Chapter Text
The morning news starts on television. Reporter Olivia Schmic smiles at the camera.
"In 2018, the world was shocked by the images of the fire that engulfed the Notre-Dame Cathedral in Paris. Today, two years after the fire, the restoration work is far from complete, with Notre-Dame's reopening now tentatively scheduled for December 2024.
On this day, the 15th, during the renovation of the bell tower, a secret room was discovered. Inside the secret room, experts found what appears to be a statue, which they now confidently claim to be a kind of sarcophagus housing a mummy within. Mummies in Paris? Our expert, Livia Meireles, will provide us with more information live."
"Hello! Indeed, Olivia. It's a day of great excitement. It's not every day that we have the privilege of studying such a well-preserved body from the medieval era. We are still figuring out how to remove the body, since it seems to have been immersed in melted steel. However, the mummy has no burn marks on the skin, with only its mouth and partially the eyes exposed."
"Wow, Livia! This is incredible. From the images, it seems she was also bound with chains, perhaps to prevent theft. Do you believe she was someone important? Are there treasures with the mummy?"
"Hehe, no, Olivia. Despite being a mummy, it bears no similarities to the mummies of Egypt. We still don't have many answers, but all indications point to the chains being there to keep the sarcophagus in place, possibly containing someone deemed dangerous. There are still many mysteries surrounding the medieval Dark Ages. Many were accused of witchcraft and other heresies. For now, we are working to remove the body carefully. The weight of the metal on the still-burnt planks could cause an accident."
"I understand, Dr. Livia. Thank you very much for being with us today."
"My pleasure. Have a good day, everyone."
The reporter, who had been looking at the side screen for a video conference with the specialist, now turns his gaze to the main camera.
"For now, the Vatican has not made any statement about the discovery. Experts are struggling to remove the mysterious mummy from the cathedral so that they can continue the renovations without compromising the integrity of both. We'll be back with more news after the commercial break."
"A light. Yes, a light. Frollo was floating in a dark place, feeling pain, but it was distant. Cold. So cold. He saw a light. A sound. A sound so loud. It was terribly loud.
An employee was cutting the last chain that held the strange sarcophagus with an electric saw, so they could remove it. Slowly, they placed the sarcophagus inside a crate with a soft lining.
"Wait, before closing it, can't we open it here?" Said Dr.Livia.
"I don't know. I think it's better to do an MRI first," a white-coated man said, looking at the sarcophagus.
A woman, also in a white coat, said, "Seriously? This is clearly iron, not like a Tibetan mummy made of ceramics."
"Oh, you're right. Hehe." The guy in the white coat laughed at his mistake, while the Dr. Livia rolled her eyes impatiently and turned to the employee with the metal saw.
"Listen, you're a specialized in this field; no one knows how to use that machine better than you. Could you do me this favor? I'll draw with chalk where you can cut, and then it'll be easier for us to open and study it in the lab."
"Sure, doctor. Just tell me what to do." The man with the electric saw said, pleased to help. After six hours and two burned saws, he finally finished. "There you go, doctor. It was damn hard work…. It's already late... I'll be going. Are you and your equip staying?"
"Yes, we're going to examine it now that you've opened it, take some photos, and pack everything up. Thank you." She said excitedly, pausing her restoration of a fresco and heading to where other archaeologists were taking photos while opening the sarcophagus. The young man, an intern, caught up in the excitement, forgot to put on protective gloves and cut his hand on a sharp iron edge made by the electric saw.
"Ah!" He gasped, holding his injured hand. It was deep, and blood was gushing out. "What the hell, Jeff!" Dr. Livia said irritably, taking off her coat to wrap it around his hand.
"Let me take you to the emergency room." She said worried.
"No need, doctor. I'm fine." Jeff said awkwardly, squeezing his wound, but he couldn't help but notice that everyone was looking at him instead of the mummy. Jeff gasped and could have sworn that the bizarre mummy had moved. Its hand, still outstretched as if eternally reaching for something, seemed to have shifted his fingers. He looked at the mummy's face, covered in his blood, and felt a chill.
"Jeff? You look pale. Come on, don't be stubborn; I'll take you to the emergency room," Livia said, grabbing her car keys as her colleagues still watched Jeff worriedly.
Now, Jeff clearly saw the mummy move its mouth. Gasp! Jeff yelled, pointing at the mummy, and in a stumble, he fell, hitting his head.
