Old Friends and Hint of Dark Tales

Jesse Hughes exhales, relief replacing the tension as a grin spreads across his face. “My good man, I thought you were about to give me away entirely,” he says, a spark in his voice. “It’s good to see you, Alan—truly.”

“What are you doing here, Jackson Elias?” Alan asks.

Jesse/Jackson leans back slightly, tapping the table as he answers, explaining he’s been following patterns—places people avoid, stories left unspoken, artifacts appearing where they shouldn’t. This expedition, he admits, checks too many of those boxes to ignore. At first, he deflects with a half-smile and a raised glass, suggesting some things are better understood in person. But after a moment, his tone shifts—more serious now. Larkin, he says quietly, is not telling them everything. He has already tried to hire locals in Puno to reach the pyramid, and every one of them refused. Now he is turning to outsiders—people who don’t know the stories, who might not think twice about going.

Lowering his voice, Hughes continues. A professor in Lima—Nemesio Sánchez of the National University of San Marcos—has taken an interest in the site and may possess documents and artifacts tied to it, though Larkin declined to involve him. Hughes/Elias plans to meet Sánchez the following afternoon at the Museo de Arqueología y Antropología and invites any who wish to join him, noting that more eyes never hurt when dealing with old secrets. Eustis is quick to respond, his interest already piqued, leaning forward with a quiet eagerness that makes his answer clear before he even speaks. Rupert, who had been listening quietly, finally speaks up, his voice steady and practical. He suggests that if they’re going to the museum, they might be able to find maps as well—something more concrete than Larkin’s assurances. It’s a simple observation, but it grounds the conversation, shifting it from speculation to preparation.

Then, after a brief hesitation, he adds one more detail. In Puno, locals spoke of de Mendoza, calling him a kharisiri—a folkloric creature said to drain the fat from its victims while they sleep. He dismisses it with a quiet chuckle, attributing it to fear, rumor, and the lingering shadow of the conquistadors—but the idea lingers nonetheless.

For a moment, he grows quieter, weighing his words before continuing. There is something more—something he does not say lightly. He believes Larkin, and possibly de Mendoza, may be connected to something he has been investigating: a cult. He does not yet know its full shape, only fragments gathered from different places, but enough to be concerned. The pyramid, he suggests, may not be a coincidence—it may be central to whatever they are pursuing. And they are not alone. There are others—scattered references, different accounts, but consistent enough to suggest a wider network, perhaps dozens or more. He exhales softly, offering a final, measured caveat that he could be wrong—but the look he gives the group suggests he does not believe that to be the case.