Fire Master Part 6

— Shamira! — I stammered, my voice ending in a moan. 

It was she, the Enchantress of En-Dor. At first, I didn't believe that luck had given me again. Alone, I 

he wouldn't be able to walk to his house on the other side. from the city, much less escape from the overseers, so 

I blessed the happy coincidence, which I later learned was not random. 

— Shamira... How did you find me? In this big city... 

— Somehow I sensed you were in danger. I sent spy spirits after you, but they 

They couldn't cross the sea, so I left some of them keeping vigil in the port of Ostia and in other places around the country. 

Italy. I had hoped that you would return to Rome, because I knew you were still alive. Early today, 

One of the specters warned me that the Renegade Angel had disembarked from a slave ship and was 

brought to the Eternal City. 

Flower of the East rubbed her wrists to ease the pain of the cable that held her, and the sorceress noticed the 

small. It wasn't difficult to conclude that the girl and I had been together the entire trip. In addition 

Therefore, the spirits must have warned about the journey up the river. 

— Your eyes are powerful, girl — said Shamira, recognizing the girl's value. — It's a 

of Shang's daughters? 

This Chinese clan, I later learned, was the first to rule China, until it was defeated by the warriors of 

Zhou, in 1122 B.C. The Shang kings developed ideographic writing and, according to the ancients, had the 

power to speak to their ancestors through oracle bones, a set of wands marked 

by mystical inscriptions. They were endowed with unique mediumship and great intelligence. 

Flower of the East answered Shamira's question with a nod, and the sorceress understood that she 

I couldn't speak because of my cut tongue. 

Suddenly my head fell forward, and I burst into a haemorrhagic cough. Droplets of 

Blood rushed down my throat, and I spat a mixture of saliva and plasma onto the floor of the platform. 

In an instinctive action, Shamira took out a cloth handkerchief and made to press it against my chest. 

mouth, but I stopped her. 

— This blood is deadly — I murmured, remembering the sad end of the henchman on the boat. 

— I know — he replied, looking at the red stain that stained the stage. —But there is no danger; 

I'm under a protection spell," he explained. 

With that said, he wiped the trickle that ran from the corner of my mouth and analyzed the blood with his fingers. Your 

expression tightened, and she realized the gravity of the situation, 

— And poison! Spirit poison. You won't be able to resist much longer. I have to take it to mine 

home. Maybe I can still save him. 

- No! — I protested, remembering why I had brought me to Rome. — No, Shamira. No 

We must go back... Listen... — I could barely speak. — Zamir, the old wizard of Babel, He did not die in 

Mar de Rocha, remains active. He was the one who set this trap for me, and now he's after you. 

From what I heard, it was this damned summoner who murdered Drakali-Toth and the other master sorcerers. 

It's risky to return to your domus. He could be lurking. 

— I assumed he was the killer, but now you make me sure. Zamir was Zamir's biggest opponent. 

my old tutor —she replied, thoughtfully, probably imagining what she would do next. — But no 

I can leave you here, or you will die. 

— If we continue, we will both die. You must flee, Shamira, while there is still time. 

She squeezed my arm tightly and sat me down. 

— No, Ablon. If I have to face Zamir alone, I will face him. I'm already prepared for that. 

I will not allow you to die. You saved me from the search engine a long time ago, and now it's my turn to help you. 

I saw that there was happiness and sweetness in his eyes, but his heart was heavy to see me in that 

state of weakness. 

The shopping square began to empty, but Alexius remained on the platform, delighting in the 

count the silver coins. In the distance, a big guy frowned when he saw me in the arms of a beautiful woman. 

woman. It was Cassius of Calabria, who had beaten me on the first day of the journey. He was 

accompanied by a team of broncos, and Shamira, intelligently, realized that he was one of my 

aggressors. For a moment, I thought the witch's wrath would descend upon the slavers, but in a moment 

With a sensible attitude, she swallowed all her anger and concentrated on getting me out of that den of vultures. 

—Let's go, Ablon. These rats are not worthy of our revenge. 

The woman stood up in a graceful movement and chose at random a passerby on the street, a commoner type, 

probably a craftsman or dockworker. He offered the guy five sesterces, Roman copper pieces, only 

to put me on a horse. The girl, alone, could not bear my weight nor did she wish to ask 

help Alexius's rude overseers. 

As she already knew that I would be at the Emporium before I even left the house, the necromancer had brought with her 

two saddled horses — a gray stallion and a white mare — both of excellent breed. The commoner me 

she pushed him onto the back of one of them, with Flor do Leste, and Shamira sat on the mare's back. 

Then he dismissed the charger. 

It was five in the afternoon, and there was less than half an hour before the poison would end my life. 

Non-Domus Ambush 

Shamira's house was on a quiet street, almost right at the foot of the Capitoline Hill, one of the seven 

Roman hills. The Capitol, as it was also called, was like a large round stone and yet 

it maintained its steep slopes, just as it was in the time of the Latin villages. In the past, the seven 

villages on the seven hills came together in a federation and began to build a wall that 

would delimit the future city. Eight centuries later, no trace of the Latins remained. In the first 

years of the 1st century, at the time of this report, a complex of temples dominated the top of the hill, which in 

It was very reminiscent of the Acropolis of Athens. The grandest of these sanctuaries was the Temple of Jupiter, 

whose rear wall, supported by marble columns, projected, at the end of that April afternoon, a 

oppressive shadow over the land occupied by the domus of the Enchantress of En-Dor. 

The sun was setting when we rounded the Forum of Augustus. The urban movement, at that time, 

began to decline. During the day, no vehicle on wheels could travel the streets. Rome had, 

then, two million inhabitants, and such an intense coming and going of cars transform the avenues into a 

pandemonium. As a result, the poor were forced to walk, while the rich were transported in 

litters or on the back of horses. 

It was almost night when we stopped in front of the domus. Roman noble houses had high facades, 

with wooden beams and brick walls, covered with resistant mortar. The ceiling was made of tiles 

overlapping in scales, and the floor, decorated with mosaics that portrayed mythological beings and heroes 

legendary. A thick double door led to a covered hallway, which led to the lobby, the living room. 

central, generally characterized by an opening in the ceiling, useful for ventilating the room. On the floor, 

Below the ventilation gap was a small pool, adorned with statues, that stored the 

rainwater. On hot days, the Romans used it to cool off. Around the atrium were the 

rooms, a staircase that led to the second floor and the passage to the tablinium, a meeting room 

reception, often used as a studio. Then the mansion advanced, opening again into a 

courtyard surrounding a covered passage, or peristyle. In the heart of the courtyard there were, in almost every 

Roman residences, a sumptuous flowerbed that housed a sanctuary dedicated to the domestic gods. 

To the right of the peristyle were the dining room and kitchen, and to the left more bedrooms, sometimes 

adapted in workshops or offices. 

When the horses stopped in front of the domus Shamira woke me up. 