"MY GOD, JEFF! Someone call an ambulance!"
A man dialed for an ambulance and commented, "Doctor, that's why I never bring interns; they're too stupid."
"No one asked for your opinion, Daniel," she said, still trying to wake up the young man under her supervision.
The doctor stood up and said, "Someone needs to be at the door to guide the medics up here because..." She stopped speaking and saw that the sarcophagus was empty.
"What the hell... where's the mummy?"
Everyone looked at the empty sarcophagus, confused. Daniel was the first to spot it; he pointed to the corner of the ceiling. "What the hell is that?" His voice trembled, and all the hairs on his body stood on end as primal fear froze him in place.
Everyone looked up and saw two red eyes staring at them in the darkness where the spotlights didn't reach.
In the chilling darkness, Livia's trembling hand reached for the spotlight switch, a sense of foreboding filling the air. With agonizing slowness, she turned the spotlight, and the sound of metal creaked in eerie harmony with her pounding heart. Her eyes remained fixed on that ominous corner, dread intensifying with each passing second. The spotlight's beam gradually illuminated the opposite wall, rising higher and higher until it revealed the feral creature lurking in the shadows. Its eyes burned a haunting crimson, and black veins crawled menacingly across its twisted form. "God have mercy," Livia whispered, her voice barely audible as she quivered uncontrollably, her fear so overwhelming that she couldn't hold back the terrifying truth - she had wet herself in sheer terror.
In a horrifying blur, the monstrous beast lunged at Livia, its malevolent intent evident in its blood-red eyes. It struck the spotlight, sending it crashing to the ground, shattering into shards that scattered across the floor, engulfing the room in suffocating darkness once more. The deafening sound of their screams filled the air, mingling with the beast's guttural, animalistic growls. Frantically, they sought refuge, but their terror-stricken breaths and panicked movements betrayed their hiding spots, exposing them to the relentless predator. One by one, their cries were silenced, devoured by the insatiable hunger of the creature, until there was no one left to scream in the nightmarish abyss of their fate.
In the evening news, reporter Olivia Schmic stood in front of Notre Dame Cathedral with police cars forming a perimeter to prevent curious onlookers from entering.
"We are live in front of the cathedral, where witnesses have described a massacre. Police have surrounded the entire area and are searching for clues to solve this terrible crime before the rain washes away any evidence.
We have received information that emergency services were called late in the afternoon after one of the specialists accidentally cut himself while attempting to open the metal sarcophagus in the newly discovered secret room. When the ambulance arrived, they found a body terribly mutilated near the church entrance. Police are considering the involvement of a group connected to the black market for historical artifacts, but they have yet to find any leads."
The sole survivor of the massacre is currently hospitalized. A doctor, who wished to remain anonymous, warned that the survivor has been put into an induced coma due to complications arising from a severe fever. According to the medical team, the patient provided no information about the whereabouts of the mummy. Throughout his high fever, he deliriously rambled, claiming that the mummy was alive.
Today, Paris is undeniably engulfed in mourning, mourning not only an irreplaceable loss to history but also the tragic events that unfolded within the walls of Notre Dame Cathedral.
The rain poured heavily as Frollo walked through the streets, confused, trying to orient himself. The river Sienna was the only thing he still recognized. His mouth was covered in blood from the people he had drunk dry. His nails had grown long like claws, and his hair and beard were bigger than he thought was possible to grow.
"Where? Where am I?" He looked around, bewildered. A car came towards him, but he managed to dodge it. "What? What is this?" he thought, breathing heavily, confused, and hiding in an alley. The ground under him was strangely black and smooth. The houses were larger than Notre Dame, which now appeared tiny compared to the towering buildings around him. The rain washed the blood from his face, and he noticed a soaked piece of paper at his feet.
"But... what is this?" He looked at the enormous piece of paper filled with words, undoubtedly a laborious creation, now thrown on the ground like trash. Frollo picked it up, glanced around, and saw building marquee that could protect him from the rain. He stepped under it and examined the newspaper in his hands. The letters were slightly blurred but not completely ruined. How could the ink endure the water so well?
"What the hell is this?"
A homeless emerged from a makeshift shelter and saw Frollo standing there, naked and wet, holding a newspaper that was also wet. Frollo looked at the man, startled to see him come out of what he had thought was just a pile of garbage.
