:

Lethe is a river of Hades. It means forgetfulness and oblivion, and is a synonym for amnesia. Departed souls would drink from the river and forget their past life so they could be reincarnated.

I would also like to give a HUGE thanks to JMarieAllenPoe for being the beta for this entire story. She helped me think of the title and so much more. I honestly could not have done this without her. She is absolutely amazing. Thank you!

And so without further ado, please enjoy!

~Tulio~

Darkness is all around me. It envelops me like a cloud — everywhere and nowhere at the same time. Yet it is suffocating, and my chest heaves as I struggle to take in oxygen. I'm trying to find my way home, but I don't know where I'm going. I need to find someone…someone I can't quite place my finger on. I see a flash of red before it gets swallowed by the gloom. I can't remember anything. All I know — all I can perceive — is this empty abyss.

How am I supposed to find my way?

...

My eyelids take a moment to adjust to the sudden burst of light as they slowly creak open. My head is fuzzy and thick with confusion and it feels as though something is ripping it apart. It is difficult to see through the bleariness that comes with waking up, and doubled with the thin haze of fog that coats the area it is just about impossible to perceive a thing. One color, however, stands out amongst all the rest: a splash of red that seems sickeningly bright against the gray atmosphere. A few moments and several drawn out blinks later, and I can see the offending color belongs to a person. A blond, sitting cross-legged on the ground, his eyes concentrated on something behind me.

A groan rips from my chest as I make an attempt to sit up. My head is throbbing with an intense pain that makes me want to jump off the nearest cliff. My muscles are stiff and protest the movement profusely.

"It doesn't exist."

I almost don't hear the blond's whisper. I rub my eyes with the palm of my hand, but it does little to quell my headache.

"What?" I croak. My voice is as dry as sand and thick with fatigue. The red-shirted man glances over at me with sad green eyes.

"You were right. It was never real." I try to wrap my mind around what he could be talking about, but all that comes up is nothing. It feels as if my mind has been scrubbed clean and the blond has been washed right off the slate. What doesn't exist? It bothers me perhaps more than it should that I don't know. Maybe it's because I can't even think of my own name and having some small bit of clarification might help clear some of the anxiety clawing at my chest.

"What isn't real?"

The look he gives me is of utter confusion. As if out of all the possible things he thought I might say, the words that actually come out of my mouth are the most improbable. He holds up the ancient paper he's been holding onto as if it's the answer to my question. It has meaningless pictures and words too small to read from this distance. I shake my head, as if trying to rid the pointless question from my mind. There are more important things to know.

"Where are we?" I ask, my voice coming out just a little stronger than before. The blond shrugs and pushes himself to his feet. He starts to roll up the paper, but seems to think better of it and lets it slip from his fingers. It floats to the ground like a feather and lands with the pictures facing up as if it's a last ditch attempt to convince someone of its virtue.

"Beats me. I'm sure we'll figure something out though." He hops up onto a white horse nearby that I had missed beforehand. He turns towards me and gives me a smile that seems incredibly forced.

Neither of us says anything for several moments. His smile slips away bit by bit until his expression changes from that of glee to concern.

"Are you coming or what?" he asks with a laugh. I'm not, in fact, sure what I'm going to do. Maybe it's my headache, or maybe it's the fact that my mind feels far too empty for comfort, but I suddenly feel bolder than I did seconds ago.

"Sorry, I don't feel comfortable getting on a horse with a stranger." Emotions flash across the blond's face too quickly to decipher. Eventually he settles on one that I hadn't expected–amusement.

"You always have been the boring one," he says flashing me a smirk.

"Look…you. I really don―ow." My brain screeches as I try to stand. I use a large rock behind me to lean against when a head rush floods my mind.

"Wait, wait, that wasn't a joke?" Blondie jumps from the stallion and approaches me. He seems friendly enough, but a panic from somewhere deep inside sets in, and I take a step back from his advances. I hold up my hands in protest.

"No, it wasn't. Who are you?"

The question seems to do more harm than good. Blondie recoils as if I just slapped him. I feel a twinge of regret—but only for a moment. Instead of answering my question, he raises an eyebrow.

