Anyone who asked about the location of that town was disappointed. Since the revival of the industrial race for the development of Rastro weapons (more sustainable and clean), a large percentage of merchants suffered a hard blow and many had to sell their ventures, while the great majority abandoned the commune, turning it into a ghost like many others in the guild. In short, like a large number of communes, it was stagnant. In the past, Krek visited Anathema to, according to the records, redeem the honor of the city and cleanse its honor, settling a certain non-monetary debt. It was thought that the hero of Pergamon helped cleanse the territory of invading entities, in the design of an alternative to reactivate the trade routes or solve the problem of epidemics at that time. Amira previously explored its streets and most important places, without any result, but on that occasion, she entered the leafy Forest of the Ditches, on both sides of the access road. There was no neon, but nocturnal flowers, some frogs, fireflies, mushrooms, crystals and even salts that grew inside puddles and small bodies of water, replaced them; not to forget the Rastro that sprouted in small quantities and circulated freely. He followed the excavated channels and the ivory or clay figurines, belonging to ancient and rudimentary traditions that led to the ruins of a temple mentioned in the letter, which welcomed the lost village of Raqmu. That enclosure of elegant architecture, similar to a pantheon, was aesthetically simpler, but the white marble, the polished and stacked rock, as well as the folds, angles and style of edging, made a good visual game that was difficult to ignore and not stop to admire. From the front, the building seemed to come from the ground itself, like a deeply embedded root. The segments changed drastically in size and color, becoming smaller and reddish, brown and chestnut, contrasting with her bright hair color. The pair of blue pearls wandered among the small houses, stacked one next to the other and with windows, interior furniture, tin roofs or modern yews. Some were separated by cobbled passages less than three meters wide, but most were made of stone and gathered around or above a channel of crystal-clear water, which ran through an eroded main tunnel towards the center of the village; a sewer grate at the mouth of the tunnel filtered all garbage and saved the channel or main bed from contamination. The sacred spirit of the tribe planted a kind of rectangular basilica there, made of wood, dark brick, limestone decorations and basalt slabs for a base, on a higher elevation of the ground. Both the walls and even the bell tower were invaded by the dried grass that grew between the hiding places and, although the sun protected the enclosure from the external humidity, the dark interior retained the characteristic stench. According to the stories, many of the basilicas and religious buildings, occupied in pre-mystical times, were renovated and used for various cults, but this one looked too well and well cared for, although it was clearly stripped of the original figures and symbols. Amira moved forward regardless, taking the risk of stepping on that ground, battered by erosion under the broken slabs. The mysterious informant brought her closer to the corners that official books and other sources usually overlooked, but if all this was truly an orchestrated trap, she would not escape its influence by sitting idly by, she had to play along and confront whatever it had in store for her. What was her surprise, when she found several runes of different shapes and sizes illuminating her feet. At first, they did not seem to follow a fixed pattern, but if she paid attention, they followed a certain direction, counterclockwise, at times moving away and approaching an unwritten core. From what little she could interpret, it alluded to the event that closed the premystical period and a substance that, until then, had not found its runic manifestation in any rock or material that resembled it. What did all this mean? Was it a ritual? Then he realized: a piece was missing. The sorceress looked closely at the rune ore in her possession. That piece, which still bore traces of vegetation and small tears, contaminated by rock and rust, which did not work and seemed to be a sham, was in fact the true name of the existential whim that, a century ago, gave birth to the world where they lived, the continent of Endor and its people. The strokes, which she replicated by hand without the need for any spell or supernatural ability, did not capture the name of a simple object, subject, state or reaction, but that which gave meaning to everything she knew, the very essence of her reality: Icnospea. She exhaled one last time and carefully placed it on the floor, not noticing any major changes at first. After a few seconds of uncomfortable silence, the writing lit up, each rune shining at a particular rhythm and strength, coinciding and getting lost in chance, with the central rune being the only one that maintained its constant glow. That recitation, known as "intonation" by Tenit's worshippers, was not just any chant, a prayer, but was strongly emitted by the Trace within it, emanating more or less powerful waves that subtly made the floor and walls tremble. Suddenly, something even more difficult