"Rouuuugh night, huh?" The man slurred his words, his speech slightly slanted as he swayed on his feet. "Happened to me once, y'know? Drank too much, passed out, and bam! Woke up, butt naked! Hehe!" He chuckled, his laughter exaggerated and boisterous. "Wait a sec, man, lemme helppp you out." With an unsteady step, he stumbled back into his makeshift abode and emerged with a pair of sweatpants, waving them in the air. "Here we go, buddy! These'll do just fine!" He extended the clothing, his movements clumsy and wobbly, a true embodiment of a heavily drunk man.
"You can keep thesee. Just return them later, okay? Good." He said, taking a swig from what was clearly some kind of alcoholic liquid. Frollo slowly looked down and realized he was indeed naked. He dropped the soaked newspaper and put on the pants that smelled foul.
The drunk man observed Frollo getting dressed and after a few slow blinks, he asked, "Yer new 'ere, ain't ya? I can tell... hic... new faces always shine brighter 'round here..."
"What?" Frollo replied, his voice hoarse and weak.
"A Newbie! New to being homeless?"
"Homeless? Frollo said in his rough voice. "You mean a beggar, right?"
"Yeah, whatever… are you new to this?"
Frollo looked around, still confused about where he was, and answered, "Yes, I am new here."
"Lishen... the shquare hash an owner, but I found thish empty alley, and I'm not ash shelfish ash shome other idiotsh. You can shstay here under the marquee tonigh'; it'sh no fun being in the rain, ehspecially naksh'd like you! Haha-hic!"
Frollo felt disgusted by the man's smell of urine and his rotten teeth. But the idea of staying there seemed better than going back to the streets.
The man fumbled with his phone, clumsily pulling it from his pocket as if it were a foreign object in his inebriated state. He squinted at the screen, his bleary eyes struggling to focus, while his unsteady fingers tried to unlock the device with fumbling precision. "Heeey, bud... can you shee what time ish it?" he slurred, his words barely coherent, "And how mush batt'ry I got left? Help a brotha out, ya know?"
Frollo looked at what appeared to be a handheld mirror emitting light, feeling startled by the numbers displayed, and deduced that it must be what he wanted to know.
"23:16," said Frollo, eager to put it away and study it later. Was everything in this world emitting light?
He gazed at the main street where tall lamp posts illuminated the surroundings with a strong white light, and the city shimmered as if it were daytime.
"And 'ow much b-battery do I h-have left? Ah, f'get it; I'll turrrn it off, an' tomorr'w, I'll ch-charge it." *hiccup*
Frollo didn't understand half of what the man said, but he saw the glowing screen turn black as the man pocketed the mysterious mirror.
"Magic. This world is magical. Perhaps Christ has returned, and the beast reigns over this world through magic."
"No, no, no, it's not possible." Frollo crouched on the ground, hugging his legs, trembling in fear. The last thing he remembered was his body being engulfed in melted metal. The pain... the pain was unbearable. Was he in hell? Frollo wondered if he had died, and this was his punishment in hell.
The homeless let out a big ol' yawn, swaying slightly as he tried to focus his bleary eyes on the person in front of him. "I'm goin' back to sleep, ya know," he slurred, his words stumbling over each other. With a lopsided grin, he clumsily handed over a crumpled, dry newspaper, mumbling, "Take this, keep y'self warm. 'S better than nothin'." He then staggered back to his makeshift shelter, his steps unsteady and his words trailing off into a drunken haze.
"Cover myself? With paper?!" Frollo thought, but didn't question, assuming the beggar was simply mad. He looked at the paper, running his hand over it, noticing its fine quality. It must have been expensive, yet this beggar suggested using it as a bed? Unless, paper was incredibly cheap in this world... Frollo thought, finding it absurd.
He started to read what was written there. As morning approached, the sun rose, and Frollo was fascinated by everything he read and reread. Many words he didn't recognize, others he understood from context, and most of the topics were beyond his comprehension. Yet, he read countless dates... so many dates. By his calculations, at least 540 years had passed... the world must have changed drastically while he was imprisoned.
The beggar had dismantled his shelter and packed everything into a metal cart with four wheels.
"Look, man, I shared my shelter with you last night, but now you're on your own. I can't keep looking after you. I'm heading to the popular center to get breakfast. Go register there for social assistance; the social workers will give you a hand with your homeless situation."