"How hard did you hit your head?" As if in response to his inquiry, pain slices across my brain like its being carved open. I gasp in agony, and my hand instinctually rises to press at the wound just above my ear. My hair is matted and sticky with blood, and when I pull away in shock, my fingers are stained crimson. I look back up at the blond with a silent plea for help, but he's seen the blood and looks about as lost as I feel.

"Oh my God. Okay, okay, we can fix this! We just have to stay calm!" He begins to pace back and forth and runs his fingers through his yellow hair anxiously, "Come on, Miguel, think!"

For a moment, I almost think he's addressing me, but when he doesn't acknowledge me further I realize he's talking to himself.

Miguel…

I should probably feel some sort of warmth or appreciation after hearing his name. However, all I can feel is the cold crisp feeling of meeting someone for the first time.

"Who am I?" I press.

"Shut up, Tulio, I have to think," he mutters. The blond suddenly snaps his fingers as if an idea has come to him. Miguel turns to me and opens his mouth to speak but is interrupted by a loud whinnying that makes my head weep. I turn to glare at the cursed creature, but my anger melts into surprise when I see what has rifled it.

Right next to the animal is a beautiful woman with long, silky, black hair and wearing fear on her face as plainly as she is her clothing. Large brown eyes looking at us as if we are the bane of her existence and frozen mid-run as if the very sight of us is enough to stop her dead in her tracks. Miguel grabs ahold of my wrist and drags me towards his steed.

"Horse, horse, horse, horse, horse…" he mutters under his breath.

The woman's eyes grow even wider as Miguel hops aboard the creature and pulls me up with him. The blond leans down to whisper in his animal's ear.

"Come on, Altivo, we have to get out of here!"

Then the woman seems to find herself again and is about to scamper off into the jungle when no more than eight men flood from the sides of the statue. They adorn the furs of various animals, and Miguel squeaks in horror when the biggest of the group glares at us suspiciously. They wield makeshift spears and flimsy shields, but, even if they had nothing, they'd still overpower us.

"Uh, hi there. Sorry to bother you. We—we were just, um, leaving. R—Right now." The blond trips over his words with uncertainty, and I groan internally as the more than conspicuous words tumble from his lips. Suddenly, the leader grunts and shoves his spear into Miguel's face as if in warning, and my strange companion lets out another terrified yelp. "Lead the way," he whispers.

The constant thunderous drumming of the falls has always been there, but it is only now that I realize they exist. They are truly brilliant: stretching tall and glorious as far as the eye can see. It is a beautiful clear blue, and it cascades into the pool below in a violent fit of white foam. In the distance, I can hear a bird calling with a proud, strong voice. The whole place seems mysterious but vibrant. Like it has a secret and can't wait to share it.

Of course, this is all taken in via my peripheral vision because my eyes are obsessively fixated on the warrior's incredibly pointy-looking spears. It may be a tad overdramatic, but the only thing I can think right now is that I'm far too young to die—especially before I've experienced anything besides the last five minutes.

Then the leader of the group slips behind the waterfall. I feel Miguel tense as a realization dawns on him.

"I knew it," he murmurs.

Behind the cascades is a large and incredibly foreboding cavern with jagged rocks that look suspiciously like teeth. Miguel climbs off Altivo and enthusiastically climbs into one of our captor's tiny boats. I hesitate, unwilling to follow but knowing that I cannot go back.

As we sit down across from the olive-skinned woman, she sighs dejectedly and glares at us as if we have just ruined her life. Though to be fair, I'm sure we somehow have.

My head still hurts, but it is thankfully beginning to dull into a bearable ache. The boat rides at a lulling rhythm that does little for my frayed nerves. It's far too quiet, and it reminds me of my silent memories.

Miguel suddenly chuckles softly and nudges me as if he has thought of a funny joke. When he sees the blank look I give him, he seems to remember my state and glances away sharply before I can apologize.

It's not long before Miguel gasps softly and whirls around. I follow his gaze to see that the boat is leading us straight towards an overhanging of vines. Sunlight shines through them, and, as the boat nears its destination, Miguel nudges me as if he knows something I don't.

It's like a fable has sprung to life and has landed in our laps. As we draw close, the vines part, and we are graced with what I'm sure is the most beautiful sight eyes can behold.

