In Your Footsteps

Chapter I

In Your Footsteps

The rooster's crow cut through the silence before dawn, scattering into the mountains. The young woman wrapped both hands around her mug and breathed in the steam rising from the coffee — warm and bitter — before taking her first sip. The bite she took from her sandwich made a quiet crunch in the stillness of the morning.

Her name was Rebecca.

She rose from the table and stepped out onto the balcony. Down below, the mountains slept beneath a low blanket of mist that the vegetation slowly swallowed as the light came in.

"Leaving without a word? How inconsiderate of you, treating this old couple like that," said a voice from inside.

An elderly man was making his way down the stairs, leaning on the railing with each step. The rebuke drew a slight grimace from Rebecca.

"You were supposed to be asleep. I didn't want some big tearful goodbye like in those bad telenovelas."

"Unfortunately, you're the spitting image of that stubborn fool," the old man replied. "But don't worry — I wasn't planning to send you off in tears."

Rebecca reached into her pocket and pulled out a photograph. She held it for a moment: a man with green hair, a leather trench coat, and an absurdly large sword. A cloud of melancholy passed through her eyes. She put the photo away, picked up her backpack, and walked toward the door.

"I'm off," she said, without turning around.

The door closed behind her with a soft click. The old man stood still, listening to his granddaughter's footsteps fade down the path. When the silence was whole again, he murmured to no one:

"Take care of yourself, my girl."

✦ ✦ ✦

The airport was a torrent of humanity: suitcases screeching across the floor, announcements overlapping one another, the smell of machine coffee and cheap perfume blending in the recycled air. Rebecca moved through the crowd with her backpack snug against her back, barely grazing anyone.

I hope I wasn't too hard on Grandpa, she thought, though she didn't want him thinking she had doubts.

She'd packed only the essentials. Where she was going, extra luggage was a luxury she couldn't afford. She made it through security and found a seat in the departure lounge, flipping through an old notebook without really reading it.

"My father could have been a little more specific... All I know is that I need to get to some place called the Island of the Summoners, or something like that."

Once in her seat, Rebecca exhaled slowly and settled in. The engines woke with a low rumble that the other passengers barely acknowledged, long accustomed to the sound of departure. The plane taxied down the runway, picked up speed, and lifted off the ground. Rebecca pressed her forehead against the cold of the window and watched the city shrink — then become unrecognizable — then disappear entirely.

"Well... no turning back now," she said quietly.

A flight attendant approached with the practiced smile of the profession. But the moment Rebecca looked up, the smile broke. The woman's face went pale in a matter of seconds.

"What can I get for you, miss?" she managed to ask, though her voice came out thin with panic.

"Are you alright?" asked Rebecca.

"I... I... It's nothing, miss. I'll be right back," the flight attendant murmured, and hurried away.

Rebecca watched her go until she disappeared behind the galley curtain. It wasn't the first time. It probably wouldn't be the last.

"Great. We've barely taken off and I've already found someone who thinks I'm scary," she muttered, with a sarcasm that had long since resigned itself to the routine.

✦ ✦ ✦

Hours later, the pilot announced their descent, and the plane landed with the dry shriek of tires against asphalt. Rebecca had arrived at her first stop on the way to the island.

Outside the airport, the city unfolded before her like an unfinished puzzle: colonial buildings with wooden balconies shoulder-to-shoulder with billboards, and motorcycles weaving through traffic. The air smelled of exhaust, of fried food, and underneath it all — salt.

"According to my father's notes, I need to find a clandestine vessel that can take me to the island. Apparently, it doesn't even appear on official maps."

The beach was nearly deserted on a weekday. The waves broke lazily against the shore, and the few plastic chairs still standing had been tipped over onto the sand. Rebecca walked along without meaning to, enjoying the solitude with each step.

"Weekday. No tourists. This place is actually pretty nice."

She left the last craft stalls behind and turned onto a narrower path. The vegetation grew thicker, the palms cast long shadows, and the ground beneath her feet became uneven. The water rose with the tide and brushed her ankles every few steps, sinking her slightly into the wet sand. It was noon; the sun came down without mercy.

"This place is quite hidden. I've been walking for a while and nothing. Maybe they're traffickers — that's why they stay out of sight," she mused aloud, until her stomach made its feelings known. "And on top of that, I'm starving."

A crab passed within centimeters of her foot without a care in the world.

