Popess Paula's office was a silent refuge, where the only sound was the whisper of turning pages. The air carried the aged scent of ink, old paper, and the beeswax of the candles illuminating the heavy mahogany desk. In the flickering light, her fingers traced the lines of the report from Father Ant?nio, sent from Jorge de Oliveira's plantation. One passage in particular held her attention, describing a slave who seemed different from the others.

  She lifted her eyes, meeting those of the merchant Francisco, who stood waiting on the other side of the desk.

  "Francisco," she said, setting the report down, "did you see anything unusual at Jorge's plantation? Any slave that caught your eye, for instance?"

  The merchant seemed relieved to finally arrive at the subject he knew was inevitable.

  "So the priest noticed him too? I was going to tell you, Your Holiness. I did. There was a slave who... well, he claimed to know how to summon devil's artifacts. I confess I doubted him at first, but then he examined one of the artifacts I was carrying in my cart and figured out how it worked with just a glance."

  Paula arched an eyebrow, her interest genuinely piqued.

  "And what was this artifact like?"

  Francisco then launched into a detailed explanation about the strange metallic objects that attracted and repelled each other.

  I was even excited for a moment, thought the Popess, but in the end, magnets are rare, not non-existent. It's not strange that a more educated slave might know of them.

  "I'm sorry to disappoint you, Francisco, but this proves nothing," she declared, folding her hands on the desk. "The objects you describe are magnets. They are not devil's artifacts. Compasses themselves, blessed instruments, use magnets in their needles."

  "I... I didn't know that, Your Holiness," he admitted, wringing his hands nervously. "But allow me to say: the magnets I carried had to be devil's artifacts. No blacksmith in his right mind would spend so much time polishing a useless stone until it was that smooth and round. Besides, the slave gave an explanation for how they worked... he said something about 'magnetism.'"

  Wait. Magnetism.,, The term echoed in her mind, familiar and distant. That word isn't strange to me. I think I've read it in some profane book that ended up burned... Perhaps this slave really does know something. Her heart sped up a little. But examining the artifact would be crucial.

  "Francisco," she said, her voice soft yet firm, "could you show me these so-called magnets?"

  The merchant began to sweat visibly, a moist sheen appearing on his forehead. He wiped it with the back of his hand before answering, avoiding her gaze.

  "Sorry, Your Holiness, but... unfortunately, I no longer possess the artifacts."

  "What?" Paula's voice remained calm, but a spark of irritation ignited in her eyes. "You're not going to tell me you sold them to the plantation owner?"

  "I'm sorry," he murmured, hanging his head.

  "Your Holiness, I... I beg forgiveness for my sins. To make up for it, I can give you a devil's book I found on my travels! I guarantee it will be of interest to you!"

  Paula raised her head, one eyebrow arched in an expression of disbelief.

  "Are you trying to bribe me so brazenly?" Her voice was icy. This borders on insult. I am Paula, the first Popess in history, considered a saint for my healing abilities and my discoveries. Do you think you can buy someone like me with a mere profane book?

  She made a dramatic pause, her fingers tapping lightly on the desk. Silence weighed heavily on Francisco.

  "But well..." she continued, her voice losing some of its edge, "...there's no harm in taking a look at the book you brought. After all, the last one you presented me, 'Introduction to Genetics,' also proved to be... quite interesting."

  Almost before she finished speaking, Francisco was already placing a volume on the desk. The cover was simple, but the words stamped on it made Paula's breath catch: "Vaccines: The Invention That Saved the Most Lives in Human History."

  "As soon as I read the title," said Francisco, regaining some of his presumption, "I knew that only Your Holiness, who possesses blessed gifts, would be capable of understanding its contents and putting them into practice. Just as you did with the book 'The Human Body: From Conception to Death.'"

  "Now you try to flatter me?" she questioned, but her eyes remained glued to the book. "Yet, I am curious... where do you get so many profane books and artifacts? Enough to sell to others, besides me. I should declare you a heretic and deliver you to the flames, just as they wanted to do with me!"