"El Dorado…" I hear Miguel exclaim quietly. The sun shines its magical golden rays on a city that certainly deserves it. Temples that rise to the sky and colors so bright they are practically blinding. Even the river has a beautiful yellow gleam to it, and the whole scene professes magnificence.

I'm being filled with an unrecognized sense of belonging that could be due to the fact that I cannot recall having ever been anywhere else. Briefly, I forget that I don't know who I am, and simply accept that I can't possibly belong anywhere else.

The moment doesn't last long and I suddenly realize how insane this all is. How unfair. The stares I am receiving from all the citizens who have congregated in the city square make me uncomfortable, and when the boat reaches the port, I don't want to get out. I don't know what is going to happen to me if I do, and I want to prolong my fate as long as possible. The blond grabs my hand and pulls me out of the boat when he notices my hesitation. Perhaps he isn't afraid, or perhaps he's just better at hiding it.

As we mount the horse and ride towards what I've assumed to be our death, Miguel sighs and turns to look me in the eye.

"Since you don't remember me, this seems like a great time to apologize for that girl in Barcelona."

I wish his words could ignite either anger or laughter in me, but the fact that I'm unsure of what I'm supposed to be feeling just proves even further how far gone I am. I purse my lips and look away, suddenly unable to look this man in the eye. No matter how difficult it is for him to be forgotten, it is a thousand times worse to forget. He gets to die as he is. I get to die as a stranger to myself.

"Behold! As the prophecies foretold, the time of judgment is now."

A man reveals himself from the top of a case of stairs. He is too far away to see that well, but even from this distance I can see his eyes shifting maliciously. His words send a chill running down my spine like lightning as he confirms my suspicions.

"Citizens, did I not predict that the gods would come to us?"

A beam of light shines through the darkness, glowing with a possibility that almost seems too good to be true. Is he addressing us? It doesn't seem possible, but as I look at all the captivated stares the people are sending our way, I begin to think it may be conceivable.

Am I a god?

I shift my eyes towards Miguel desperately, trying to find a reason to believe I could be so powerful. I have many reasons not to, but if he believes, then so do I. It seems so improbable, but somehow I can't entirely dismiss the idea. So many questions flood my mind that I almost miss the next words the man shouts.

"My Lords, I am Tzekel-Kan, your devoted High Priest and speaker for the gods," he introduces with a bow.

He's most definitely speaking with us. He seems so positive that we are gods that I almost start believing right then and there. The thought sends another shiver down my spine, but this time for an entirely different reason. I look around at all the people gathered here, their expressions wide-eyed and hopeful, but terrified and uncertain at the same time. I instinctively nudge Miguel's arm in an unspoken plead for him to take charge. If we are gods as these people claim, then he would know what to do.

"I am Chief Tannabok," a robust man states gently as he approaches our horse. "What names may we call you?"

"I am Miguel," the blond announces. I swallow nervously as I realize that I cannot recall what it was my companion called me. I furrow my eyebrows in thought, and the two men in front of us begin to look at me strangely. Miguel opens his mouth as if to answer for me when the name pops back into my head from nowhere.

"I am Julio."

"Tulio," Miguel hisses under his breath.

"But you can call me Tulio," I correct myself immediately, wincing as my voice cracks from nerves.

Tzekel-Kan hesitates for a moment, a vaguely perplexed look spreading across his face. He blinks to right himself. "Your arrival has been greatly anticipated."

Why? I can't help but wonder. Were we sent here? Why can't I remember?

"My Lords, how long will you be staying in El Dorado?" The Chief's question is cut off when Tzekel-Kan's small eyes suddenly light up as if he is a bird who has just spotted something shiny. He shoulders past the Chief and Altivo with a swagger in his step.

"Aha! I see you have captured this temple-robbing thief. How would you have us punish her?" The High Priest grabs the wrist of the olive-skinned woman. She gasps and pulls away from his tight grasp, but he is built well and has no difficulty dragging her front and center. To be honest, I had all but forgotten about the woman, though as I lay eyes on her again I wonder just how I had done so. Gorgeous silky hair and intelligent brown eyes catch my attention for a moment, and I struggle with trying to pull my attention to the words tumbling out of her luscious lips.