— Ablon, you need to make one last effort to walk. We have to enter the mansion. 

Hearing his words, I threw myself out of the saddle and, I don't know how, managed to stand. Recognizing 

my growing fragility, she supported me with one arm, and with the other she pushed the heavy wooden door. 

wood. It was at that moment that my sense of danger, which I thought was lost, gave its last sign of 

threat. 

— Shamíra, something is wrong — I insisted. — We can't go in. The enemy awaits us. 

Calm and confident, the woman didn't care about the alarm. He looked at me deeply and, with an air of 

tenderly, he gently kissed my face. 

— Warrior, you need to trust me. There is nothing to fear - he replied, and led me 

to the hallway. Flor do Leste followed. 

The mansion was shrouded in an eerie gloom, for dusk had come, and there were no servants to attend. 

light the lamps. We crossed the corridor and entered the atrium, the main room. So, my 

fears were realized, and the worst happened. 

A slender figure stepped out of the shadows like a mouse in the darkness. It was leaning against the wall in the other 

end of the atrium, blocking the passage to the peristyle courtyard. I couldn't see her clearly, but 

I understood that he was approaching slowly, at the same time as he was chanting a magic formula. Giving up 

Aware of the danger, the sorceress took the lead, intending to use her own body as a shield. right-handed, 

Flor do Leste retreated, seeking refuge in the entrance corridor. 

Suddenly the atrium lit up with a flickering mystical light, and I saw that the enemy's hands 

they burned in green flames. At the attacker's command, a ball of fire rushed from the tip of the 

his fingers and crossed the room with astonishing speed, exploding violently when he found the 

necromancer. In the face of such an impetuous attack, Shamira's clothes were reduced to dust and, naked, she 

lost her balance and was thrown to the ground. But it didn't look injured. The ceremonial dagger he carried beneath 

the cloak did not break and was thrown away by the violence of the shock. 

The figure approached, but the woman escaped. Still dazed, the Sorceress of En-Dor crawled towards 

from one of the side doors, which probably led to a common room. Without the support of women, 

I gave in to weakness. The shadow approached me, emerging from the blackness. I looked up and saw the enemy, 

a middle-aged man, thin, tall, with tanned skin and a thin nose. He would preserve, perhaps for all 

those years, the pointy goatee. The almond-shaped eyes were lightly painted with the same 

makeup used by the Babylonians. Only his clothes had changed, and now the mystic was wearing a long tunic, 

black, over a cotton robe. 

It was Zamir, the Sorcerer of the Desert! 

His face became clearer as he met the last rays of the afternoon. 

— You, here? — he was surprised. — I thought I had finished him off with the ambush in the Tiny Forest. 

Its. 

I couldn't answer. The muscles went into convulsions due to the action of the poison. 

— Fortunately — he continued — I took some precautions so that your unexpected presence would not 

compromise my schedule. Although I don't see how I could be bothered," he said, realizing 

my terminal situation. I noticed that there was no expression of arrogance or jubilation in his 

eyes. For him, it was as if this murder were a common task, a daily activity. 

settle my dispute with the sorceress, and in the meantime I will decide what to do with you. It's regrettable 

that your blood is contaminated. It would be a formidable ingredient in my ceremonies. 

Without fearing a reaction, the wizard shrugged and walked towards the door Shamira had walked through. 

entered. I gathered energy and moved forward, but an unforeseen force stopped me. 

A mystical and invisible wall blocked my progress, enclosing me in a restricted area. I watched 

then, upon looking at the ground, I was, in effect, within a magical circle of imprisonment, 

used by wizards to capture spirits, but it also worked with carnal beings. The ring outside 

drawn with charcoal and adorned with inscriptions that I couldn't decipher. The curious thing, I thought, was that 

Both Shamira and Flor do Leste had stepped on that seal and were not held back by the power of 

magic. And soon I, who am a celestial, supposedly immune to these charms, was caught by the spell. 

I assumed, then, that this was a targeted ritual, performed to affect a specific entity. Of 

At first, I didn't understand how the summoner had achieved that effect, but then I remembered his performance in the 

Tin-Sen forest, when he used one of my lost feathers to perform the spell of 

summons and drag me into that infernal forest. 

The Desert Sorcerer wasted no time lecturing about his taric. He opened the bedroom door and 

went into darkness, following the necromancer's trail. 

Like a Fish on a Hook 

What happened next was not witnessed by me, and everything I know was reported by Shamira, when 

my second return to Rome, years later. At that moment, as Zamír pursued his plan, I 

I lay agonizing inside the magical seal, which imprisoned me in an invisible circle. 

When he was sure that I could no longer face him, the summoner entered through the bedroom door, but 

Instead of finding a small bedroom, with a cornered and fearful woman, what he saw was a 

narrow, rocky staircase, with damp walls, that led down to a supposed basement. Constructions below the 

soil in Roman noble houses were uncommon, but the wizard saw no absurdity in this and 

continued his march. 

— Like a fish on a hook — said the magician to himself, without understanding the woman's attitude, who 

he had run to a place from which, surely, there was no way out. 

The staircase ended in a square room, with a high ceiling, apparently empty. It was spacious, as the 

Darkness covered his alcoves, and the wizard could not see the entire room. However, he found 

what he was looking for: Shamira, naked, lying on her back on the stone floor, still stunned by the 

green fire impact. This, also called the fire of Xahra, is not the product of earthly combustion, 

what normal flames look like. It burns and exists only on the astral plane, not in the physical world. 

It means, therefore, that the flames cannot be extinguished by water, wind or any other methods 

worldly. The result of this spell is hideous to say the least — the soul, not the body, of the victim is 

affected. With the spirit destroyed, the person's entire essence is erased, thus meeting final death 

— not just carnal death, but the terminal conclusion of his existence. 

The naked woman stood up, her attention fixed on Zamir, who had stopped at the stairway, 

making any attempt to escape impossible, 

— Finally, my endeavor is approaching its conclusion — said the wizard, recognizing victory. 

—So it was you who murdered Drakali-Thoth? — asked the woman, already knowing the answer. 

—Murder isn't quite the word. I, so to speak, surpassed him and felt entitled to kill him. After 

I used the ritual of knowledge on his spirit and absorbed his powers. It wasn't that difficult, yeah 

true. 

—What about the other wizard masters? 

— They suffered, I must admit, the same fate. They weren't really a match for me, but not the 

I recriminate. After all, who is it? I am and always have been the greatest wizard on earth, but your performance and that of the Angel 

Renegade in Babel buried my nation and everything it represented - he seemed nostalgic for 

an instant. — Ah, sorceress, if you knew what I had planned for the future of my country, of 

my people, in that time beyond the world, beyond history... But don't understand this as revenge. 

I don't want to seem taxing. You acted wisely and deserved the triumph. 

— You are as deranged as your former king, Zamir. 

Shamira thought she saw a sneer on the wizard's cheek. 