  "Calm yourself, Your Excellency!" Francisco pleaded, his hands trembling slightly. "You don't want to burn your own golden goose, do you? And as for where I get them... I have my contacts."

  The phrase irritated her, it was true. But the book in her hands was a far greater temptation. Her fingertips traced the letters of the title.

  If the title is true, her thoughts were a whirlwind, then this must be one of the most sacred texts I have ever touched. Something that could help me save countless lives and, who knows, consolidate my power. After all, for all they call me Popess, I am merely the leader of a small holy city, overshadowed by the grandeur of the original. And my political power doesn't compare to that of the Pontiff in the Holy City of Alba, the original holy city. Reading those reports of atrocities always reminds me of how powerless I still am to change the system.

  "Before Your Holiness gets lost in reading," Francisco interrupted, cautiously, "I would like to add something. That slave at Master Jorge's plantation also said he would be capable of summoning devil's artifacts, not just identifying them."

  I had almost forgotten about the slave, Paula thought with mild annoyance. But at the moment, I've completely lost interest in that story. This book seems infinitely more promising than the claims of some supposed sorcerer.

  "If that were true, it would be extraordinary," she replied with evident skepticism. "For centuries the Church has sought the source of the profane artifacts. Some say pagans summon them, others that they fall from the sky. Many heretics have been burned under that accusation, but no one has ever been seen conjuring one. This mystery intrigues me, I confess. I would like to unravel it. But I do not place my faith in the word of just any slave. One thing, however, is certain: the source of these objects is here, in the New World. They are abundant here. In the Old World, one was found every century. Here? It's as if a new one appears every week."

  She sighed, pondering.

  "That said, I won't completely dismiss the idea without more information. Did the slave say how he would perform this summoning?"

  "Well, he didn't explain the method, only listed what he needed," Francisco explained, growing animated. "He said that certain devil's artifacts, very specific ones, would grant the ability to summon others. If Your Holiness permits me to use ink and a quill, I can draw them for you."

  Paula, with a silent gesture, handed him the materials. With surprisingly steady hands, Francisco drew and described the objects needed for the supposed summoning. As she looked at the sketches, Paula's heart leaped. She recognized them instantly. When she had assumed the role of the previous pope, she had explored every inch of the cathedral and found a secret basement, filled with artifacts identical to those, kept under lock and key. They were maintained because they were notoriously difficult to destroy by common fire.

  "And have you managed to acquire any of these artifacts?" she asked, keeping her voice controlled.

  "Unfortunately not, Your Holiness. It's already hard to find any artifact; one this specific is nearly impossible. I consulted my... contacts, but obtained no results."

  Who might these 'contacts' be? she pondered, watching him closely. Perhaps they are the ones who know how to summon the artifacts... That must be how he gets so many for me and to sell. But I won't press him now. He has already provided me with invaluable texts. He is, as he said himself, my golden goose.

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  "Curious," she finally said, breaking the silence. "It's interesting that the slave described these specific artifacts. It's possible he's seen them elsewhere, but given the minuscule quantity of them in my vault, I can assume that among the profane artifacts that are already rare, these are the rarest of all."

  She paused, staring at Francisco, measuring his loyalty.

  "Well, these objects are just gathering dust in the cathedral basement. It would cost me nothing to turn them over to you. As it is our duty to find the origin of this evil to extirpate it by the root..." she gave a slight smile, "...I will make an exception. I will permit the sale of these artifacts to you."

  Francisco's eyes shone with anticipated greed.

  "In return," she continued, her voice growing serious, "you will tell me everything about how the slave intends to use them. Furthermore, I want a detailed list of all the artifacts you have ever sold or found. I cannot stop you from trading, Francisco, but I ask that you inform me. An artifact can be far more useful in my hands than in those of some ignorant plantation owner."

  "Your Holiness is most merciful!" he exclaimed, almost prostrating himself. "And I say that without flattery! I've heard that in other holy cities the Church simply confiscates artifacts without paying a penny and even punishes the merchant! That's why I never leave your jurisdiction. Here, you are in command."