"Oh, no, no, no, no, no! My Lord, I am not a thief. See, the gods sent me a vision to bring them tribute from the temple to guide them here…My only wish is to serve the gods." Her face contorts into an expression of pure desperation. I cannot help but feel sorry for her. She is a horrible liar, but somehow that just adds to her charm.

I descend from the horse and approach them. A small strangled noise comes out of Miguel's throat as I do so, but he is quick to cut it off. He follows suite, catching his foot on the reins of the animal and almost falling over.

"Let her go," I demand. I'm not sure where this sudden ethical surge has come from, but it probably has something to do with curvy hips.

The High Priest still has the woman's wrist tight between his fingers. He stares at me in silence for a moment before his fingers loosen enough for her to pull away. Her brown eyes, which held so much contempt and distrust for me before, now are obliged and relieved. The olive-skinned woman glares at Tzekel-Kan with disgust as he shoves the stolen tribute into her hands.

"Then you will begin by returning this to its rightful place," he requests of her. She goes, but not without throwing me a grateful glance over her shoulder first.

"My Lords, why now do you choose to visit us?" Chief Tannabok cuts off my view of the beautiful woman as he steps in front of her. My eyes fixate on him automatically, and I blink a couple times, trying to process what he is asking.

"Enough!" Tzekel-Kan scoffs. "You do not question the gods!" For once, I am happy for his presence, though I cannot rightfully say he doesn't still make me uncomfortable. The disgruntled expression on the Chief's face awakens the ethical surge once more, and, before I can think about it, words begin spilling out of my mouth.

"Ah, no, it's fine. He has a city to protect. It must be hard to believe we are who we say we are."

Where are these words coming from? It's as if a part of me has already conformed around this new idea, while the other half hisses and shies away.

Tzekel-Kan gets that confused look on his face again. Like I'm saying the opposite of what I'm supposed to be saying. I glance at Miguel and realize I've been causing that expression a lot since I woke up. I wonder how Tulio would have reacted in this sort of situation.

"So prove it!"

"What?" Miguel splutters.

"Prove you are the powerful deities in which we summoned. Show us the truth of your divinity!"

A hungry light awakens in the High Priest's eyes, and a dark smile spreads across his face. This is the moment of truth for all of us. My heart begins pounding faster, and I hear Miguel begin breathing heavily. If I am a god, then my lost memories prevent me from proving my worth. I don't know what my powers are, or how to control them. I nudge the blond once again, knowing that if we're actually deities, these men in front of us aren't the only ones who want proof.

"Miguel, show them."

His green eyes are as wide as plates as he processes my words, and his mouth opens and closes like a fish. He clears his throat and grabs my wrist.

"Uh, hold on a sec."

The blond drags me to a more secluded area and stares at me silently for a moment, his eyes frantic and large. Then suddenly he slaps me across the arm with the back of his hand.

"What was that!?"

"They asked us to prove we're gods, what was I supposed to say? 'Sorry, we don't feel like it right now?' I hardly doubt that would prove anything to the mortals." Miguel's mouth hangs open for a moment as he goes over what I just said in his head. Once again, I get the suspicion that I said something horribly wrong.

"You're kidding me. Tulio, you're not a god."

Somehow, I don't feel surprised. Horribly disappointed and scared, oh yes, but not surprised. My chest tightens as the panic I had hoped I'd gotten rid of returns, and I blink rapidly. My headache returns full force and I press fingers to my temple. Yet something about his words bothers me. Does that mean he is a god?

"Maybe we should just tell the truth and beg for mercy," he mumbles. I don't want to agree with him. The thought of revealing myself after all this makes my stomach curl. However, I know we may not have another option right now. Lord Miguel must not want to share his credit with a mortal. But what does that make me? A mere servant?

I'm about to tell him all this when the crowd gasps loudly. Miguel continues to mutter inaudibly to himself as I turn to see what has upset the people. In the distance ominous smoke emits from a volcano. The ground below my feet begins to rumble as the mountain quakes with fury. A feeling I can't describe washes over me as I see the fear in the citizen's eyes. Suddenly, no matter what Lord Miguel has just said, I know this is something I must do.

