Scene 8 "Path without color".

It had been a hundred or maybe more years since I had not stepped outside Montevarius Mountain, one foot and then the other, that was the right way to walk, by that time my ideas were still bouncing in pieces inside me, disorganized, illogical, without enough consistency to unite several of them, a poorly executed sand castle, that was what my thoughts were like.

Moving forward, more by sensation than by reason, drawn by a supernatural magnetism, my body had traced a route fit for my bones.

My first test began, I had to overcome the defenses of the Kingdom of Flowers, those night butterflies did not make it easy, long years of facing the demons, in all the width of its borders, had managed to organize a good defensive strategy, its high rock walls prevented simply climb them.

He had to think of something, but now he was just a cripple with an atrophied mind and a body that was beginning to crumble.

I watched a legion of warriors crossing the wall to bravely face the horde of demons that was on the side where I was, and that was the perfect occasion to slip into the dark cloak of night to a supply wagon, and there among empty barrels and remains of dirty sacks, I placed myself, motionless, under my tunic seemed just one more of the objects recovered after the battle.

The next day I was on the other side, inside the village, and when it was my turn to fill the barrels and sacks with food for the warriors, that old black tunic was no longer there, that strange battle booty was cursed, it had disappeared.

So I managed to continue, one step and then another step, I thought so as not to forget how to do it, while my old feet got used again to the inhospitable road.

After too many days, I stopped stepping on fertile soil and started stepping on sand, the Inhospitable Plain of the Biznagas was beginning, I had to be especially careful with the shifting sand, for me and my eternal life, it would be a real hell to fall into a sand prison for all eternity.

I had to take the longest way, to avoid the sand traps, not only I would end up in endless agony, but also Rosa, especially my Rosa, who could not get out of the curse of the jadeite suffering the pain of being melted forever and ever.

For several days, with the sandstorms whipping non-stop, it was impossible to see the sky to try to locate myself by means of the stars, although it would have been useless, as I remembered that it was possible, but my knowledge of astronomy did not return.

I could only trust in following the straight line that foot after foot can draw. My skeletal footprints marked the sandy ground in a very particular way, walking during the cold night seemed pleasant, to think that Rosa could have stepped on the same grains of sand as me was comforting.

Imagining her walking beside me helped me to stay focused, talking with her inside my mind, responding with her voice inside me, even if it was just a conversation invented by me, filled me with joy, nostalgia, energy.

The Lord Demon with the heroine, walking hand in hand with the whole world to go around, the system had gone wrong, had made us enemies, trying as in every era, to achieve an epic battle for the mere purpose of entertainment.

To entertain who, to generate experiences, for a spectator, that's what it's all about, Rosa managed to generate emotions in this old skeleton, I lived unimaginable experiences through her, to feed myself with her energy by seeing her grow as a heroine, and to see her in love was the most incredible thing that I have ever felt in all the infinite time I have been able to feel.

I was recovering a bit of my mind, and at last after long weeks, my feet stopped stepping on sand and I started to see a green landscape, the jungle of the

Axolotls, greener than ever, thanks to the rains that have run off from the deluges we caused in the desert.

Just remembering that day when my dear warrior pierced the demon's body in two, and how in doing so the great torrential storm that it provoked was split in two, leaving a perfect rainbow in the division of the two black clouds, was worthy of a painting that would adorn my castle.

No castle, no painting, no Rosa, when everything is lost, only the memories remain, and fortunately, some were still with me.

In that jungle there is a dungeon, I had never seen the inside of one, if I had some time I would have liked to go through them, each of the 5 large dungeons where the hero must fulfill his specific missions.

The one with the frozen sea was the closest to my castle, but it never caught my attention, until that moment, that jungle is so hot and suffocating that I remember wishing I was in those ice dungeons.

Right in the center of that green landscape were the waterfalls that ended in a bank of water so crystal clear that there seemed to be no water, only the colorful rounded and smooth stones giving the impression of being a bunch of candy scattered on the ground under the foam caused by the falling water, the same waterfall where at nightfall many pages were written with red corner.

I would have liked to stay longer in that place, reminiscing but it would not be fair, enjoying this trip, while my motive is suffering half a world away.

Knowing that I was at the halfway point gave me some relief, I left the green landscape behind and started to step on obsidian rock, that only means one thing, volcanoes.

The territory filled with bubbling rivers of lava, toxic fumes that would kill even the healthiest soldier, dangerous mercenaries from the scorpion village, who would attack while you were careless, and me, the most unthinkable of travelers, arriving as if I had been invited to a party.

One foot and then another foot, avoiding falling for eternity in magma, thinking about it, being immortal was much more dangerous in many occasions, slipping meant an eternity surrounded by beautiful red, orange, yellow and black colors, until I reached the center of the volcano or until I solidified in a block of obsidian and waited there for centuries until someone or something broke it, something was going on with my mind, the vapors did not kill me, but they made me think stupid things.

In the distance I managed to see a caravan, guarded by hundreds of warriors, it seems that it was my lucky day, the perfect bait to continue my way without complications, as I supposed, a horde of mercenaries began to surround them, and in the distance I could hear the clash of swords, I estimated that that amount of warriors would endure 2 or maybe 3 nights before falling before the intensity of the scorpions.

Thanks to that distraction I did not have to think about how to defend myself, just continue without looking back, it is the cycle of pain, each individual must fulfill his role, the villager, the merchant, the warrior and the mercenary, each one had his function.

Crossing the volcanic region just on the third night, I began to feel the peace of the marshes, kilometers and kilometers of rotting marshes with swampy waters, black as the hollow of my eyes, a place where I did fit in, the tranquility that this inhospitable place offered me was wonderful.

The dreary landscape was adorned with sporadic bodies in saponification, dispersed, without decomposing, without becoming skeletons, they were rather spongy, slippery, covered by a thin layer of foamy skin, very appropriate to stop and make an oil landscape, I thought it would be ideal as an ornament for my castle, but I immediately remembered that I no longer had a wall to hang it on, a castle to return to or a Rose to admire.

In one of the bogs, perhaps the largest of all those banks of liquid swamp, was an old barge, it could hardly be called that, ideal for a skeleton, very appropriate, a cliché of means of transportation for the non-fleshy.

I laboriously pulled the barge out of the water, and dragged it through the mud for several days, until it was finally in front of the shore, the sand as brown as brown sugar.

The feeling of discomfort was pleasant, the dead even appreciate the annoying sensations that the living deny.

The salty and cold water, I had not touched it for hundreds of years, I was about to cross the sea, but the weather only got worse, the huge waves of the early morning did not help at all to venture into this nautical path, a few meters into the sea I was flipped and tossed several times, until the ninth attempt I managed to get out of the beach and into the sea.

One paddle, after another paddle, it was enough not to stop and to continue despite the terrible feeling of emptiness that embraced me, feeling alone, tiny, in the middle of nowhere, in the black waters, with the sky full of storm clouds and with the uncertainty of what the vast ocean can hide, I always considered the sea as the most enigmatic, my studies never focused on what was under the water, the lack of knowledge about it, was what caused my discomfort.

After rowing for five long nights, at last dawn brought with it the distant silhouette of a city, which no longer lived up to its name, it still looked like a rock formation arranged like a pair of swords buried in a large rock, but this time, the swords were broken.

No other ship was sailing that day, only my sad, decaying barge, with the skeletal figure under that black cloak, if anyone were witnessing my arrival from the harbor, they would think death had come............................................................................................. late.