  "And yet you operate behind my back," she sighed, a sudden weariness in her shoulders. "I am grateful you have never revealed to anyone that I... preserve some of these books. But know, Francisco, that even gratitude has its limits."

  "Forgive me, Your Holiness," he murmured, genuinely contrite.

  It didn't take long for Paula to dispatch a cardinal to fetch the artifacts. No one questioned her order; everyone was accustomed to their leader's eccentric nature, from her fixation on forbidden books to her city reforms. In the end, however unusual her requests seemed, they always appeared to result in lives saved.

  About an hour later, the cardinal returned carrying several heavy cloth sacks, which produced a metallic, hollow clunk as they were deposited on the floor.

  "Thank you so much, Your Holiness!" Francisco said, his eyes gleaming at the sight of the treasures. "When I return, I will give you a full report! And I will make a generous donation to the Church!"

  "I am glad to hear that," Paula replied with a serenity that belied her distrust. "But I have not forgotten your sin of selling cursed artifacts. Before you depart on your next journey, recite three Hail Marys and five Our Fathers for the purification of your soul."

  "Yes, Your Holiness. Thank you."

  As soon as he left, carrying his new treasures, Paula opened a drawer in her desk and took out a pair of spectacles with a delicate frame. They looked ordinary, but the lenses were made of pure, perfectly transparent crystal—the raw material of the exceedingly rare Gem of Vision. She put them on carefully and turned her gaze to the "Vaccines" book.

  Activating the gem's power, the world around her gained a new dimension. Emanating from the book's pages, she saw an aura of deep, vibrant purple.

  It's the same energy signature as always, she thought, fascinated and alarmed. Every item created or altered by magic emits an aura corresponding to the gem used. This book was, without a doubt, forged or touched by powerful magic. But which gem produces such an intense purple? There are no records. And the complexity of these objects... they don't seem created by magic, which is better suited for raw elements, most summoned artifacts disappear after some time. Only a few, like those treated by specific gem combinations, such as Earth and Grass, seem to remain. Perhaps they were altered. But by whom? And how?

  Well, she concluded, putting the glasses away, that is a puzzle for another time.

  Leaving her office, she picked up a silver chalice, at the base of which a Gem of Healing, of a serene light blue, was embedded. She also put on a necklace bearing a silver crucifix, this one with a Gem of Alteration, of a deep, intense blue, fixed at its center.

  With these items, she headed for the Holy House of Mercy, a place of suffering and hope. The air was heavy with the smell of medicinal herbs, dried blood, and the sweat of desperation. With a calm that soothed the ailing themselves, Paula began her work. Pouring water from the chalice onto wounds caused flesh to close and skin to regenerate before the faithful's eyes. For lost limbs, the process was slower. She would hold the crucifix and touch the site of the injury. Under her fingers, bones, muscles, and nerves rebuilt themselves in a divine and painful spectacle, causing patients to sweat and groan, but always end in tears of gratitude.

  Among the healed, one man stood out. His clothes were of a fine, foreign cut, and his hands were adorned with gold rings. He had lost a leg, and when Paula touched his stump with the crucifix, he wept silently as a new limb slowly formed before everyone. When he managed to stand, he knelt, grasping the hem of her robe.

  "Thank you! Thank you so much, Saint Paula!" he cried, his voice choked with emotion. "The rumors are true! Your Holiness is truly a saint! Now I can walk again! It was worth every league of my journey to find you!"

  "I thank you for your praise," she replied, helping him up with a maternal gentleness. "But I am no saint. Anyone with the aptitude and knowledge to use the Gem of Alteration can perform the same feat. I even relayed the method to the Holy City of Alba. Soon, all holy cities will have someone capable of doing the same."

  A saint I may be, her inner thought was prouder, but not for this. But for having discovered how to use the Gem of Alteration. I sent detailed instructions, it's true. The pity is that they don't seem to have anyone in Alba with the intellect to replicate the feat with the same mastery. It is knowledge that, for now, still resides primarily with me.