Frollo noticed that the man's speech was much clearer now that he wasn't drunk. Still, what he said didn't make much sense to him.
Frollo glanced outside the alley and saw the sun shining on the streets, swallowing hard. Without protection, he would burn. "I need a parasol," he said in his hoarse voice.
"What?" The beggar replied, confused. "A parasol? Like an umbrella? Why? Are you a vampire? Hehehe."
Frollo looked at the man, startled. How could he know? Before he could say anything, the man rummaged through his belongings and grabbed what seemed like a walking cane.
He untied a piece of fabric, and as if by magic, a large parasol opened up. "There you go, dude. But when you get there, return it to me, okay?"
Fascinated, Frollo accepted the umbrella, marveling at the intricate metal structure that made it open. Could a beggar own something like this? Could a beggar possess such a thing in this world? He thought, fascinated, while the beggar laughed and looked at him.
"You're a pretty crazy guy, aren't you? What you used? Angel dust? Hehe. I had a partner who was schizophrenic; are you one too?"
Frollo looked at the man, confused, unsure of how to respond.
The beggar extended his hand and said, "My name is Henry... Let's go now before breakfast runs out."
Frollo hesitates but shakes the man's hand, introducing himself with his barely audible voice, "Claude." No matter how disgusting and foul-smelling the man was, he was helping him. According to Henry, they were going to a place where Claude could receive clothes, a bath, a meal, and, with luck, a bed at night, although that last part seemed difficult.
Several times, the sun touched his bare feet, and how it hurt. He still felt weak, even after drinking all that blood. In the end, he had to return the umbrella to Henry. After hours, he was taken to a place where he showered under a pipe that protruded from the wall. The water was warm, and he was given a bar of soap that smelled nice. They offered to wash his clothes, but Frollo said it was the only outfit he had. Then, he was taken to a large room filled with piles of clothes, and after some questions, he realized they were donations of used clothing. "But how can anyone give away such good clothes?" He clothes touching the soft material.
A young woman wearing a crucifix helped him find clothes in his size. His nails were trimmed, his beard was shaved, and his hair was cut short. He had to lie down in a strange chair, where a woman asked him to open his mouth and had his teeth observed. She praised them and said they were perfect, even though he had slightly larger canines than normal. Making a vampire joke again. This left him baffled. "Does everyone in this world know about vampires?" He thought.
"Wow, you look great!" The girl who assisted him with his clothes earlier said with a smile. "Come on, Mr. Claude, I'll take you to the social worker now."
Claude looked curiously at how the girl wore pants, and he noticed many women there also wearing similar clothing. The clothes were very strange for men too, some were feminine, and some men wore women's clothing.
He was led to a white room with a table. He didn't know where to go or what to do, but he understood that he was getting a lot of information, and he needed to understand more about the world that had changed so much in the five centuries since he was imprisoned. As far as he could grasp, this was a public service department that cared for the destitute and other outcasts of society to prevent them from spreading throughout the city.
A man with a friendly smile entered the room. "Hello, Mr. Claude. My name is Davy, nice to meet you!" He sat down in front of him and continued, "I heard that it's your first time here. Do you already have a social registry?"
"No...," Frollo says hesitantly.
"It's okay; we'll do it now for you. Can you give me your identification?" Davy asks.
Frollo looks at the man, confused. "Identification?"
"Yes, have you lost your documents?" Davy says concerned.
"Yes... I was... robbed," Frollo says, recalling what the beggar Henry had told him about being robbed and left naked.
Davy notices that Frollo still wears rings that appear burnt and damaged, but they would have been taken if he had truly been robbed and left naked. "Ah... no problem; we can make new ones. Can you tell me where you were born?"
"Here in Paris," Frollo says simply.
"In which hospital? Do you remember?" Davy calmly asks as he types something on the computer.
Frollo watches as the man's fingers move and make sounds with the small cubes he presses. "I was born at my mother's house with a midwife," he says, as if it were obvious.
The man looks worried about how to find documents for this homeless man. "Alright," Davy says thoughtfully, taking out a black pad from a drawer that Frollo can't quite see.
"I'm going to take your fingerprints, Mr. Claude," Davy says with a smile, and after some struggle with Frollo's confused fingers, he manages to scan Frollo's fingerprints.
