A flower carved from grey stone covered with gold foil. Legends say that during a war, it was used to differentiate friend from foe.

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It was the age when the banners of the tribes had been coated in dust, gradually losing their color.

And before the throne stands a half-man holding a cracked ring, playing with preeminence.

Strict orders were given that none should ever again give ear to the instructions left by the deep messengers of twilight, the distant ancestors, and the first ascended—

To hear them not from the mud-caked roots of trees, the flickering flames of bonfires, or the reflections found in the deep woods.

And so, the ancient gloom, the moment that engulfs a million darknesses, came at last,

Just as the stench of iron lingers even as bloodstains upon the ancient scrolls fade.

And so, when the pitch-black darkness thick enough to touch seized the depths,

The red-eyed youth, through countless calamities, returned from the kingdom where water flowed as rays of light to the hilly heights of the ineffable city.

As he stepped into the floating garden, the raspy warning of the blind, stooped old woman still clutched at his ear:

"As radiant flowers still blossom amongst the clinging vines of distant marsh,

Go seek, for here is the land of death, piled high with the skulls of behemoths—

Go seek those the truly righteous, who are still willing to stand in the cold, cruel night, to throw themselves onto the fire,

And remember — never betray their passion, their hatred, their greed, and their ambition!

Do not break faith with the eyes of those still willing to gaze upon the burning flames."

The first to arrive was a young girl, holding a dulled feather accessory. She sought out information for the youth like a quetzal, flitting between the tall tents.

The second were the hero twins, the elder whose lips and teeth were sharper than any blade, and the younger whose back bore the brunt of the tyrant's lash.

Upon hearing of how the scarlet-eyed youth had saved the Saurians, the taciturn warrior too was willing to contribute his strength.

"But we need someone who understands the layout of this city better than anyone,

Who can point out the paths in passages open and secret, and manipulate mechanisms as one might do to toys in the palm of their hand."

After the scarlet-eyed youth had spoken thus, the usually reticent and reserved hero,

That powerful hero who hoped Saurians and humans would live together in peace, remembered the rumor and spoke the name of a craftsman.

A tail feather ornament whose luster has long faded. The patterns on it are said to have been etched by the hand of a skilled artisan from long ago.

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"Whosoever lays eyes upon the turquoise-adorned carvings shall have their minds and souls seized by the ingenuity of their design,

Whosoever lays eyes upon the intricate golden inscriptions shall be profoundly moved by the artist's outstanding craftsmanship."

The young girl obeyed the commands of the youth to whom she was deeply bonded, seeking out traces of the renowned craftsman among the rumors that flew about in the streets.

Yet she found nothing amidst the palatial courtyards and the feasts of the nobility.

Thoroughly vexed by this, she took out the ornamental golden feather, and stared into the dim light, recalling the face of her late father.

To the side, a drunkard with half his face hidden behind his cowl opened his mouth coldly, recounting the origin of the patterns adorning the feather.

Who would have thought the maker of such beautiful accessories would be a beggar of horrifying visage, loitering about a dilapidated tavern?

The scars of having been burnt by a raging blaze marred the half of his face that was hidden under a hat, the flesh a melted slurry of blood.

But the girl felt no fear, and after recovering from her surprise, she handed the accessory to him.

On that night, his eyes upon the ornament whose light had long faded, he told her of things long lost in that land,

The story of the emerald-colored quetzal with a long tail, of the time when he had been tasked with making something for one respected by all...

"That was my father, but he was condemned for protecting the tribe's Saurians, and his life was taken from him."

The girl's voice was cold. The craftsman saw the same hatred he nursed burning within her eyes.

"Then I shall gladly serve you...r lord," he said, before she had even spoken of her purpose.

In his heart, he was actually willing to serve her, but that was not something he needed to say.

For he could see that at this time, someone else already occupied the girl's heart.

A sundial used by an ancient kingdom to tell time. Tiny marks have been left at a certain scale that can only be seen through careful observation.

====

One of the things that bedevils researchers who study relics is how,

Among the many sundials recovered from the ancient ash-covered ruins of the city,

They would, for some reason, find an engraving made in exactly the same spot by a burin.

Those who came from the canyons believed it was a time for those who had broken with their faith to light the obsidian pillars once more.

That day, the one acting on behalf of the leaders of the tribes, the daughter of the mines, Sakkuk, sent the wandering spirits back to the realm of the night.

Those who came from the hanging trees believed it was a time for those who had forsaken their contract to sign it once more with the Saurians of the six tribes.

That day, the great hero trusted by all warriors, the taciturn Yupanqui, used his sword to shatter the shackles binding the Saurian's neck.

Those who came from the spring's source believed it was a time for those who had forgotten their past to listen anew to the echoes of the waves.

That day, the elder of the twin heroes, the eloquent Atawallpa, rekindled the desire of all for past glories.

Those who came from the fertile lands believed it was a time for the oppressed to rise from the earth once more.

On that day, the younger of the twin heroes, the champion Waskar, stood first against the torrent of darkness.

Those who came from the mountain peaks believed it was a time for those who had been caged to return to freedom's nest once more.

That day, the scarlet-eyed hero summoned the god's fiery wrath, burnt the corroded city to ash, and restored the tribe to its own.