to understand (or even accept) happened, as the runes literally began to move; detached from the tiles, they slid throughout the room like astral projections, forming various configurations, dancing in the air and moving around the sorceress, who had never seen a spell or elemental ability similar to that. The graphemes (which evidently concealed more secrets than a simple alphabet could express) were finally grouped into a kind of false sarcophagus in front of him, which was sealed by a kind of energetic padlock, whose arcane lock was fused with an advanced security system, where the runes were poured, when programmed, into their boxes, managing to open it. The heavy slab concealed a staircase that descended to a hypogeum, or underground tomb, where the decomposing remains lay, dressed in the unmistakable armor and sacred cloth (similar to an ephod or tunic), of the famous communal hero of Pergamon. The young sorceress looked in wonder at the large laminated armor, its golden wrist guards, shoulder pads and sword, in the purest style of a knight, but there was something disturbing that broke with the charm of the moment, but that revealed to her a truth, if not even more impressive, about that emblematic character. In fact, it was never said that that character, recognized even for his participation in the founding of the communal guild, was human. What she had before her, although it had a humanoid figure, had three long fingers, a huge wound on its back (as if it had exploded after dying), pointed ears and teeth different from those of any other person, like a piranha. The main rune, which circulated there unnoticed, passed through the girl until it reached the shining emblem of Pergamon (a scarab with a rhombus and technological details on its armor) on the chest of the corpse, emitting a last and abrupt release of Rastro. The eyes of that one, turned a deep dark color, the grayish skin around his limbs, sprouted roots, new fierce claws grew from the stumps and, on his back, a new pair of fly wings. Before her, stood the heroic Krek, or rather, a very different one from the one she was once told, because that was, nothing more and nothing less, than an unworthy fairy, better known as "grima"."This isn't good". The runes on the staff radiated with force, the sorceress had to prepare for the fight. The heroic deeds of Krek were well known, the feats that ignited the edge of his sword, capable of cutting through the darkness of that burial ground of bones, where his flesh and soul decomposed to the point of molding the luster of his sword into a horrible piece of metal, nightmarish, that despised the innocence of life and death. What kind of elemental ability, energy or unknown phenomenon was capable of achieving such effects in someone so noble? The sorceress was not a combatant, she never felt the edge of a sword go through her. It was not only the unbearable pain (capable of paralyzing her on the spot), but the sensation of being pierced itself, due to whose role with the internal arts, she felt it almost more deeply; it was not just her body, it penetrated something very deep inside her. However, the lack of mastery with her staff, allowed her to evade most of the attack, resulting in a half-hearted slash, without actually piercing her; she could heal herself using the Trace, but channeling while fighting was twice as difficult for someone without much experience as a combat redeemer. The entity demanded every fiber of her muscles to stay alert to the movements of her sword "Cortaimpetu", which moved from different angles through shadowed angles that, if it were not for the thickness of the heavy staff, would have reached her seconds ago. Time was moving painfully slowly, the few minutes that the encounter actually lasted, meant a real drain on Amira in more than one sense. What was she doing fighting against the hopeful figure that Pergamon, even she, once admired? Was that monster really what people wanted to keep hidden from the past? Did they lie? He was cornering her, she had to stop thinking, submit to combat and survival instincts to get out of that situation; returning her body to the sepulchral silence of which she was deprived, was her only alternative. Whatever that communal Hero had been in life (his true person or what people preferred to believe he once was), had to return to the cycle of ashes that, both in the immensity of the sky, along the edge of days, and in the darkness of those underground places, ruled the continent. She had to safeguard both the memory of Pergamon, and the safety of Endor, as redemptive, if it could really be called that. So, applying her limited knowledge in deflection, dodging and attack, the basic physical combos she learned in the redeemer school (especially in defense or "gladeo" classes), the impacts of pure Trace and mystical tricks, such as raising subtle winds and dust with these, along with her minor healing factor, she managed to redeem what little remained of the noble presence. A blow dealt with all her strength, a last breath of Trace against the corrupted blade, a brief technique, an imperceptible spell and a strong will to cling to life, as only a sorceress could have. A mystic, daughter of a land engendered by something that was engraved inside them, perhaps the same thing that composed the Icnospea itself: hope.