"Don't get too close — you might end up being lunch."

It was then that she made out, through the heat haze in the distance, the silhouettes of several boats rocking on the water. Rebecca quickened her pace, then broke into a run, and arrived at a loud, unadorned square: old sailors, people of indeterminate character, the smell of fish and diesel mingling in the air.

"Here I am. Now — who do I ask?"

She asked around. The answer was always the same, delivered with different faces but the same indifference:

"I have no idea what you're talking about, girl."

Tired, she dropped into a plastic chair at a sticky, salt-crusted table. She rested her head on her folded arms and let out a long, slow breath.

"What can I get you, young lady?" asked the woman running the stall, wiping her hands on her apron.

Rebecca glanced at the chalkboard behind the counter.

"Fried red snapper."

When the plate arrived — golden and crispy, with lemon wedges and a side of white rice — Rebecca had to fight the urge to eat it in one go.

"You don't look like you're from around here, miss," the woman said, leaning her elbows on the counter with genuine curiosity.

"I'm from abroad. I was told that somewhere around here I'd find someone who could take me to the Island of the Summoners, but everyone just tells me they don't know what I'm talking about."

"I see..." The woman paused, as if weighing something. "There might be a way."

Rebecca looked up from her plate.

"Really?" She sat up sharply.

"Shh." The woman raised a calm hand.

She reached under the counter and slid a card across the table.

"Go to this address. Show it to the man who looks like he's keeping watch outside."

Rebecca took the card carefully, as if it might crumble.

"Thank you."

"Don't thank me, girl. This is just part of the business."

Rebecca let out a long, contented sigh and sat back down.

"I'll head out after I finish this masterpiece," she announced, rubbing her hands together.

✦ ✦ ✦

The alley smelled of brine and rotting wood. Seagulls fought over the rooftops with a constant din, and the crumbling buildings told their own kind of story — a place that had once been more alive. Rebecca followed the numbers until two men stepped out to block her path from the front. She turned around: two more had cut off the exit. All four wore the worn-out clothes of men who'd spent too long on the margins, and smiled with the cheap confidence that comes from having the numbers on your side.

"Who are you?" Rebecca asked, her voice flat, her body still.

One of the men in front of her pointed his fingers like an imaginary gun.

"Sweetheart, you don't look like you're from here. Hand over your things and maybe we'll let you walk."

"You have three seconds to get out of the way," Rebecca replied. "After that, none of you are walking away in one piece."

The warning drew a laugh from the man, which curdled almost instantly into rage.

"Who do you think you are, you insolent little girl?" he shouted, and threw a punch straight at her face.

Rebecca didn't move. She simply raised her hand and caught his wrist in midair, as naturally as someone catching something before it hits the floor.

"What—" he managed.

The grip tightened slowly, terribly. The bone gave with a dull crack and the man went down on his knees on the wet asphalt, screaming. Rebecca let go and drove her knee cleanly into his face. The body went still on the ground.

"I can't stand it when pathetically weak men go around playing tough."

Nobody moved. The silence in the alley was almost more threatening than any words.

"Who's next?" said Rebecca.

The three still standing scrambled to collect their companion from the ground and ran without looking back.

"We're sorry!" they called out, already half a block away.

"You're awfully rough for someone so pretty," said a voice behind her.

Rebecca spun around. She hadn't heard a single step, not a whisper of clothing nor a creak of shoes. Before her stood an elderly woman in a white blouse and a blue skirt, both hands resting on a dark wooden cane, watching her with a calm and faintly amused smile.

How is it possible she moved so fast without making a sound? Unless she's a Summoner, thought Rebecca, without taking her eyes off the woman.

"It's not very common for a young woman to be wandering around these parts alone," the old woman said. "You must be looking for something. Or am I wrong?"

Without lowering her guard, Rebecca took the card from her pocket — the one the woman at the restaurant had given her.

"I'm looking for this place."

The old woman took it and brought it close to her aged, narrowed eyes.

"I see. So you're headed there," she said, with a calm that didn't match the alley around her.

She began to walk without further explanation. Rebecca called after her:

"Where are you going?"

"Just follow me," the old woman replied, gesturing forward with her cane.

They turned right, walked a few meters, and stopped in front of a house that looked like it had been empty for years. The windows were boarded up, the roof served as a perch for a dozen seagulls, and the paint was peeling off in long strips like dry skin. The old woman knocked on the door three times with her fist, in a rhythm that sounded like a code.