Only the one present who came from the mysterious smoke, the youth who knew the hidden secrets, remained silent.

Alone, the image painted on the blanched scroll came to mind. It is said that was a time when a black shadow shrouded the sun.

The heroes who had long prepared for this moment seized the opportunity to overthrow the insane king before the empty throne.

In the non-mainstream, unofficial histories, the man behind the plan was a skilled artisan who left no name behind.

"But the artisan left behind not a single word in the war that returned authority to the tribes

And afterward, he disappeared without a trace from the old stories, covered by layer upon narrative layer."

The youth smoothed over the nearly identical scratches on the sundials with his hand.

Imagining a time, unnumbered sunsets before, after the date to execute the plan had been agreed upon, those hands that might not ever have existed,

And the moment the owner of those hands had engraved those marks upon the sundials.

A three-legged cup. Once, many heroes were gathered around the bonfire, raising their cups high in toast and drinking their fill while discussing their wishes and ambitions.

====

He spoke to the scarlet-eyed young man and his heroes of the trials and tribulations he had endured.

It is said the king of the ineffable city once gathered skilled artisans from the tribes,

Underground, he excavated gargantuan beastly constructs, whose wings once caught the winds as great banners might, all to fulfill his ambitions.

But the king's erratic behavior had long been common knowledge, and so, on the day he finally probed the depths of the secrets,

He lit a great fire, intending to burn it all and all who knew of it, burying all together with the ruins, behind the stone gate...

Amidst the all-consuming inferno, as a doomed craftsman lay dazed at death's door,

A golden tear dripping from the stone head fell into his eye, and he saw much.

He spoke of the gigantic creations he saw in his stupor, of elaborate machines whirring.

He spoke of shadows driven by the flowing flames, climbing from the distant horizon up to the disk of the moon hanging in the sky.

"So, that golden tear is..." "The source of your fountain of fanciful stories?"

So the twin heroes, who had taken in the story as but a tale, asked as they giggled.

He could hear the incredulous jocularity in their tone, and they were always like this. The man had long grown accustomed to it.

As he felt the young girl's inquisitive gaze reach him, he forced a derisive laugh, causing the muscles in half his face to sting slightly.

In truth, he had seen far more in those flames that had nearly rendered his life as ash, such as flowing golden patterns,

Another path to escape from the ruins, as well as the manifold iron rules that had established the empire that stretched far and wide.

But the latter might be too far beyond the ken of the youths...

He set aside his wine vessel, which had but a few drops sloshing about the bottom left.

Perhaps, when the dust finally settled, and when the ancient cornerstone was restored,

When all had progressed farther, he could reveal everything, and this pleased him,

For at this time, his wildest fantasies already revolved around how to craft a brilliant imperial wall for the new king.

A golden crown decorated with turquoise and emerald feathers, it has never been used in a coronation, living alone atop a velvet cushion.

====

Someone once granted her desire, agreeing to remake the long-dulled feather accessories once the ancient kingdom had fallen.

And so she too promised that person, who had long earned her respect, that when the time came, she would give them a turquoise crown in return.

It was after witnessing the crooked corpse agonizingly hunched beneath the black beast's butcher's blade that she understood,

The crown she had forged and adorned with her own two hands would wait alone for its master, who would never attend the coronation.

Many years later, the odd preferences of that aged mistress of the mines spread about the six tribes.

It is said the old lady enjoyed all kinds of luxurious jewelry, much of which could no longer be made with the artistry of contemporary craftsmen.

Among these, should it be a work signed by a specific artisan, and should one be willing to present it to her,

She would exchange for it at any price in precious gems.

Even if it were a forgery, she would take it all the same.

When the people of the tribe urged her to, at the very least, not reward the greed of frauds,

She said, "Ah, but I do this precisely because such crude forgeries cannot be allowed to stain his good name!"

Moreover, though she did not advertise the fact, she never truly let such base cheats get away with their perfidy.

In contrast to the friends who had courageously sacrificed themselves, her life seemed too long by far. And so,

She used the time left to her to gather all that was left behind by the heroes she missed.

The scarlet-eyed youth she had loved had returned to the sacred flames after completing his calling, leaving nothing but a warm afterglow.

And when the silent hero fell into the ruler's flames, the new world reflected in his remaining eye was already his greatest reward.

One of the hero twins was once an incorrigible chatterbox, yet upon witnessing his brother die at the hands of their adversary, his tormented wails wracked his throat hoarse.

"And yet Atawallpa, too, died before me... Who could have imagined that I, the frailest of us, would have lived to the end?

The wise amongst the tribes often say that those who have been tossed about by the winds and waves will grow tired of the steady ground, and I am no exception.

These years without all of you here... have truly been too dull."

But there will surely come a time for a reunion with friends long-since passed, and when long-awaited premonition comes to pass.

She picked the genuine articles that the craftsman had made from among her jewels — compared with the forgeries, they were all too few,

And with those things bearing his name, she walked into the dark night, never to return.

According to legend, on the next day, the people stood under the tree where she had placed the turquoise crown,

And they swore an oath to follow her final orders, blotting from history the name of the masterful craftsman she took away with her.