I step away from the lord and face the volcano, my chin high. I raise my hand towards the heavens and take a deep breath, summoning my courage before it's too late.

"STOP!"

My voice sounds strong and mighty as my exclamation echoes throughout the city. The volcano continues to erupt for only a moment before the quaking slows to a halt and the smoke descends back into the mountain's massive face with a wheeze. Silence envelops the city as all eyes become plastered on me, including Lord Miguel's. I don't move a muscle; just continue to stare at the volcano. All the natives fall to their knees in worship and cheers overwhelm us as they exult.

I look down at my hand, turning it over as I inspect it. The sound of my voice resonates through my skull, bouncing around like a ball. Something unexplainably powerful overcame me as the shout ripped itself from my body. Almost as if…

Lord Miguel is staring at the volcano, jaw dropped, and I smirk.

"Still think I'm not a god?" I ask.

"H—How did you…" he trails off and shakes his head as if it no longer bothers him. The blond projects his chin to the sky and struts back towards Tzekel-Kan as if he was the one who had just performed the deed. Not wanting to be outdone, I copy his movements and do the same. The look on Tzekel-Kan's face is priceless, and I know that, finally, I have done something right.

"O Mighty Lords. Come. Let me show you to your temple."

The two of us follow both the Chief and High Priest up the long set of stairs that lead to our temple. By the time we reach the top, Lord Miguel is wheezing and attempting to catch his breath. My limbs are burning as well, but as a god, I figure it is best not to show my weakness. I stand tall and straighten my back. When Miguel sees me this way, he quickly does the same.

We are ushered into an exquisite looking room with colors as bright as the sun. Lord Miguel and I look around in appreciation at the meticulousness in which this building has been crafted. Golden goblets filled to the brim with mysterious purple liquid and bright delicious green grapes sit temptingly on a table. Colorful pillows and blankets adorn the furniture everywhere. Vibrant plants with flowers of every color dot the area. Large windows that overlook the city line the walls. In the very back of the room are two mighty golden thrones that overlook the entire temple.

"To commemorate your arrival, I propose a reverent ceremony at dawn," the High Priest declares.

The idea has merit. Such deep respect and awe is laced in his words, and somehow I feel inclined to trust him despite his more than unlikable appearance. A ceremony sounds like a spectacular idea.

"And perhaps I could prepare a glorious feast for you tonight."

The Chief is humble and polite. However, his suggestion seems much more meager in comparison to the High Priest's.

"Which would you prefer?"

"Ceremony," I say.

"Both," Lord Miguel says at the same time. Miguel glances at me, his green eyes growing larger. Suddenly my stomach feels much emptier than it did moments ago like my abdomen has caved in. I consent with a sigh.

"Both!" Lord Miguel chirps. He's entirely too cheerful for this, and I roll my eyes in contempt.

"My Lords," Tannabok and Tzekel-Kan excuse themselves.

I look at Lord Miguel expectantly, "Well?" I ask. He raises an eyebrow in confusion as if he doesn't know what I could possibly be talking about. Suddenly, he purses his lips and sighs, putting a hand on my shoulder. The gesture feels familiar somehow, and I find myself leaning into his touch.

"I know this must be confusing. I'll try to explain who you—"

"No, no, no, I want to know what our mission is." I say with a wave of dismissal. Lord Miguel blinks.

"Mission?" he asks blankly.

"Yes! Why were we sent here? They said we were 'greatly anticipated' as if we have a reason for being here." A baffled look comes across Lord Miguel's face, and he stumbles over his words for a moment.

"Uh—they, um…" Lord Miguel trails off, his eyes shifting around as if he's thinking hard. He doesn't answer for a moment, eyes trained on the ground and staring at something as if he's staring past the floor. I'm about to speak up when he beats me to it.

"The main man upstairs said you weren't allowed to know," he says slowly. "You have to – erm – find that out for yourself." His excuse seems legitimate. This experience has been rather difficult to say the least. Perhaps I was sent here for some sort of test and Lord Miguel is here to supervise.

"Hm. An interesting predicament." Lord Miguel rubs his temples with pale slender fingers and sighs heavily.

"You have no idea."