—Nimrod was never king of anything. He was lost. I had manipulated him since childhood. I was the 

true ruler of Babel. When you die, consumed by green fire, my path will be 

free again, and I will raise a new nation on the ruins of the old. When my undertaking 

is closed, I will no longer be Zamir, the Summoner, much less Zamir, the Necromancer, but Zamir, the 

Archmage, or the Great Wizard, the only master of all branches of magic. 

The sorceress remained silent, and the wizard continued: 

— I know what I'm going to ask is a little strange, but I beg you not to misjudge me. I'm not a bad person. 

I am just a product of inevitable human evolution. After all, we are human, you and I, with the grace of 

Deus Yahweh. 

Tired of those pedantic words, Shamira said: 

— I see that you are very convinced of your desire. Persistence is a valuable quality. But I can't 

say I'm sorry to ruin your plans. 

The seeker frowned in a confused expression. What did that helpless girl mean by 

such an explosion of bravery? It was over, defeated! 

— And what are you going to do? Will you summon their spirits? Will draw a seal on the ground and wait for me to trip 

within? There's no time for these things anymore, girl. Your brief adventure as a sorceress ends now. 

In a new stream of screams, the summoner spat out his magical formulas, and Xahra's fire returned to him. 

Lighten your hands in preparation for the final blow. 

But, before he formed the fireball, the flames that sprouted from his fingers lit up the room, 

and the light shone in the alcoves. Inside each of those entrances on the wall rested statues 

ancient, blackened iron, representing ancient idols, Babylonian idols. They were tribal icons, 

figures of the poor and slaves, and not of the high aristocracy that governed the city, 

Only then, when looking at those statues, did Zamir understand that this was a particularly special sanctuary. 

prepared, and that the fabric of reality down there was incredibly thin. And he also remembered the 

origin of those idols, inferring, with a twinge of terror, their real usefulness. 

— They are figures from Babel... But how is that possible? The city was swallowed by sand. 

—Ever since I heard about the first murder of the wizards, about a century ago, I suspected that you 

could be involved. Before coming to Rome, I took a long trip to Asia and found these objects 

in the desert. They don't have much divine representation, but all I needed was some 

fragments of the ancient city. With them, I set up this sanctuary. 

—But for what? For what purpose? — the wizard's voice already sounded agitated. 

Shamira didn't respond. It wasn't necessary. 

Astral figures appeared in the air, swirling like smoke, until they took shape. They were ghosts, of bodies 

translucent, intangible, that felt very comfortable in that secluded place, where the membrane was 

fragile and thin, The sanctuary was made for them. 

The wizard's face was filled with terror, and he distinguished the specters. Those were the spirits of 

slaves who, 2,300 years earlier, built the Tower of Babel. Since their physical death, those souls 

They were tied to the earth, prevented from going to heaven, and that would be the case as long as the architect lived. 

of that unfortunate construction. Babel's first slaves, who died working on the Pyramid of 

Prata, during the reign of Cush, had their spirit freed when the Sons of Japheth captured the 

monarch and sentenced him to death. But the second body of slaves, those who rebelled during 

my attack on the capital, they perished without judging their evildoer. They could not go to paradise until this 

pending issue was resolved, which would be done in a moment. 

— These ghosts were once slaves, who died under the whips of their men — explained the woman. 

necromancer. 

— But me? — he stammered. —What harm could I do to these people? 

—You ruled Babel at the time, and these are the former workers of the tower. Wouldn't they 

recognize? — the mere sight of ghosts was Dantesque. Just like the spirits of Enoch, these 

they also writhed, in an eternal expression of horror. 

— Workers? Slaves? — Zamir seemed to have gone crazy. — But I don't know these people... 

One of the spirits formed in front of him, and upon seeing the smoke the wizard backed away. The mystical mist revolved, 

outlining the face of a very old woman. The mist retracted, and the old woman's face gave way to 

image of a very young girl, with dark skin, fine features and straight hair. A voice, what else 

It sounded like a noise, it resonated in the basement. 

— Don't you remember me, wizard? — asked the specter of the little girl. His speech was macabre, and the 

The wizard's blood ran cold. — I am Adnari, one of the palace slaves. 

It was really possible that Zamir wouldn't remember her, especially in that state of stress. Trying 

Recovering from his astonishment, the magician shouted, facing the astral bodies: 

— You are just tormented spirits! They can't hurt me, they can't threaten me. 

Adnari's response was merciless: 

— No, Zamir. Here, in this sanctuary, our powers are supreme! 

And indeed they were. Zamir, through the knowledge of necromancy that he had acquired when he killed Drakali-Thoth, 

he had known this from the moment he saw the ghosts, but he had a hard time accepting his fate. Admit that 

it was to admit defeat and recognize that, for the second time, he had been surpassed by the Enchantress of En-Dor. No 

could be destroyed! He was the greatest wizard in the world. He was the only one who had contact, still in Babel, with 

ancient magic, with the remains of Enoch's magic, with the secrets of the ancestral world. Who, in 

In good conscience, would you dare challenge him? He had faced the great wizards, and he had won them all. How could it be 

surpassed by a woman, by a girl? 

— Like a fish on a hook — said Shamira, replicating the words of the person being sought. 

Cornered, the wizard trembled. Like how he acted in Mar de Rocha, when he witnessed my attack on 

Babylonian platoon, was completely overcome by despair. I was lost, and all I could do 

it was running away, running like a terrified child — not that that would save him. He turned around and armed the 

muscles for a sprint, intending to climb the stairs and leave the sanctuary. If I could get out of 

basement, would be free! The ghosts couldn't molest him out there, where the fabric was thick. 

But, before he started the race, the specters attacked. 

The translucent shapes came together and closed a ring of mist, which enveloped him. Others blocked the 

exit, forming a wall of mist. A third mass grabbed him. The spectral arms passed through 

his flesh and found the spirit of the sorcerer. The astral fingers sharpened into claws and pulled the 

enemy's soul out of the body. The spiritual head came out first, but the summoner resisted, 

holding on as best he could to his worldly carcass. The eyes rolled back in pain, and the mouth opened in a 

hideous scream, until his entire soul was sucked out. The mists swallowed her, and the wizard's spirit 

disappeared in smoke. 

On the physical plane, the trembling body stopped and retracted into the ground. Then a horrible spectacle began, 

monstrous. The deceased's skin began to wrinkle incredibly quickly, and the corpse withered. You 

eyeballs fell apart, and strands of hair grew. The next moment, the tissues gave way, 

and the organs atrophied. The epidermis stuck to the bones until it dried. So the skull, the teeth and the bones 

they crumbled, and finally everything was reduced to dust. By drinking the blood of the renegade Ishtar, Zamir 

he had prolonged his life beyond the limit, in an unnatural way. When he died, the centuries came to claim their 

legacy and collected, within seconds, everything that was owed to them. 

At the end of this terrifying episode, the ghosts disappeared. They were free forever. 

