The town of Arcelia wasn’t large, but it had the lively pulse of those places where stories traveled faster than the wind. Its streets were packed dirt, marked by the tracks of horses and carts, with adobe and wooden buildings that seemed to withstand both time and revolution.

At the heart of the town was the central plaza, a wide space with a wrought-iron gazebo at its center, where musicians played during festivals. Around the gazebo, a few stone benches offered rest to the elders who gathered to whisper the latest gossip. A couple of jacaranda trees provided shade and, in the spring, painted the ground with purple petals.

From the plaza, you could see Arcelia’s most important buildings:

The Sheriff’s Office: A modest adobe building with a tiled roof, where Sheriff Giovanni and his deputies kept the peace. The front featured an old bell used to sound the alarm during emergencies, and next to it stood a small corral for the patrol horses.

Doctor Salvador’s Clinic: Located across the plaza, diagonally from the sheriff’s office, to the left. It was a two-story house with whitewashed walls and a large wooden door that was always left slightly open. The first floor served as the clinic, while the upper floor was the home of the doctor and his daughter, María.

The “Goldfinch” Saloon: Sitting right on the corner of the plaza, with swinging wooden doors and a crooked sign hanging out front. It was where the local men gathered to drink, play cards, and bet on cockfights. The owner, a thick-mustached man named Don Nicasio, always had a wild tale to share.

Doña Remedios’ General Store: A small but well-stocked shop where you could find everything from freshly made tortillas to gunpowder and tools. The owner, an old woman with more wrinkles than patience, ran her prices with an iron grip and always seemed to know more than she let on.

The Church of San Sebastián: Off to the side of the plaza, with a stone façade, a small bell tower, and an altar always glowing with candlelight. The priest, a kind-hearted man named Padre Esteban, did his best to keep peace in the town—though sometimes, it was easier to deal with bandits than with his own congregation.

Beyond the plaza, the townsfolk’s homes spread out toward the fields and hills—some with thatched roofs, others with red tiles. On the outskirts, a narrow, rocky river served as a gathering place for washerwomen and children looking to cool off from the heat.

Arcelia might have seemed like a quiet town, but the shadows of war and bandits always lurked along its dusty roads.

The scorching sun beat down on the dusty streets as Giovanni, the town’s sheriff, stood outside the sheriff's office, fixing a hinge on the door. Sweat clung to his back beneath his shirt, but his focus shifted when he heard the rattle of a cart approaching in a hurry.

María and Noé arrived at full speed at the doctor’s office, kicking up a cloud of dust and dry leaves behind them. Giovanni straightened up, his attention narrowing on the unfamiliar cart being pulled alongside María’s, and the black horse trailing close behind.

Noé jumped down and, with clear urgency, carried a wounded man in his arms.

Without wasting a second, María leapt off the cart—nearly stumbling—as she shouted, “¡Papá! ¡Papá!” She pushed the door open and rushed inside, followed by Noé with the stranger in his grasp.

Giovanni frowned and set down what he was doing. It wasn’t like María to be so shaken—much less to arrive with a stranger in that state. Without wasting time, he crossed the street at a brisk trot, his revolver resting on his belt, ready for whatever trouble might come.

—Alright, alright—what’s going on here?—he asked, his voice firm but composed, pushing through the curious onlookers who had gathered after seeing María and Noé arrive in such a rush.

Noé, still catching his breath, turned to him with a furrowed brow.

—We found this man near the creek—he was unconscious.—

Giovanni studied the man closely, his expression hardening as he noticed the dried blood on the man’s shirt and the stains on the blanket that covered him. Trouble on the roads wasn’t uncommon—but this was different. This man looked like he’d been attacked viciously.

—Do you know who he is?— he asked, leaning in to examine the man more closely.

—No, he didn’t have any papers or anything to identify him, — Noé said, stepping beside Giovanni, as if trying to justify bringing a complete stranger into Arcelia. “But he’s badly hurt, sheriff. We couldn’t just leave him there.”

Giovanni sighed and removed his hat to scratch his head. He didn’t like strangers in town—especially not ones who showed up under suspicious circumstances. But he wasn’t the kind of man to ignore someone in danger, either.

—Alright. Let Dr. Salvador take a look at him. I assume the cart and the black horse belong to the man?— Noé nodded.

—Good. Take them to the stable. I’ll check on them later.

—Yes, sir.— Noé stepped out of the clinic, ready to carry out his orders.

—The rest of you!— Giovanni called out to the gawkers at the door and the nosy neighbors peeking through windows. —Go on, back to your homes. There’s nothing to see here.—

—María, bring him here, please, — asked Dr. Salvador, who was too old to be lifting an unconscious man on his own.

—Where do you want him, Doc?— Giovanni lifted the man in his arms. Strong as he was, he couldn’t help but notice how light and thin the stranger was beneath the blanket.

—Over here, —Salvador said, pointing to the examination bed. Giovanni laid the man down carefully as María moved quickly to fetch her father’s medical tools.

Nil barely stirred, a faint groan escaping his lips. Giovanni watched him cautiously, his brown eyes scanning every detail of the man: the tousled dark hair, the pale face, and that unsettling calm that seemed to cling to him—even unconscious.

—What the hell happened to you, friend?— Giovanni muttered, arms crossed over his chest.

María returned with her father, who immediately began cleaning and examining Nil’s wound. The doctor frowned, noting the swelling and the condition of the injury.

—This looks like a gunshot wound, — he said, working with practiced hands, though not as quickly as the situation might call for.

Giovanni, who had been calmly observing until then, clenched his jaw. His stance stiffened, and his hand instinctively moved to rest on his belt, where his revolver hung. Not just anyone ended up with a bullet wound—especially not out in the middle of the road.

—Who are you to end up getting shot?— he muttered to himself, narrowing his eyes.

His gut told him this man was no ordinary traveler, though he couldn’t yet explain why. But what truly unsettled him came when he leaned in to brush the stranger’s hair from his face—Nil’s eyes opened for a brief moment.

It was only for a few seconds, but it was enough. Giovanni found himself caught in that piercing blue gaze—deep, sharp, and calculating, as if the stranger, even in his weakened state, was sizing him up from head to toe.

Nil didn’t say a single word; his eyelids slowly closed again, but the chill running down Giovanni’s spine remained, boiling beneath his skin.

Something deep in his instincts screamed that this man spelled trouble… and that looking away would be an unforgivable mistake.

His hand unconsciously clutched his belt, as if trying to anchor himself to reality.

—His eyes...— he murmured to himself, barely a whisper.

—Sh-sheriff, are you alright?— María asked, noticing the tension hardening Giovanni’s face.

—Yeah… All good, —he replied, though every hair on his body was still standing on end, a clear sign of alarm.

In Mexico, especially in a small town in Guerrero, colored eyes were an extraordinary rarity. An anomaly as unlikely as finding a rose blooming alone in the middle of the desert. Beautiful—and impossible to ignore.

And it wasn’t just the rarity that unsettled him: a fragment of a report he’d read long ago echoed in his memory.

—Distinguishing features of the Black Specter: colored eyes.—

There wasn’t a specific hue mentioned, but in that land of dark gazes, any unusual color was an unmistakable mark. A warning Giovanni could no longer afford to overlook.