A nondescript man opened the door, looked at them both, and stepped aside without a word.

"Is this where I'll find a way to reach the Island of the Summoners?" Rebecca asked, looking into the dim, empty interior.

The old woman didn't answer. She bent down, pushed aside a rug buried under dust with her cane, and lifted a wooden trapdoor. Beneath it, a staircase descended into the dark. A few candles flickered along the walls of the descent — just enough to make the steps visible.

"Follow me and keep quiet," the old woman said, and started down.

Rebecca followed. The air changed with every step: cooler, damper, carrying that smell of wet stone and saltwater the sea leaves behind without being invited. The candle flames barely stirred, throwing shadows that stretched the walls.

"Are you taking me to some kind of dungeon?" Rebecca asked.

The old woman smiled without turning around.

"You have nothing to fear. There's nothing a poor old woman like me could do to someone as strong as you."

"Are you joking? The speed you moved out there isn't something any ordinary grandmother can manage."

At the bottom of the stairs, the cave opened before them like a well-kept secret. The cavern was vast: its black rock walls dropped down to an underground river of still, dark water that found its way to the sea through an opening at the far end. Light came in through that gap and tinted the water a pale, living green. The sound of the waves arrived muffled, as if the ocean were breathing.

"What a beautiful place," said Rebecca, and she meant it.

Tied to the riverbank, a large fishing boat waited with its ropes taut. Before Rebecca could take it all in, a figure leapt from the deck and landed before them with a heavy thud that echoed through the cave.

"What is wrong with people?!" Rebecca exclaimed, stepping back.

It was an old man whose white beard reached his knees. He smiled with the self-satisfaction of someone accustomed to making theatrical entrances.

The old woman approached him with affectionate resignation.

"Time for introductions. I am doña Petra, and this here is my husband. You can call him..."

"Captain Silverbeard," the old man cut in, standing up straight. "If you please."

Rebecca looked at them both with a mix of disbelief and exhaustion.

"Couldn't the old man have come up with a more generic alias?"

"I tell him that all the time," said doña Petra, burying her face in her hands.

"By the way," the old woman added, "this young lady wants to reach the Island of the Summoners. What's your name, girl?"

"Rebecca Viridis."

Captain Silverbeard crossed his arms and broadened his smile.

"Then you're in luck. We're just about to set sail. Go up and wait for me on deck."

Rebecca turned to doña Petra.

"Thank you for everything."

"It was nothing. This is just part of the business."

She climbed aboard. She wasn't the only passenger: the deck was home to a varied cast, ranging from weathered crew members to individuals who radiated danger without doing a thing.

A shadow passed overhead, and something landed in front of her with a thud.

"Why does everyone around here insist on landing in front of people?" Rebecca exclaimed.

It was a girl. She wore a poet's shirt, a doublet-style vest, billowy trousers, and musketeer boots, and she was looking at Rebecca with the serious, appraising gaze of someone who has spent years sizing people up.

"You don't look cut out for the open sea, kid," the girl said.

"You're younger than me," Rebecca replied.

"I have a feeling you'll end up as shark food," the girl declared, circling her slowly with her hands clasped behind her back, like an inspector.

Can she not hear me?! Rebecca screamed inside.

Captain Silverbeard, who had just come on board, watched the scene with evident amusement.

"I see you've already met my great-granddaughter," he said, chuckling.

"The madness runs in the family," Rebecca muttered.

The captain moved to the center of the deck and raised his voice. It bounced off the cavern walls and reached every corner of the ship.

"Alright. As you all know, we are headed to the Island of the Summoners. I'd be lying if I told you the journey would be pleasant. Many of you may not come back alive. Each person is responsible for themselves. And since I can't think of anything else to say... I'll leave it at that."

He's right about the substance — just missing everything else, thought Rebecca.

The ship began to move. It emerged slowly from the cave, and the darkness gave way to a growing light until the afternoon sun fell across the deck in full, dazzling everyone on board. The seagulls took off from the rocky ledges and followed the vessel in an uneven formation, as if determined to escort it out.

The wind came from straight ahead and pulled back Rebecca's hood, releasing her green hair, which caught the light and shone with an almost unreal brilliance. She leaned against the railing, facing the horizon, and let the air fill her lungs.

"Here I come, Island of the Summoners," she whispered.