Thus died Zamir, the Seeker, and with him what was left of the legendary Babel, that accursed city. 

Beyond the world, beyond history... 

A Road Marked with Blood 

Shamira wasted no time. He stumbled up the stairs and ran back to the lobby. And there I was, 

stretched out on the floor, still trapped by the invisible wall. 

The night had arrived cold, bringing in its mantle the final annunciation. Little by little, life faded away. THE 

heart, tired, beat slowly, drowned in the murderous venom. I couldn't move. All 

My muscles died, but I still had weak senses. 

The poison had won. 

The necromancer appeared in the atrium, and I thought this was one last delirium. I didn't imagine that she 

could face Zamir, much less beat him, but she could. She could. Maybe he always could have. 

The sorceress was alive, unharmed, and that was my final wish. My mission had been completed. 

Shamira broke through the magic circle, to which she was immune, and hugged me. Flor do Leste and Shamira were 

saved. As for me, I always knew, ever since the fight with the prey, that the toxin would follow me until the end. 

death — then why did I insist on clinging to life? Why was I reluctant to surrender to the void? 

I tried to open one of my eyes and saw the necromancer's white face. She cried. Further back, a silhouette 

little girl sobbed in the dark. It was Flower of the East. 

— Ablon, resist — begged the woman. — You can't die. You won't die. 

— I fulfilled my mission, sorceress, or at least part of it. And I'm proud of that. We angels 

warriors, that's how we are. Death is just the end of the quest. 

A new torrent of tears ran down her soft face. 

— How will I live without you, renegade? You saved my life. It gave me a new chance. And now, the 

what will happen? 

— Now you will go alone, Shamira. My road is covered in blood. 

No! —she said with a look. She didn't want to let me go, she didn't want me to leave her. Your strength of 

Life was extreme, sublime. Without it, I would have let myself be carried away by the night, into the eternal emptiness of existence. 

The unity of the cosmos cried out to me. But the universe could wait. 

In an unexpected move, the sorceress stretched out her arm, and in a dark corner she found her dagger. 

magic, which had fallen from the cloak when the fireball shook it. With a flick of the wrist, what else 

It felt like a dance, he brought the dagger closer to my body. For a moment, I didn't understand what he intended 

to do. 

— You have to resist, warrior. He can't die - he repeated, determinedly, swallowing the cries that 

had spilled a moment ago. 

With his right hand, he raised the knife, preparing an attack. With the other, he rubbed his fingers above his 

ribs, and I understood what I was looking for: my heart. 

— Ablon, hold on! You're not going to die," she said finally. — I love him. 

Before I could react, I felt a stab pierce my chest. The blade went through my skin and 

it tore the vena cava an inch below the heart muscle — the precision of the incision had been perfect. 

There was a muffled noise, of metal penetrating flesh. For a long, unforgettable second, nothing 

it happened. The next moment, the spurt of blood. 

An intermittent spray of plasma and poison splashed upward, staining the courtyard floor and 

covering the tiled mosaics red. A large puddle advanced across the ground, flooding the drawings. 

of coal that demarcated the magical seal. 

I don't remember seeing anything else after that. 

Consciousness faded. 

Thirty Years 

The sensation was that of being dredged, pulled down with astonishing speed. A force not inferior 

the divine led me to the deepest pit of the abyss, and then I was released. I felt my body float, then I went up, 

I climbed alone, lightly, until I emerged, tearing the watery membrane with my face. 

A new myriad of impressions, already forgotten, awakened me to life. The delicious smell of the air filled 

my lungs, bringing a whirlwind of intense aromas. I felt, once again, the fragrance of the flowers that 

they colored spring, the taste of rain, the perfume of the earth. Was I alive again, or was that the zone 

beyond the darkness, the path after the twilight? 

The light was dim, indirect, but it was easy to see—my heightened senses had returned, and I could see. 

hear murmurs through the walls. I opened my arms and understood that I was squeezed into a space 

side, as if confined in an uncovered coffin. Only the ceiling appeared in the distance, and it was high, dark, 

all made of limestone rock. I bent my spine, trying to sit down. 

As I took in the surroundings, I realized that I had been lying in a sarcophagus, or so it seemed, covered up to the skin. 

edge with a colorless liquid, mixed with red blood stains. On the surface of the water 

chopped fragments of plants floated, or rather, herbs, herbs with a penetrating odor. The coffin was 

placed on the floor, in the center of an empty room, surrounded by alcoves where strange statues rested 

of iron. In one corner was an arched passage and a staircase that went straight up. It wasn't a 

room, but an underground chamber. It was humid, and from the pressure of the atmosphere I knew it was only a few feet away. 

meters below the ground. I imagined that I had remained immersed in that aromatic liquid for a whole day, 

because it was already morning. Rays of sunlight invaded the passage, drawing images of light on the floor of the room. 

room. 

But I wasn't the only one occupying that enigmatic enclosure. A woman stood guard, leaning against the 

wall, like one of the iron figures, almost motionless. With small steps, he came closer when he saw me 

get up. The way she walked and the smell of her skin left no doubt — it wasn't Shamira, but then who could it be? 

With my keen vision, I noticed that she was short, thin and had beautiful oriental features, despite her appearance. 

Roman stole. The mark of age was already weighing on her, and I calculated that she was over 40, despite the 

delicate manners and a girlish look. Only one person looked at me like that. 

—Flower of the East? — I exclaimed, still hoarse from waking up. 

I hadn't been mistaken, and how could I? That was Flor do Leste, the little Chinese woman he had met in 

Far East, when taken by the Greek caravan. But what had happened to her? It was no longer 

a little girl, but a woman. 

— We were waiting for your recovery, general — said someone coming down the stairs. 

— Shamira — I murmured, clinging to the sides of the sarcophagus. —What happened here? 

The sorceress looked at Flower of the East and then turned to me. 

— Ancestral magic and Chinese medicine brought him back — he explained. — But the real 

merit is not ours. I said you wouldn't die. And too strong to succumb to the attack of any 

spirit. 

—But what about the poison? 

— It was expelled from his body, absorbed by the herbs that float in the water — she pointed to the coffin, and 

only then did I notice that my chest was covered in small gashes, superficial cuts through which the 

toxin should have come out. — You were purified during the time you were asleep — and then the 

The necromancer looked at the Chinese woman, noticing her mature appearance. —And this period, I must say, 

It wasn't short. 

—Then it's explained. That's why I thought Flor do Leste had aged. But it was me who 

I was in lethargy, suspended while my body recovered. 

— Any trace of the venom could kill him later, so all his blood had to be drained. 

renovated. A relapse would be fatal. I studied these spirits and investigated Zamir's plot. I discovered that the 

Scorpion venom can be contained, but it is difficult to expel. It remains latent until a 

new episode wakes you up. The effects return suddenly and are even more devastating. 

