On a dark and stormy night in the year 1346, as the heavens lit up with the dazzling meteor showers of the Lyrids, a lone letter pierced the wind, sealed with the solemn insignia of the Dominican Order. Penned with a trembling hand, it carried the grim premonition of Brother Domingo, a venerable and wise member of the Order, who foretold the downfall of the land of Santa Catha, soon to be swallowed by the ominous shadows of a plague yet unnamed.
The script, rushed and desperate, bore the weight of an unalterable fate—the condemnation of thousands of souls. But the warning arrived too late. The people of Catha, already consumed by a mysterious illness, were trapped behind the towering María Wall, abandoned to their grim fate by Duke Bosch, who arrogantly dismissed the magnitude of the threat.
"It's nothing more than a peasant's cough," he declared, blind to the devastation on the horizon.
The duke failed to foresee the virulence of the plague, nor its ruinous effects on the herds and crops—pillars of his dominion. Within weeks, panic gripped noble and commoner alike, spreading faster than the disease itself. The physicians, outnumbered and overwhelmed, could do little to stem the tide of the sick and dying.
Amidst the chaos, at the base of the Patria Wall, in the harried city of Hato Mayor del Rey, a frantic merchant with bulging eyes burst into the square, bringing news of a disaster that had not yet echoed across the nation.
"I swear it's true!" the man stammered, seeking refuge among the guards. His raspy, trembling voice betrayed a soul undone.
General Martínez, eyes cold as iron, studied him with suspicion.
"What is this madness?" he demanded.
"This poor devil galloped in babbling omens," reported one of the guards. "Claims he was drinking peacefully in Consuelo last night, but this morning, he saw every last soul there perish. He's been passing through towns and villages crying for help."
"I've no time for drunken ramblings. Lock him up for disturbing the peace. A day without liquor will do him good," Martínez snapped, irritated. "Just what we needed—another lunatic stirring panic."
"I saw them rot! I saw them all rot in hours! People, animals, grass—even the houses! They're all festering!" the man screamed as he was dragged away to the cells.
Meanwhile, mounting pressure from the citizens of Catha forced King Desmond III to act. He summoned the realm's most distinguished doctors and scholars to confront what had now been named The Rot—a plague unlike any other. As spring arrived, the king petitioned the O.M.S. for assistance, seeking the finest minds to rescue Catha from ruin.
Those chosen for this sacred task were Héctor Larel, Weliver Vidal, Joan González, Ezequiel Duarte, and Benjamín Taveras—escorted by royal guards to the country of Orión. There, they would be joined by the C.D.E. and the C.M., forming an unprecedented alliance in the annals of medicine.
"Thank you for answering this call," announced Sir Gündir Blodcaf, secretary to the king. "Santa Catha faces a crisis without precedent. What began as a simple flu has become an endemic blight threatening to breach our borders."
Chief of Staff Thomás Liongard detailed the alarming escalation of the outbreak, distributing grim pamphlets: 42% of livestock and 17% of the population behind the María Wall had already perished. The very air trembled with fear, and the infection loomed dangerously near the Patria Wall.
On the second page: photographs—bodies in advanced stages of decomposition, disturbing even the most seasoned medical eyes. The illness, swift and grotesque, raised a chilling question: Was this truly a single disease?
"This gathering is not just to assess," Blodcaf continued. "It is a call to action. Those behind the walls cannot come out, but you, the chosen, have royal authorization to enter and seek a cure. What afflicts our brothers today may afflict all of us tomorrow."
Captain Eliazar Torres of the Third Division vowed to guide and protect those who dared cross into the infected zone. The Mayo Clinic, grateful to Duke Bosch for prior support, committed fully to the cause. The O.M.S., aware of the scale of the challenge, pledged its unwavering collaboration.
General Martínez had received a direct communiqué from Duke Juan Bosch, reassigning him unexpectedly to the heart of the María Wall, to the city blessed by science and God alike—Santos.
"Damn it! I was so close… and now this hellhole again? Shit!" he cursed, covering his face with his hand.
The arrival in Santos was brief—but the chaos was eternal. A series of explosions linked to the infection outbreak had set the city ablaze. Sirens wailed endlessly, ever since the night before. Bosch's plea to Martínez had come too late. More than 60% of the city was in flames. Locals blamed revolutionaries for attacking San Nicolás de Bari Hospital. The wounded overflowed every facility; many were sent to nearby cities.
"General, we received word—Consuelo was attacked. The locals… they're blackened, swollen, stinking of death."
"You've got to be kidding me… That poor bastard was telling the truth?"
"Sir, message from the Patria Wall: Hato Mayor del Rey was violently struck. No one knows how or with what, but the entire population… exploded. What's left is a putrid, dark mass."
Martínez stood speechless. Only days into his reassignment, and the country had descended into madness.
Bosch, too proud to heed the ominous warnings, dismissed Domingo's letter as delusion. He focused instead on rooting out the king's enemies, convinced that rebellion, not rot, was the true threat.
"Fool of a duke…" Bosch muttered, helpless before the unraveling of order.
Shortly thereafter, famine became the gravest concern. Malnourished animals perished; crops withered. With each passing week, hysteria spread—looting, violence, and fear reigned, feeding the perfect storm.
Catha, once a land of dreams and envy, had become the epicenter of an endemia threatening to erase every trace of life from the continent of Daemos. Bosch, in desperation, decreed the complete lockdown of the María Wall. The king endorsed the measure, issuing orders to execute anyone attempting to flee. The people were now prisoners in their own land.
Within four months, infection reached the Patria Wall. Only Minerva remained untouched.
One month before the plague's first anniversary, the expedition was ready to depart from the royal citadel. They set out toward Catha—not just to confront the unknown, but to offer the faintest spark of hope to a nation drowning in shadows.