"This coffee smells amazing," Naamaah murmured, savoring the rich aroma. "Is it really Great Colombian?"

Jürgen beamed with pride. "Indeed, the best in the world."

They settled into wooden chairs at the granite counter in the cozy kitchen. Naamaah took a sip of the steaming coffee, relishing the warmth that spread through her. When Jürgen finished his cup, he gestured for Naamaah to follow him to his study.

The study was marvelous, lined with shelves of ancient tomes and scrolls and decorated with dozens of artifacts hanging on the walls. The weight of the room pressed down on her, filled with the weight of centuries of knowledge and wisdom.

Jürgen settled into an armchair, motioning for Naamaah to take a seat on a nearby gray cloth chair.

As they conversed, a young boy with tousled brown hair emerged from one of the bedrooms, rubbing sleep from his eyes. He peered at Naamaah with a curious gaze, and she waved at him.

Julia turned to the boy with a gentle smile. "You're up early, dear. This is an old friend of your grandpa, a former apprentice of sorts."

The boy's eyes widened in wonder. "An apprentice? Grandpa, I didn’t know you were a teacher?"

Naamaah observed the interplay between the family members, a pang of longing tugging at her heart. The sense of belonging she witnessed here only served to highlight the loneliness that had become her constant companion. She forced a smile, reminding herself that she, indeed, had a family that cared for her.

“By the way, Eric, say hi to Naamaah,” Julia said.

“Hi, nice to meet you!” the boy waved at her.1

“Nice to meet you too, Eric” Naamaah smiled.

“Are you Grandpa’s student?”

"She is a very fun student,” Jürgen answered.

“We met her shortly after your grandpa and I married, at that time I was studying in Switzerland,” Julia continued. “When we married, she visited us almost every day. I even came to think that she was trying to break our marriage. But I guess, we had a lot of fun by the way." Julia said.

Julia's voice carried a hint of amusement as she recounted Naamaah's unexpected arrival at their home during their early days of marriage. Naamaah could almost picture the scene, the tension and laughter that must have filled the air. She caught a glimpse of Jürgen's expression, a mix of embarrassment and fondness, mirroring her own.

"Did she meddle in your marriage?" the boy asked.

The boy's innocent question pierced through the reminiscence, drawing Naamaah back to the present. She watched as Julia navigated the delicate question with a laugh.

“I thought she wanted to,” Julia smirked. “But she was just having financial issues. We couldn’t let her down.”

Naamaah's fingers traced the edge of the table, her touch grounding her in the moment. She felt a pang of empathy for Julia.

“You really saved back then,” Naamaah said. “Thanks again.”

A soft chuckle escaped Naamaah's lips, a flicker of amusement dancing in her eyes. Beside her, Jürgen's laughter rang out.

"What about those kids?" the boy asked, pulling Naamaah's attention back to the conversation at hand.

"Her children!" Julia exclaimed, a warm smile on her face. "Why don't you play with them?"

Naamaah observed as the boy nodded and made his way over to where Castaña and Diego were engrossed in a game of cards.

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“Well, I’ll leave you both to your own devices,” Julia announced, turning her gaze towards Naamaah and Jürgen. “I have some errands to run, I’ll be back in a few hours.”

Naamaah's eyes flickered to Jürgen. As she waited for Julia to finally leave the house.

"What do you need from me?" Jürgen inquired, his voice steady and unwavering.

Naamaah took a deep breath, gathering her thoughts before speaking. "Do you know the legend of the Five White Eagles?"

Jürgen's eyes widened slightly in surprise. "Yes, I am familiar with it. It's a tale that has been passed down through generations in these lands. Why do you ask? What has piqued your interest in it?"

Naamaah leaned in, her voice barely above a whisper. "Have you heard about Aguirre, the Wrath of God?"

Jürgen paused, taking a sip of his coffee before responding. "Yes, I have. He was a ruthless Spanish conquistador known for his brutality throughout South America. They called him 'the Madman' and 'the Tyrant.' He fancied himself as the Wrath of God, Prince of Freedom, and King of Tierra Firme. What of him?"