Hibernating. I had entered a kind of natural hibernation for the second time. Maybe that was a 

inherent defense, a way for my body to respond to danger. But how long had he slept? There was no 

of being days or months, but years, many years. What would have happened during that period? How many 

was the world going? 

Still slightly dizzy, I got up and left the sarcophagus, while the last remnants of blood 

contaminated ran down the skin. I could already feel the power of my muscles returning and the rhythmic throbbing 

of the heart — the weakness was definitely gone. I was alive, strong, healed, thanks to those two 

women, who dedicated everything they had to save me from emptiness. Nothing I did could 

make up for that act of love. Instead, I gave the Chinese woman a grateful look and then 

Shamira. And then, when I noticed her soft skin, I remembered that last moment, before the blow of the knife. 

knife, and what she had told me. 

— Shamira, before I went into a daze, you told me... 

She interrupted my sentence: 

— Ablon, there's no time for that now. You need to complete your mission. 

My mission! Nathanael, Jerusalem, the Holy Child! I should have gone to meet the ofanim and 

his angels, after warning Shamira about Zamir. Was there still a chance to pursue my 

demand? 

— Flower of the East told me everything she knew about her venture — explained the necromancer. - Yet 

There is time, but you need to hurry. Legionnaires serving in Palestine arrive at the port of Ostia 

with news about this man, who calls himself king of the Jews. I suppose this is the Savior who 

search. But you have to leave immediately, as he is in danger. 

Yes, but could I help you? Alone, certainly not. I imagined what someone with 

heavenly power and endowed with free will. What a magnificent being he must have been. We would be Nathanael's choir 

and am I up to defending it"? 

— How long did I sleep? 

—Thirty years have passed. 

—Then there isn't a minute to waste — I replied, quickly composed. 

The two women led me to the lobby, at the end of the stairs leading to the basement. It was spring 

new, and the sun reflected on the tiles. I heard the sound of commerce in the distance and concluded that the shops in Rome 

they had just opened. It couldn't be later than seven o'clock in the morning. From there I accompanied them to the tablinium, the 

reception room, a room with wide doors at both ends. One of them opened onto the atrium, and the other 

it gave way to the courtyard ahead. 

Four couches decorated the room, and on one of them lay a piece of clothing. Flor do Leste offered me the 

fabric, and I understood that it was a gift, made by her. It looked like a Chinese kimono, but outside 

made of linen and then dyed black. The shirt was fastened to the collar with small buttons. 

of string, with a length that reached the height of the thighs. The dark pants were from the same farm, 

and a pair of leather boots gave the singular outfit a timeless look. Next to the costume 

rested two knight's armbands, similar to those I had acquired in the city of Turfan, 

within the limits of China. It wasn't a superb outfit, but it was practical and durable. The Chinese woman knew 

my preferences. 

I washed in a common tub and trimmed my beard before getting dressed. 

— The cuts on my body have healed — I noticed, before closing the kimono. 

— Your regenerative abilities are acting up again. They are now at the height of their power," he explained. 

Shamira. 

Just before eight o'clock, the witch took me outside, and next to one of the outer walls of the 

domus there was an attached room, which faced the street. Many Roman owners rented the space 

for shopkeepers, but the necromancer used it as a stable and storage room. There rested five horses, 

all saddled, and Shamira offered me one of them, a brown mare. 

— Her name is Selene and she is trained. Go overland to Ostia, then leave it loose in the field. She knows 

the way back. There is a ship leaving for the East at dusk, and you can still take it - 

She offered me a pouch of coins. — You don't need food anymore, but take money. THE 

The ticket is expensive, but there is enough for the whole journey. 

— You thought of everything, didn't you? 

— I had a lot of time for that — he replied, with a pleasant smile. 

I accepted the offer and got on the horse. But, before leaving, Shamira called me. There was a 

small package in his hands, a tiny piece of discolored velvet. 

—Take this, Ablon — I unrolled the cloth and there was a feather stained with blood. — And yours. Zamir a 

He used it to prepare the spell that imprisoned him in the magic circle that night of the attack on my house. 

I returned the object with some disgust. A piece of me used as an ingredient in rituals 

profane... That idea made me sick. 

— Destroy this for me. And let's hope there aren't any more of them lost out there. 

— I don't think they exist. If there were, Zamir would have used them. I commanded the animal, and it won the 

sidewalk. But, before speeding up the trot, 

I realized that my two saviors needed to at least say a word of goodbye to them. 

— Shamira, Flower of the East, I'm sorry I have to leave you like this. 

— There is nothing to feel, warrior. You have a mission to accomplish. A legion awaits you," he replied. 

Shamira, in an epic tone. 

I nodded. 

— I'll send you news when I get to Jerusalem, even if I have to send a messenger by sea. 

She agreed and, with a wave of her hand, said goodbye to me. I knew, perhaps better than I, the 

urgency of my trip. 

I released the mare's rein, and the mount raced through the streets. 

Ostia and Caesarea 

On horseback, I crossed the Porta Latina, one of the city's main exits, and headed towards the Via Ápia, the 

longest of the Roman roads. I continued across the field as quickly as I could, observing the gigantic 

aqueducts over the stone arches, which cut through the farms and converged like viaducts towards the 

metropolis. Before noon, the Eternal City was already distant. 

I took a ship leaving Ostia and embarked on a peaceful journey, this time as a passenger, and 

not as a slave. 

The central port city of Palestine was Caesarea, where we landed days later. The Jewel of 

Mediterranean, as it was called, was built by Herod the Great, king of Judea, in honor of 

to Emperor Caesar Augustus, and quickly became the largest Roman center in the region. The port of 

Caesarea was probably the most magnificent engineering work in Israel, with its walls that 

They advanced into the sea, forming a natural and safe pool for ships to dock. The gate 

sea ​​where the boats entered was flanked by large marble statues, and further on 

you could see the lighthouse tower, much smaller and more modest than the one in Alexandria. 

It was the month of April, certainly the most pleasant of all, when the rainy season had already begun. 

finished, and the heat was still not that strong. The roads, which filled with mud at the end of winter, were 

dry again, and, despite the arid climate, characteristic of that part of the world, thin grass grew. 

Instead of taking the shorter road, which would take me directly to the upper part of Jerusalem, 

I thought it better to divert to the south, because the passage was guarded by astral sentinels, invisible to the eyes. 

human eyes. I wasn't sure which side they were on, so I thought it prudent to enter the gates, 

look for Nathanael and only then reveal my presence. So, I chose to go around the Mount of Olives 

and enter the city from the other side, through the main entrance. 

At dawn that Friday, April 7th, I arrived in Betânia, a village located at the foot of the hill, and 

By noon he already dominated the top of the hill. It was a clear spring day, with no clouds in the sky, and the 

temperature had warmed. From above you could see the waters of the sea in the distance, ending in a 

curvature that only the horizon could reach. Below, continuing along the road, the Kidron valley formed a 

deep bank, like the dry bed of a river, and beyond it my final goal: Jerusalem. 

