Imagine standing by a quiet riverbank in rural Japan, the air heavy with the scent of summer grass. The last traces of daylight have slipped away, and for a moment, darkness surrounds you. Then—like magic—tiny green lights begin to flicker in the air. One, two, dozens... dancing in silence.

Step beyond the pyramid of Kukulkán and past the rows of crumbling columns, and you'll find a place where time runs deeper than stone. Nestled in the northern corner of Chichén Itzá lies a sinkhole shrouded not just in jungle vines—but in centuries of blood, belief, and buried secrets.