  "You are as humble as they say," the foreign noble continued, wiping his tears. "I am a man of means, and I am not miserly. I will make a substantial donation to your church."

  That's right, Paula thought with a sense of triumph. And spread the word among your wealthy friends. I need more funds to help more people, finance my research, and consolidate my power.

  "I am deeply grateful for your generosity," she said aloud, with a beatific smile. "With your resources, we will be able to help many other souls in need."

  As the afternoon wore on, the bustle gave way to a solemn calm. Most of the patients had departed, healed. Only a few remained, among them a child, pale and weak, whose breathing was an irregular whisper. Paula was at his side, the chalice of healing in her hands, but the gem's properties seemed to slide off the boy's skin without effect, like water over a stone.

  He's been here for a month, she thought, a sharp pain piercing her heart. I cure the symptoms, but the sickness always returns, stronger. It must be some kind of plague. I'm only prolonging his suffering. The Gem of Healing can close wounds, but it cannot purge sickness. The Gem of Alteration can rebuild a limb, but it cannot expel this invisible evil. He's so young... he already lost his parents to the same disease. Does God have no future for this child?

  She shook her head, fighting the wave of despair.

  No. It can't be that. I just haven't fully deciphered God's plan yet. Just as I discovered how to regenerate limbs, I must discover a cure for plagues. The answer must be in one of those profane books, just like it was last time.

  Seeing the child's silent suffering, an immense weight fell upon her shoulders. With a heavy heart, Paula returned to her office. The darkness of night was already falling outside. She lit several candles, whose dancing light cast long, shifting shadows over the bookshelves. Then, with a fierce determination, she opened "Vaccines" and began to read.

  The hours dragged on. The city fell asleep. Paula did not move. The candle flames dwindled, and she replaced them almost automatically, so absorbed was she in the text. Her expressions varied from fascination to horror, from skepticism to a flicker of frantic hope.

  This cannot be true, her thoughts were a whirlwind. It's not possible that these tiny... 'viruses,' 'fungi,' and 'bacteria' are the true causes of disease. It's blasphemy! To attribute God's work to invisible creatures! But the most absurd part... the book claims we can prevent smallpox! The queen of plagues! I've seen so many succumb to it... I would give everything for a cure. But the method described... is madness! Taking pus from a cowpox sore and... introducing it into a healthy person? That would cause the disease, not cure it! This book is an abomination, a temptation from the devil himself! I should cast it into the fire right now!

  She held the book over a candle flame, her fingers trembling.

  ...But what if it's right? A calmer whisper arose in her mind. What if it's possible to protect people before they get sick? Save millions. Prevent children from losing their parents... just as I lost mine. It would be a greater miracle than any healing. Perhaps... perhaps it's worth testing. Just once.

  No! Her religious instinct screamed. This is heresy! It's a trap!

  The next morning, before the sun had fully risen, a cardinal brought the news Paula already feared. The child in her care had passed away during the night.

  The Popess did not cry. She stood still for a long time, looking out the window, her face a mask of pain and resignation. Then, she turned to the cardinal, her eyes, now dry, blazing with iron determination.

  "Brother," her voice was clear and unquestionable, echoing in the study's quiet, "I have a task for you. An urgent order."

  "Yes, Your Holiness?"

  "Send messengers. Search the surrounding farms. Bring to the holy city... cows. Cows that are afflicted with cowpox. Bring them as quickly as possible."

  The cardinal was dumbfounded, his mouth opening slightly. It was, without a doubt, the strangest request he had ever heard.

  "C... cows with cowpox, Your Holiness? But... why?"

  Paula's eyes were deep and impenetrable.

  "Faith," she said simply, "sometimes demands we walk unexpected paths. Now, go. And let no one question this order. It is by God's will."

  And, turning back to her desk, she opened the "Vaccines" book once more, her decision made. The risk was worth the reward. The shadow of doubt had been overcome by the stark light of necessity.