High walls surrounded the city, which was then divided into four parts: the lower city, the upper city, the 

suburbs and the temple area, whose main building was Herod's Temple, seat of the council of 

priests and fundamental point of the Jewish faith. The prayers of all the Israelites of the world converged there. 

world, a sanctuary that, in other times, had housed the greatest relic of his people: the Ark of the Covenant. 

The temple was a tall, imposing building, with doorposts adorned with gold and silver plates. It was at 

center of a series of courtyards, surrounded by a thirteen meter high wall. The House of God, 

so referred to by the faithful in his time, was under the control of the high priest, who was also the 

officer who presided over the Sanhedrin, a council of illustrious figures, of particular prominence in the city. 

A tongue of smoke rose from the inner courtyard, where a ritualistic pyre burned offering objects. 

To the north, the towers of Fortaleza Antônia — residence of the Roman procurator — pointed to the sky, 

and to the west, leaning against the walls of the upper city, stood Herod's Palace, then inhabited by 

his son, Herod Antipas. 

I took the path that led to the stone bridge over the valley, certain that I would be inside the metropolis. 

before nightfall. An unexpected fact, however, would frustrate my plans, and I would be the protagonist of a 

an event in which he would only find logic two thousand years later. 

On the Mount of Olives 

It was five o'clock in the afternoon and the sun was dying. The waning moon was already rising in the east, 

almost imperceptible, defying the afternoon glare. I continued along the main road, until I sensed 

again the presence of the sentries — with my angel eyes I could see them through the fabric. 

Cherubim armed with swords and armor were everywhere, prepared to defend the 

perimeter. They guarded the top of the walls, the gates, the surroundings of the temple, the tanks and aqueducts. 

Many flew in squadrons, protecting the city from above. The winged legions sometimes descended, 

forming a defense belt and blocking access to the metropolis. 

— I didn't think there were so many! — I whispered to myself, stunned by the contingent. 

The regular path down the hill—a well-maintained Roman road—was impassable, 

such was the number of celestial soldiers who watched over her from the spiritual world. I chose to leave the road 

and follow an unmarked trail, which cut through olive tree plantations. This was a rural area, 

although it was close to the city, it was deserted when night fell. 

I remained hidden among the shadows of the trees until the sun set and then continued along the path. But before 

As I went down the Kidron Valley, which was a steep depression at the time, I noticed that I was being 

observed and finally discovered. My sneaky walk was sharp, but not enough to 

deceive trained guards. 

There was no point in hiding anymore, and it wasn't like me to run away. Besides, why would I run away? And if those 

angels were Nathanael's friends? They could assist me and take me to him. And if they were 

enemies, I was not afraid to fight them. After all, wasn't that what you were there for? 

The fabric of reality shook with a thunderous jolt, indicating that some creature of mighty power 

immeasurable had just materialized. I was surrounded by trees, and the vegetation blocked the view, so 

So I was alert, waiting for a sneak attack or a friendly greeting. 

A warrior angel, strong in his golden breastplate, appeared on the path. The sword was sheathed, and 

did not appear aggressive. The wings had not materialized, which required tremendous effort, and 

In those conditions, any passerby would take him for a common man, just like I used to be. 

confused. In the silver light of the moon, I recognized him and identified, on his armor, the symbol of the legion that, 

millennia ago, I had led. 

Baturiel was, like me, a cherub, a relentless fighter, who had served under me in the 

Legion of Swords, division that I commanded before the conjuration. But whose side was he on? would have 

sympathized with Nathanael's cause or preferred to join Miguel, to kill the Enlightened One? What 

I was most intrigued, however, that wasn't it. The immeasurable power that I had felt just a few minutes ago 

it didn't come from the fighter ahead — it was much more sublime and powerful. 

I got closer, still cautious, but the warrior's expression was impassive. It was stiff, like 

standing guard, and did not move from the path. I understood that I would be the one to take the initiative. 

— I'm looking for Nathanael, the Most Pure — I announced. The guard's expression did not change. 

— I can't let him pass. I have extreme orders to defend the hill. Given that, I concluded that 

He was not my ally. 

— I don't want to have to fight you, Baturiel. But I also have a mission to fulfill. 

— You won't fight me, general — he replied, and I saw him pointing to the side, indicating a second angel 

that arrived. 

The new soldier carried a golden bow and with it he prepared an arrow, a deadly arrow, aimed at the target. 

my heart. It was Varna, general of the Legion of Bows, an angel woman, as were all archers. 

cherubs. She was wearing a metallic mesh shirt, adjusted to the size of her breasts. His hair was 

long, brown, and eyes, sharp like those of eagles on the hunt. His air was serious, serious, and not 

he hesitated for even a moment. Quick as a snake, she aimed the dart, but waited for the command. 

"Varna never missed an arrow," Baturiel threatened. — You are a renegade angel, you are trapped in 

physical world. If your heart is destroyed here, on the material plane, it will be over. 

I stopped and analyzed the impasse. I read in the warrior's face that he was not safe. I didn't want to hurt myself, 

I didn't want to give the attack command. In fact, there was a sparkle in his eyes. Something inside him still 

I admired my achievements. I was still, even distantly, their leader in arms. 

The situation had reached a critical point. Varna's fingers began to bleed upon contact with her hands. 

tense bow strings. She needed to fire, or put the gun down. The three of us were motionless, and I 

I was waiting for an opportunity to move forward. But there were angels of great power, among them 

two generals, and neither of us was willing to give in. The crisis, however, would be resolved in no time. 

A fourth angel, also dressed as a man, appeared between the two. The wings had not materialized — 

I didn't see the need to do so. He was dressed discreetly, in a long, gray tunic, but his 

presence was sublime. Her honey-colored hair, normally braided, was loose and flowed down 

by the lean and strong body. His appearance was serene, and the power of his aura was magnanimous. That wasn't a 

common angel. 

Before me stood an archangel — Gabriel, the Master of Fire. Nothing more needed to be said. 

That was my end, it would end there. A renegade angel, discovered by an archangel, would quickly be 

deleted. He would have no chance against that giant, one of the most powerful entities in the world. 

universe, surpassed only by Michael, Lucifer and Yahweh himself. Didn't wear his golden armor 

nor his mystical sword, but there was no need either. Even confined to the flesh of an avatar, it was 

invincible, practically indestructible. 

But instead of attacking me, he warned: 

— Go away, Ablon. We're resolving a family problem here." His voice was almost a 

music, a gentle melody, which at any moment could burst into violent chords. 

— I can't back down, Gabriel, not now — I preserved my honor. — Not after everything I've been through 

to get here. Not after the word I gave. 

The archangel moved his head, already knowing that I wouldn't give up so easily. Giving in to my stubbornness, he made a 

signal, and Varna collected the arrow. 

— Leave us. I'll sort it out. 

And, at his command, the two angels left. When the officers turned their backs, I alerted Baturiel to the error 

that I believed I was committing. 

