At the foot of the ruins of the Temple of the Elders, lies a vast, dreary, grayish, and deserted field. Sacrificing most of this sordid space to the Punishment and its spells, a camp of waxed canvas and shaky planks rustles, trembles, and sobs around the Fevers Tree. Here gather the most lost of the outcasts from the terrace, those who no longer know which direction to steer their life, those who still need a religious beacon to avoid getting lost and letting themselves be shipwrecked. Drunks unable to return home, Penitent Sisters dedicating their lives to welcoming the destitute, repentant swordsmen clumsily trying to play the paladins to earn their redemption, or frightened worshippers of ancient idols whose time has erased the stone face but not the ferocity, all this microcosm shelters between the skeletal columns, hoping for the protection of Ancient Powers while fearing at the same time to awaken them…

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