"You only have a last name... your parents' names, and you don't know your date of birth."
"I know I am 50 years old," Frollo says, now sensing that the man was getting frustrated with his nonsensical answers.
"It's a start. I couldn't find your fingerprints anywhere... it's as if you were never registered. Maybe we can find some documents from the schools you attended or where you lived," Davy suggests, looking concerned.
Frollo silently looks at the man, who appears worried about him. "Don't tell me you also don't remember these things..."
"I'm sorry. I woke up yesterday naked and disoriented…." Frollo says anxiously saying some truth finally.
Davy looks even more concerned. "Uhum... I'll search to see if you are a missing person. And it might be best if we go to the hospital to check your head."
"My head?" Frollo asks, confused.
"Yes. Maybe you hit your head somewhere and lost your memory. It's good to do a checkup and check your heart and blood levels."
Frollo doesn't understand much, but he knows he doesn't want anyone checking his heart.
"Is it mandatory?" Frollo asks. Davy looks at Frollo, concerned. "No... we won't do anything without your consent, but you need your documents, otherwise, we can't help you much."
"Verily, I doth have faith that the memories shall return to me anon. If not in the coming days, then we shall make our way to yonder hospital for further inquiry." Frollo said to gain time.
Davy wonders the way Frollo spoke. It was the first long sentence he'd said and it sounded like it was straight out of a book. Maybe in fact he had some kind of mental disorder? Davy sighs tiredly and says, "Alright, sir. In the meantime, I've sent your fingerprints to the police. If anyone is looking for you, I'll let you know. Why don't you spend the day here with us? I can arrange a bed for you. We have a small library and a television room."
"Library?" Frollo looks at the man with a glimmer in his eyes.
"Yes. Let's go; I'll take you there." Davy was relieved to have kept Frollo there for a little longer. It was rare, but he could be someone with a late birth registration. If that were the case, he would be the older person than he had seen without ever being officially registered.
Davy opens the door to the small library and directs Frollo to the librarian. "Just ask Anne what you like to read, and if I find anything about your documents, I'll let you know."
"Verily, Thank thou," Frollo says, wanting the man to just disappear at once. He looks at the woman, who waits for him to say what he wants to read with a friendly smile. But he opens and closes his mouth several times, unsure of what to say.
"Would you like a recommendation?" she asks, confused.
"Yes... I doth require thy assistance in uncovering knowledge of this realm," he points to her computer. "Mine interest lieth in the past 500 winters…I mean.. Years … 500 years."
Anne smiles and says, "I'll be right back."
It doesn't take long for her to return with a large yellow book, "Twentieth-Century History for Dummies." Frollo doesn't know what "dummies" means, but accepts the book.
As he reads, he stops several times to ask Anne the meaning of certain words. She gives him a dictionary, and with that, he reads more quickly. Davy was determined to find something about Claude, and thanks to that, Frollo stays at the shelter for a week. The discoveries he makes about electricity, humans going to the moon, science, medicine, and technology fascinate him. There was no magic. Everything the world knew about vampires were just legends and fairy tales, not something studied seriously.
Today was his seventh day at the shelter, and Anne had taught him how to use a computer and access the internet. The technology of this world had grown so much that it seemed like magic, even though he understood it wasn't. The internet fascinated him with its vast knowledge and connections.
Using the internet, he discovered that news of what he had done at the church had spread worldwide. Notre-Dame de Paris was now considered a historical landmark and was undergoing restoration. Cameras were everywhere, like countless eyes watching over the city. How could he hunt like this? A week had passed since he had last consumed blood, and despite the large quantity he had drunk, he still felt weak. He had gone 500 years without this, and it was taking a toll on his body.
He stared at the Google search bar, contemplating what to type. Finally, he typed, "where might I find a place where I could have blood, unbeknownst to the watchful eyes of the law?"
A list of responses and locations appeared on the screen, hospitals, and blood donation centers. He even saw images of refrigerators filled with stocked blood, making his mouth water. Could he consider this? He wondered.
Despite Davy's pleas to stay, Frollo decided to venture out that night, holding the printed map in his hand. He headed to the nearest blood donation center. At the entrance, he noticed a surveillance camera above the arch of the door.
He entered, and a woman behind the counter greeted him, "Good evening, sir. We've already closed for today. If you want to donate blood, you can come back tomorrow starting at 8 am."