— Baturiel, I never thought I was in the middle of this dirt — I said. 

— It's not what it seems, general. 

Once alone, in the blackness of the night, amidst the olive trees on the hill, I thought the time had come to 

my extermination, but the Fire Master surprised me again. 

— I know about your meeting with Nathanael, of the Ophanim caste — revealed the archangel. 

—What did you do with him, Gabriel? — I stiffened. 

— The Purest is on a mission delegated by me, if that's what you want to know. 

— Nathanael would never obey you. 

The Fire Master smiled, noticing that my blood was boiling and that I was holding myself back to maintain my strength. 

control. 

— Nathanael already obeyed me once, at the time of the flood. It is not the first time that the Purest 

participates in a mission ordered by the great ones. You, who are such a friend of his, should know better 

your laurels. I thought I knew the whole story, but now I understand what's going on. Your hatred for 

archangels prevent you from seeing the truth. 

I had gone on suicide missions before, of my own free will. That time, however, 

I had no choice. He would be finished off, so why not die fighting? There would be greater honor for an angel 

renegade than to perish in combat with one of the archangels? 

— You're lying, Gabriel! — I accused. —I have a demand to fulfill and I will enter this city, or 

I will die trying. 

— It's reckless, young man — there weren't many who could call me that. Gabriel was a 

from them. The archangels are prior to the light; they were created a few billion years before ordinary angels. 

Concentrated, I knelt on the soft grass of the hill and used my maximum power to invoke 

the Wrath of God. I didn't know if my combat technique could prostrate an archangel, but it was time to 

try everything I had. 

— Gabriel, Master of Fire, I have fought countless duels and I am not ashamed to say that, in some 

of them, I knew defeat. Most of the time, though, I came out the winner. I don't know what the outcome of this will be. 

fight. All I know is that tonight I will be your opponent, under this moon that watches us from the east. 

I took a safe distance from the Master of Fire and charged forward, with all the power burning my 

blood. But, faced with the danger of the attack, the archangel did not move. With my right fist, I prepared a punch 

in the face, and I executed a perfect, brilliant blow. The precision of the assault would knock anyone out, 

but my clash was interrupted by a type of telekinesis. A field of mystical energy thwarted the 

trajectory of the punch, and I now tried to beat him, without success. Gabriel didn't need to touch anything to 

project his strength, which was enormous, much greater than I could imagine. It was as if I 

I was facing a god, and the difference in power between us proved to be abysmal. 

—What's the matter with you, general? His potent Wrath of God, or whatever the cherubim call this 

technique, it's not as big as you thought, is it? His enemies must weaken in the face of so harmless 

attack—he spoke like a mentor, not an enemy. 

—What are you doing, Gabriel? — I growled, using all my strength to overcome the magnetism that 

surrounded the enemy. 

— Back off, warrior. My goal is not to hurt you," he warned. 

— Never — I insisted, and with a new push I tried to confront him. 

The more I lunged, the more the invisible force pushed me back, and when I charged again 

crackling with fury, the mystical barrier reacted, and I was hurled away with relentless violence. My body 

was thrown like a projectile, opening a ditch in its path, destroying trees and scattering 

fragments of rock for hundreds of meters. Never in my entire life had I been the victim of such an offensive. 

brutal. 

Dazed, I leaned on the sides of the crater to stand up, amidst the dust that dominated the hole. 

I tried to look ahead and saw Gabriel's silhouette standing erect on a piece of rock. If I could catch it 

In that second, unprepared, I might have managed to hit him. 

With the skill of a cherub, I leapt out of the crater like a cat in the night and descended with my hand. 

closed to assault the archangel. But my superior dexterity and quickness were of no use. The Master of 

Fire performed a short fist movement, and I, still in the air, was paralyzed by his telekinesis. 

Immobilized, as if floating in an energetic sphere, I was totally submissive, powerless. 

move a single muscle. I couldn't even speak. 

Gabriel demonstrated that his patience was running out. When stretching an arm, the sphere projected me 

again, but this time I stabilized the thrust and landed rolling on a rocky site. In the last 

Instantly, however, a stumble threw me to the ground, and I fell prostrate inches from a precipice. The fall 

It was scary from there, even for someone like me, who jumped and climbed with perfection beyond 

human. 

The archangel, I observed, moved at the speed of his blows. When I looked for him, I saw the 

Master of Fire already at my heels, floating even without wings a meter above the ground. It should be 

supported by the same magnetic gallows that surrounded it. 

"You're defeated," he said. — You have no chance of beating me in combat. Just one 

simple movement of mine, and you will be thrown down the ravine. Now accept your fate and do as I say. Go 

although while there is time. 

I recovered slowly, because I knew the danger of his threats. Cornered, I preferred to take him 

to dialogue. 

— If you know that Nathanael came to me, then you know the value of my mission — he showed himself 

impassive. — Why do you do this, Gabriel? Why do you stop me from watching over the Enlightened One? 

Floating, the Fire Master moved back about two meters, possibly to demonstrate a 

little aggressive. 

— You don't understand, general — there was anguish in his words. — Your demand no longer has 

service. 

My mission, ruined? What could lead to its failure, if not my death? Will I arrive 

late to find the Holy One alive? Or would the archangels have dethroned the defenders of the 

Boy? 

—So the Savior is dead? — I hissed, lost in reverie. 

— No, not yet. He was convicted. Not for me, not for Miguel, not for any of the 

heavenly ones, but by their own people. The Savior was condemned by men, and against that nothing 

we can do. 

I remained silent, evaluating the idea. Could it be that the Fire Master was lying? No, I didn't need to... I could 

kill me with the blink of an eye, so why sustain a charade? As if guessing my 

thoughts, the archangel completed: 

—Aren't you the one who always says that we shouldn't interfere with the will of mortals? It wasn't because 

what has risen up against us? Wasn't that why he took up arms against the archangels? 

—But that's different, Gabriel... — I articulated, without calculating the words well. 

— The Enlightened One, despite his power and wisdom, is also a man. Unlike us, it was 

graced with free will, like all human beings. The Savior chose his own martyrdom. 

The fact is accomplished. Now, only I can help you, no one else. 

A profound sadness followed the archangel's revelation, and I felt that we both shared equally 

bitterness. For a minute, as the desert wind blew over the ravine, nothing was said. The houses and 

stone fortresses in the city of Jerusalem resisted the darkness like points of light, imitating the 

stars in the sky. 

It was then that Baturiel, the golden-armored cherub, returned, breaking the silence. The officer arrived 

walking, and on his leader's shoulders he released the news: 

— Master, our messenger at Calvary has just arrived — he lowered his head in a sign of respect. 

— The Savior died. 

— This problem will be solved — replied Gabriel, as if he had already calculated all the exits 

possible. I certainly had complete control of the situation, and I imagined that the Fire Master had foreseen 

every moment of that odyssey. 

Baturiel retreated, and the archangel returned to my presence. 