Naamaah's eyes held a glint of determination as she continued. "When Aguirre met his end, his body was torn asunder. A hand, a gruesome trophy, was sent to this city as a macabre gift for his capture." She paused; her gaze unwavering. "That hand now rests beneath the cobblestones of Plaza Bolivar.”

“Did you really find his hand?”

“As a formidable Arlo and an esteemed member of El Dorado, you must understand the gravity of what I am about to propose," Naamaah said as her heart pounded in her chest

Naamaah held her breath as Jürgen's eyes bore into hers, a silent question hanging between them like a heavy fog.

"What do you want Aguirre's hand for?" Jürgen's voice was laced with a mixture of curiosity and skepticism.

Naamaah's gaze flickered to the table, her fingers tracing the intricate patterns etched into the wood. "Here lies the crux of the matter," she began, her voice soft yet tinged with a sense of urgency. "Aguirre, a man of many talents, was not only an Arlo but also a skilled alchemist, a fact known to only a select few. In his insatiable quest for power, he sought to harness the immense power of the White Eagles, seeking to bend them to his will in his conquest of the continent. However, his ambitions far exceeded his grasp, and he paid a steep price."

Jürgen nodded in understanding; his features etched with a solemn expression. "Yes, the Eagles were not creatures to be trifled with, their ferocity and unpredictability were unmatched. The lack of Thaumaturgies in the New World during that time made them all the more formidable. It is said that Aguirre even harbored intentions of returning to Spain to challenge the very king himself," Jürgen said, stroking his beard.

"Aguirre's downfall came swiftly," Naamaah continued, the words tumbling from her lips like pieces of a puzzle falling into place. "With the loss of control over the Eagles, he met his demise, losing not only his men but also his freedom." She paused, her eyes meeting Jürgen's with unwavering resolve. "And yet, the true significance of his hand lies in the gauntlets he crafted, instruments that granted him dominion over the Eagles until tragedy struck."

"I still do not understand why you want his hand."

"Aguirre created a pair of gauntlets that allowed him to control the eagles. His wife used them, but when she died, he lost control of the White Eagles."

Jürgen's brow furrowed in confusion. "His wife? Where did you come by this information?"

A mischievous glint danced in Naamaah's eyes as she leaned forward, a coy smile playing on her lips. With a deft motion, she produced a weathered leather-bound notebook, its fragile pages yellowed with age. "Behold, Aguirre's journal," she whispered, a hint of excitement coloring her voice.

Jürgen's eyes widened in astonishment as he took the relic in his hands, his gaze devouring the ancient words within. It was as if he had stumbled upon a long-lost treasure, a key to unlocking secrets buried in the annals of history.

"Where did you find such a treasure? It has long been thought lost to time!" Jürgen's voice held a note of wonder.

"A friend of mine stumbled upon it in Paasilinna," Naamaah revealed, a sense of mystery shrouding her words. "Hidden away in the depths of the library's research archives, waiting to be discovered once more."

"Paasilinna?" he frowned. "Why there?"

“Who knows?” she shrugged. “It must have been acquired by the library centuries ago.”

As Jürgen delved deeper into the contents of the journal, Naamaah's mind raced with possibilities and uncertainties. She stared at her mentor as the man flipped the pages as if hypnotized by the writing.

"I must ask, Naamaah, why do you seek these gauntlets? What purpose do they serve in your grand design?" Jürgen's voice was laced with caution, his eyes searching hers for answers.

A flicker of vulnerability crossed Naamaah's features, a fleeting glimpse of the pain and longing that lay hidden beneath her steely exterior. "I seek not to capture the White Eagles," she confessed, her voice tinged with sorrow. "I am but a shadow of the girl in the legends, a mere echo of Caribay's tragic tale. All I desire is a feather, a fleeting reminder of a past long forgotten."

Jürgen's expression softened. "Caribay... the Indigenous fairy tale," he mused, a hint of recognition in his voice.

"It may not make sense to you now, but this curse I carry can only be lifted by the purest of essence," she revealed. "To break the chains of my curse, I require a fragment of purity, a feather."

Silence descended upon them. Naamaah's heart beat in time with the ticking of the clock on the wall. And as Jürgen's gaze met hers once more, a silent agreement passed between them.

"Okay," Jürgen finally spoke, his voice gritty. “I will help you.”