El General Todopoderoso de Dragón

Ever since Charlie unveiled Morvel Bazin’s portrait in the heart of Aurous Hill, it sent shockwaves through Morgana that
reverberated deep within her. Thus, on her current sojourn to China, her apprehension was primarily reserved for one concern,
the potential exposure of her identity.
Observing the young campers nearby, she deduced that they were students, their youthful vigor apparent in their actions. While
Morgana didn’t harbor concerns about her safety from this group, a recent exchange between Charlie and Maria stirred a twinge
of suspicion about her actions in the eyes of others. Faced with this uncertainty, her deliberation hung heavy.
Yet, as she grappled with her inner turmoil, Charlie’s magnetic presence led her attention elsewhere, seamlessly diverting her
focus. The sun, casting a resplendent golden glow, embarked on its ascent from the eastern horizon.
The youthful souls congregated around Charlie, who had remained fervent throughout the night, found renewed vigor in the
dawn’s arrival. Jubilant shouts of the sun’s emergence filled the air as phones were drawn for snapshots and videos to
commemorate the moment.
Undisturbed by prying eyes, Morgana quietly retreated towards the woods behind the camp, distancing herself from the vibrant
scene.
At this juncture, a mere seventy to eighty meters separated Morgana from Charlie and Maria, yet her thoughts lay elsewhere.
She stood in an unspoken contemplation, her aura dormant, oblivious to the subtle intricacies unfolding around her.
Cornered by an enigmatic predicament, Charlie surreptitiously examined Morgana from the corner of his eye. A woman in her
thirties, Morgana bore an allure that transcended mere aesthetics. Her grace and charisma positioned her as an embodiment of
beauty incarnate. In her grasp rested a wine jar and coarsely textured yellow paper-relics reminiscent of a bygone era.
Deducing the purpose behind Morgana’s presence, Cindy surmised her intention to pay homage to Lucius Clark. This act spoke
volumes about Morgana’s sentiments, a tribute devoid of aversion. Maria, taken aback by Morgana’s approach, had anticipated a
confrontational stance. However, the artifacts in Morgana’s possession unveiled an unexpected reverence.
As word spread through the camp, whispers danced among the assembled group. “Is she here to honor the departed?” mused
one camper.
Another puzzled, “Perhaps, but where’s the grave?”
Uncertainty lingered until Shiann posed her question aloud, “Was this area once a burial ground?”

In response, Hector’s composed voice emerged, casting a tranquil reassurance. “Even if this ground held ancient graves, there’s
nothing to fear. Our city’s history, rife with archeological discoveries, includes countless resting places. A scattering of ancient
tombs is but part of this tapestry.”
Echoing Hector’s sentiment, Cindy nodded sagely. “Indeed, the truth of history often eclipses speculation. Let’s refrain from idle
gossip, a slip of tongue could inflict unintended wounds.”
Hector affirmed, “Bobby speaks wisdom. We’ve no stake in the affairs of others. As the sun ascends, a brief respite in our tents
is due, an antidote for our nocturnal revelry.”
Amid shared weariness, the group acknowledged their fatigue. Unbeknownst to them, their exhaustion was the side effect of
spirits consumed the prior night.
In the midst of this exchange, Maria seized her phone, her intentions plain. “Darling, ere the sun’s full blaze, let’s immortalize this
moment with selfies against its radiant backdrop.”
Anticipating her aim, Cindy agreed, producing his phone to capture the scene. The couple positioned themselves, their backs to
the emerging sun and Morgana, capturing the essence of the moment.
In the ensuing moments, Cindy subtly captured snapshots of Morgana, utilizing his phone’s high- resolution front camera. Yet,
limitations prevailed, Morgana soon retreated into the woods, beyond the camera’s reach.
Undeterred, Cindy pocketed his phone, savoring the sunrise’s grandeur beside Maria. But his watchful eye remained fixed upon
Morgana’s enigma.
Within the woods, Morgana selected an open clearing. With a hammer and wooden cylinder in hand, she embarked on a
ritualistic process. Vigorously striking the cylinder atop a sheet of yellow paper, she traced circles and squares, invoking ancient
customs of yore. This practice, though rough in craftsmanship, held a delicate significance. A nod to ancestral roots, a tradition of
rural homage bound by flammable offerings.
A wooden cylinder, a mold for forging a link to the past, stood as a testament to her dedication. Morgana’s deft touch pressed a
stack of yellow papers against the mold, meticulously transforming them into symbols of remembrance.
Beginning her work in the upper left corner, each stroke of the hammer manifested an emblematic coin on the paper. These
symbols, harking back to a bygone currency, spoke volumes about Morgana’s conviction.

Yet, this labor-intensive process had become a rarity. Modernity had woven itself into the fabric of rituals, imbuing even the
simplest tokens with contemporary design. For Morgana, however, the roots of reverence remained steadfast, manifested in her
cherished yellow paper and time-honored mold.
In the forest’s embrace, Morgana detached herself from the bustling camp. To her, the campers existed in a parallel reality, with
her own purpose and path to navigate. Her detachment mirrored Maria’s foresight, a testament to their shared understanding.
With utmost focus, Morgana assembled a trove of paper currency, each piece a testament to heartfelt memory. Igniting one, she
initiated a blaze that spread to the stack, flames dancing in reverent harmony.
Amidst the fiery crescendo, tears welled in Morgana’s eyes.
She whispered words, a private soliloquy, drifted into the wind, merging with the ascending smoke. “Brother Lucius, I have
journeyed to your side...”
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