— As you can see, there is a lot to do, general. You must leave now — he determined, in a final command. 

— It's useless to try to break the blockade. The city is surrounded, in the physical and spiritual worlds - and, trusting 

With the dignity of a vanquished warrior, he shrugged his shoulders and prepared to leave the scene of battle. 

I was dumbfounded. He had had an encounter with Gabriel Arcanjo, was defeated and was still alive. 

Something didn't fit. 

"Wait, Gabriel," I replied. — Why do you let me free? I am a renegade, an outcast, and you, a 

archangel, an executioner, a giant. 

He answered my question with a prophetic answer: 

— Before the seventh day reaches its end, we will meet once more. For now, remain in peace 

your path — he concluded, evoking the Messenger's emblematic phrase. 

All he wanted to know was Nathanael's whereabouts and the Savior's fate. But if the Master of Fire 

I had told the truth, the Enlightened One was dead, and with that my demand ended there. I didn't have 

I wasn't sure if the archangel's words were true or not, but my options were exhausted. 

Gabriel floated over the rock to the bottom of the ravine and there he dematerialized his physical body, passing through 

as a spirit to the astral plane. Once again, the planar transfer shook the tissue, dissipating a 

colossal wave of energy. Then I saw him through the membrane, flying toward the city. 

One Last Kiss 

Three months after my fateful encounter with the archangel Gabriel on the Mount of Olives, I returned to 

Rome, personally bringing Shamira the news he had promised when he left. Neither she nor Flor do Leste, 

Even I didn't expect me to return so soon, but, I must admit, it was pleasant to return to my friend's house. 

sorceress, a safe corner, a world apart from the dangers that awaited me on my journey. 

In July, the heat in the Eternal City reached unbearable levels, and many aristocrats of the time left 

their mansions in the capital to spend a season in the villa, the rural property outside the walls of the 

metropolis. But Shamira had no land in the countryside, only the domus in the capital, and she remained there for the entire time. 

summer, studying magic formulas and waiting for my report. 

For a whole week, I rested in the comfort of that airy house, meditating in the peristyle courtyard, 

sometimes bathing in the artificial lake in the center of the atrium and engaging in discussions with the necromancer that 

They covered the night, about all kinds of events, celestial and mundane. It was nice to talk 

with her, not only because of the variety of topics we shared, but because we simply knew how to listen 

each other. Many times, I wanted to stay forever in the girl's company, I wanted the world to 

stop so we could have our time, an eternal moment of peace. 

But the world doesn't stop. 

As long as I was there, with them, Shamira and Flor do Leste would be in danger, just as they were 

Tales, Tommaso and all the humans and angels I brought into the bosom of my fleeting life. 

In one of our tireless conversations, the sorceress told me what had happened in the world of men 

while I was sleeping. He also told me about his duel with Zamir, before I fell into disarray. 

torpor. I, in turn, related my trip to China and my meeting with Nathanael near the 

wall. I talked about my visit to Enoch and the reunion with Captain Hazai. Finally, 

I detailed my clash with Gabriel. 

— But then you didn't find the angel Nathanael? — asked Shamira, in the domus courtyard. 

— This story still intrigues me. Gabriel told me that the Purest was on a mission delegated by 

him, but he didn't say what this mission was. I'm sure Nathanael didn't lie to me when 

He said, still in China, that he was part of a group that intended to save the Illuminated. So how could 

be in the same party as Gabriel? Gabriel is an archangel. Archangels hate humans, more than 

all. 

—And you think Gabriel was telling the truth? — asked the woman. 

- I don't know. If you weren't, then why didn't you kill me? Why didn't you throw me off the cliff? 

She cut one of the branches of a rose bush in the courtyard, trimming the unevenness of the plant. 

— I know little, almost nothing, about celestial politics, but, if it is the same as human politics, I would say that, for 

To find the answer, you need to first analyze your interests. 

- Like this? 

— There are interests behind every movement in the world. What benefit would Gabriel have in leaving him alive? 

Why would I lie? Why would Nathanael hide it from you? Both the righteous and the wicked are 

driven by implicit desires. 

— Too implicit for me to infer. 

— For now, perhaps, but one day the truth will come out. Just be prepared to face it — and 

He looked at me in subtle praise. — And you are always prepared for anything. 

Allow me some self-criticism: 

— I wasn't prepared to face Gabriel... 

— And of course he was, otherwise he wouldn't be here. Defeating someone doesn't necessarily mean 

defeat him in combat. 

I smiled, mocking the nature that was inherent in me. 

— My warrior nature doesn't allow me this multiplicity of options — I replied, good-naturedly. 

She trimmed another branch from the rose bush, removing the thorns with iron scissors. Flower of the East 

he was nearby, in the studio, writing something on leather parchment. Seeing her sitting on a 

diva, resting a wooden clipboard on her thighs, my eyes refused to recognize her as 

woman. For me, she was an eternal girl, the little Chinese girl who clung to me on cold nights, 

who had saved me from death twice in a row. 

As I watched the oriental woman's graceful movements, my thoughts were lost in the adventures 

by the rubble of Enoch. 

— What happened, Ablon? You don't usually let yourself be carried away by daydreams," the woman noticed, noticing 

that I had, for a moment, severed my connection with the world. 

— This journey was permeated by intriguing facts, Shamira, that I cannot unravel. I keep thinking 

what would be the connection between them? If there is a connection... 

— You mean the murder of Ishtar — supposed the sorceress, already aware of my meeting with the captain. 

renegade in the ruins of Giant Beauty. 

— Her simple death doesn't say much, after all, all renegades are persecuted. But Hazai me 

said that Ishtar was being hunted not only because she was an outcast, but because she had discovered a supposed 

conspiracy, which apparently involved heaven and hell and threatened the existence of Yahweh himself. 

— If Ishtar was right in her investigation, then you can count on this being the best secret 

kept from the universe. Whoever is, or was, behind this collusion, will lock you up at seven 

keys. But I can't imagine who has the power to do that. Even the strongest of archangels would not be 

opponent for the Shining One, as you once told me. 

— Yahweh is sleeping — I pondered. 

—And yet you think someone could molest you? — asked the necromancer, who knew 

much less than I do about the celestial situation. 

I remained silent for a while and then I answered, with conviction: 

"Of course not," I declared, relieved. — I don't even think I should be thinking about those things right now. 

There are no facts to work with. Reflecting on this will only lead me to discouragement. 

Conformed, I preferred to leave suspicion aside and was content to enjoy the stillness and tranquility 

that he enjoyed in the Roman mansion, with that admirable woman. But there was a day when, as if 

habit, my time is up. I couldn't stay there and be selfish enough to attract more enemies to the 

lives of those I loved. It was an illusion to think it was over. Even having destroyed the prey, 

more hunters would come for me, and I hoped to be far away from Shamira and Flor do Leste when I arrived. 

that happened. 

My season in Rome was over.