"Ah, fair lady, I doth have a question for thee. Pray, tell me, how may I acquire some blood from here?" Frollo asks, scanning the surroundings, trying to find where it might be stored.
"Pardon?" the lady replies, puzzled.
"I want blood, human blood. This is a blood donation center, right?"
"Yes, but only for medical purposes, sir. We don't provide blood to anyone other than hospitals. If you wish to donate, then yes, we can receive it."
Frollo had read about this, blood transfusion. Damn it, he thought, looking at the multitude of cameras recording his every move. Stealing was difficult. Frollo simply turns away, trying to ignore the hunger. Maybe if he's lucky, he can find a beggar, he thinks, looking around as he exits the building. But now, with so many artificial lights, the city seemed even more alive than during the day. So many people, so many foreigners taking photos, so many… tourists. Yeah, that's the word. Frollo looks at the streets of the city he once loved with disgust.
Now Paris is just some tourist attraction for foolish lovers who see his city as some kind of Sodom and Gomorrah, where they can eat, drink, and fornicate.
"Ugh," Frollo mutters, wrinkling his nose, and hears a hiss. "Hey, weirdo!" Frollo looks around and sees a man dressed in a uniform similar to the receptionist's, beckoning him.
"For 5, I can get you a bag," he whispers while smoking.
"Five?" Frollo asks, confused.
"500 euros, my dude, take it or leave it," the man says impatiently.
"I doth concur with the bargain.," Frollo says, now understanding that the man will steal and sell him the blood.
The man rolls his eyes, seeing that frollo was yet another bizarre dude that wanted human blood for some crazy stuff. "Tomorrow, same time. Cash. Behind the clinic, inside the ambulance." With that, the man extinguishes his cigarette on the ground and returns to the clinic.
Frollo now looks around, pondering how he would acquire the money. From what he has learned, people now use coins made of common materials and paper instead of gold, silver, and copper.
After a few hours of wandering through the bustling city, Frollo finally locates the Palace of Justice, where his home used to be. But now, it looks so different, surrounded by fences and guards. Frollo doubts that his room still exists.
He decides to turn around and finds where the stables once stood. He misses his horse. Sighing, he hears the bells of Notre Dame ringing strangely, falsely.
Davy had given him a bus card, and after asking a few questions, he boards a bus out of the city. Frollo tries to navigate by the curvature of the hills. It's early morning now, and he finds himself in a public park. As he walks through the park, memories flood back of how it looked 500 years ago. He recognizes the shape of the horizon. He had buried something here, for himself and for Esmeralda.
"Oh!" He places a hand on his chest, feeling the pain. He had avoided thinking about it, but now the name Esmeralda resurfaced, and it hurt. He tries to compose himself, but it's too late. Slowly, he falls to his knees and cries, his mouth wide open, no longer trying to suppress any sound. He weeps, rocking back and forth, until he eventually collapses to his side. Looking at the night sky, he realizes that dawn is approaching, and he needs to find shelter before the sun rises. This realization gives him the strength to stand up. He wipes his face and staggers to dig beside a rock that he knows was once much larger, next to a tree that was not there anymore. More memories return to him – of Quasimodo feeding him for years, and his beloved Esmeralda, even more beautiful and mature, perhaps the same age as him?
He had converted all his possessions into gold, so they could live their lives freely, changing places to avoid being caught, to live undisturbed. Was his idea in that time. At least gold is much more valuable now. He takes a bag of gold coins, leaving the rest behind as he cannot carry it all right now... Taking time to cover the holes and disguise the lack of grass with dry leaves.
Frollo looks around with no expression, but tears flow from his eyes. He had bought those lands for them to live together. And now... he would never see her again? Perhaps if he lives long enough, he may live to see the God's rapture... maybe he'll see an angel or a demon... perhaps he can see her again, even if just for a glimpse.
Frollo then remembers her last words to him.
"Sleep until the day someone finds you and sets you free. And when that day comes, my love, if by some miracle you find it in your heart to forgive me, find me. Just as you promised. As long as this gem exists, you will follow me."
Perhaps the emerald necklace was still there, he thinks while walking in the dark streets, as no bus passed at this late hour.
"My Esmeralda. Always filled with hope. I will find you, no matter how long it takes. And I will love you forever," he says as a whisper while walking, clutching his bag of gold coins.