In a time steeped in bitter prophecy, the year 1554 arrived laden with dark omens, where the forces of destruction spread like merciless rivers. It was not just a matter of war or physical destruction, but of an internal struggle, a struggle between hearts that, over the centuries, had planned to build barriers of defense that, in reality, only imprisoned them more.
As the northern winds brought unforeseen calamities, the kingdoms, each trying to preserve their throne, erected walls around their cities and hearts. It was no longer a matter of fidelity to others, but of total isolation, a gesture of defense against men who poured in from outside, unaware that the real danger lay within themselves. Evil does not come only from external forces; it is born of one's own ignorance, of the refusal to accept what is foreign, of the worship of one's own culture and of blindness towards others. Bronze walls and iron columns stood as symbols of an empty and purposeless resistance, condemning all who inhabited these lands, sentenced for malice and selfishness.
The land, now barren and muddy like spilled blood, reflected the state of a people who, without gratitude, consumed the works of others, devouring without regard for what had been given. The fields, once fertile, were now dry, a reflection of a society that had lost its connection to the essence of life, becoming hostage to its own creations. The geographies became different, but equally desolate—barren and deserted lands that stretched out as the protagonist's journey approached its destination.
Evil, personified in beautiful but malicious beings, consumed those who fed it, corroding its own bearers. The cycle of destruction continued, as those who practiced evil, unable to direct it outward, carried it within themselves, transforming themselves into an increasingly dense shadow, an absence of light.
However, amidst the darkness, the Wanderer and his protégé, Aesa'Es, continued on their way, crossing a shadow of death. A space without light, without life, where the journey itself became a constant test of resistance. During the crossing, evil infiltrated the heart of Aesa'Es, who, consumed by fear, turned against the one who swore to protect her, hurting him physically and emotionally. But the Wanderer, faithful to his purpose, resisted the attempt to succumb to revenge or resistance, remaining steadfast in his mission, taking her to the oasis of Norlia'v.
However, Aesa'Es' ingratitude proved fatal. Her soul, marked by revolt and fear, was condemned to live on an isolated rock, with her back to the north — the direction of the evil that consumed her — and facing south, towards the sea, the only place where she had felt some form of freedom. But the true prison was in her heart, and she constantly cried for what she had lost, living between the hallucination of persecution and the sadness of regret.
Thus, Aesa'Es paid the price of malice, committing two great mistakes: abandoning the island of the mermaids and rebelling against the Wanderer, the one who, despite everything, still tried to cure her. The inheritance of evil, in its purest form, was abomination — and, although the lineage of malice seemed to be extinguished, it perpetuated itself through the punishment that imprisons the generation. The generation that turned away from the Creator, that forgot its essence, became hostage to the very darkness that it itself fed.
And so, the earth and souls are lost in the long journey in search of light, while evil, invisible but continuous, continues its merciless march, consuming everything it touches.