Naamaah's heart pounded rapidly as she followed Jürgen through the darkened streets toward Bolivar Square. The night enveloped them in its inky embrace, the only light coming from the distant glow of street lamps. She wore dark clothes that blended seamlessly with the shadows, her senses on high alert as excitement coursed through her veins.
As they reached the square, Jürgen's nervousness was palpable, his movements cautious and deliberate, he would turn around and check around the corners making sure nobody was following him. Naamaah, on the other hand, felt a thrill of expectation bubbling within her. She lived for this: the thrill of the unknown, the rush of uncovering secrets long forgotten.
"The urban legend says that the hand was buried at the center of this square. These stories are usually inaccurate; generally, they only help to know where to start," Jürgen murmured.
Naamaah nodded in understanding, her eyes scanning the deserted square for any signs of movement. Jürgen turned to her; his expression serious. "I need you to keep watch, I do not want anyone to see us," he instructed. Naamaah nodded again, her eyes sharp and alert.
Jürgen knelt on the cold cobblestones, his movements precise as he placed a suitcase next to him, opened it, and then grabbed a map of the square and unfurled it in front of him. He put a pencil to his right, and the open Aguirre’s journal to his left. After that, he grabbed a gold-colored glass ball and channeled some of his Aether into it. The ball gleamed in the dim light, its surface shimmering like liquid gold. He positioned the sphere on top of the journal.
As Jürgen entered a trance-like state, Naamaah held her breath, watching as the ball began to glow with an inner light. It was mesmerizing, almost hypnotic. The sphere levitated, hovering above Aguirre's journal as it scanned it with a golden ray of light.
Naamaah observed the pen moving on its own, sketching out tiny water-drop-shaped symbols on the map. She leaned in closer, her eyes tracing the intricate patterns with fascination.
"What do those doodles mean?" she asked, her voice barely audible.
Jürgen's gaze remained fixed on the map; his expression focused. "The sphere scans the journal, looking for traces of Aguirre's Aether in the area. The pen marks the areas of the square that have some Aether traces. The one that has the most marks will be logically the most accurate; although this is not always the case."
The scanning process continued, the pen moving with precision across the map. After what felt like an eternity, the sphere finally came to a stop. Jürgen and Naamaah huddled together, examining the two nearest locations marked on the map.
"Psáchno!" Jürgen exclaimed, his hand touching the ball. The sphere hummed to life, hovering above the map as it scanned each pencil mark while emitting a soft golden glow.
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The sphere would fly toward each area in the square marked on the map. Soaring for a few seconds at every place as it kept scanning the whole square.
After an hour of fruitless scanning, Jürgen let out a frustrated sigh, his shoulders slumping in defeat. "I'm not as young as before, my back is killing me," he grumbled, rubbing at the ache in his lower back.
Naamaah felt a pang of sympathy for her mentor, his exhaustion was evident in every line of his face. She placed a comforting hand on his shoulder, offering him a small smile. "We'll find it, Jürgen. We just need to keep looking," she reassured him.
Naamaah smiled as she left Jürgen behind on the bench. She pocketed Aguirre’s journal and grabbed the map, then she set out on her own to follow the glowing sphere. The cool night air brushed against her skin, carrying with it the faint scent of blooming flowers and damp earth. She wandered through the square, her footsteps echoing softly on the cobblestones, her eyes scanning every nook and cranny for any sign of the elusive clue they sought.
As she passed by the flower beds, the moonlight casting long shadows across the ground, Naamaah's mind raced with questions. She traced the edges of the sidewalk with her fingers, feeling the rough texture of the stone beneath her touch. Her gaze drifted towards the street lamps, then to the clock.
It was nearing three in the morning when Naamaah finally reached the imposing statue of Simon Bolivar at the center of the square. The statue loomed over her; its features shrouded in shadows. Intrigued, she approached the statue, her eyes drawn to the gleaming saber held in its outstretched hand.
An idea sparked in her mind, a plan forming as she positioned herself beneath the saber. With a steady hand, she used the pen to draw a straight line on the map following the direction of the sword. Three distinct marks intersected along the line, leading her to a decision.
"I'll start with the last one," she mumbled to herself. She walked towards a small bush just a few feet away from where Jürgen sat, the golden sphere pulsing with a reddish hue.
A sharp cry pierced the night as Jürgen caught sight of the red flashes. "You've found it!" he exclaimed, his voice filled with excitement and disbelief.
Naamaah's heart raced in her chest as she watched the sphere pulsing and releasing energy.
“Tap its surface,” Jürgen said as he approached.
She did as instructed, and in a matter of seconds, the sphere disappeared leaving a small, rusty metal box in its place.
"It's made of Nebieski," Jürgen remarked, his eyes wide with astonishment.
Naamaah's mind raced with the implications of their discovery. "That means most likely an Arlo must have buried the hand here," she mused, her thoughts spinning with the weight of their findings.
As they opened the box, a sense of dread washed over them. Instead of the coveted prize, they were met with only a pile of rotten, grayish dust. Disappointment hung heavy in the air; their hopes dashed in an instant.
"It cannot be!" Jürgen's voice was filled with frustration as he closed his eyes, a deep sigh escaping him.
Naamaah's eyes narrowed as she examined the contents of the box, her mind whirling with possibilities. "Paasilinna... look at the coat of arms in the box," she pointed out, her finger tracing the intricate design etched into the metal surface. "A bridge of ice and a bear standing on its legs."
The implications of the symbol sent a chill down Naamaah's spine. "It means that Aguirre's gloves were taken to The Unseen City, too?" she questioned, her voice filled with disbelief.
"This smells bad... this cannot be possible," she muttered, her brow furrowed in deep thought.