The pain of being burned alive, the scorching sensation of his melting skin, the drying tears of a man breatiìhing his last moments.

Nestor wasn't an old person, still having almost reached 40 years he was already considered a lived Pearson. His clear blue eyes were fixed on the horizon, the tranquil woods outside the farming grounds of the village, the quiet hills that outlined his line of sight.

The stillness of the sun that was straight above his head, it kept irradiating golden rays of light over his burning self without concern.

'Nature does not care about my fate, no, about humanity in its entirety. We are but a speck of dust in front of the indifference of the cosmos. Every day and night the sun, the moon and the stars, they'll keep alternating each other, with or without me, it is not of their concern.

What I have seen yesterday made it very clear. The medallion showed me what my eyes couldn't see, what my humanity confined me from.

I gazed beyond the stars, the stillness of the most profound darkness, the brilliance of the stars, and then saw the abyss. An inexplicable madness that seemed to come from my very being was somewhat resonating with that place.

Yet that moment of enlightenment was too much for my pitiful self to handle. I probably lost consciousness and was captured by the inquisitor in waiting.'

This train of thoughts kept Nestor's mind as insightful and aware as it has ever been before. It was with such clarity that he started to recall his life, for as repetitive as it has been he still dedicated a lot of himself to the poor. As a former monk, he never experienced true love, nor towards a woman or even for his deceased parents.

Even so, he always tried to spread such love through the faith he laid in his lord so that the populace could rejoice in his teachings and embrace his righteous way of life.

The faith he felt for his lord was profound, the reverence and respect he felt were both very real.

Yet it was him that was now burning at the stake, God wouldn't be coming to save him. Nestor was sure of that. Furthermore, as a 'sinner', his soul was bound to be headed straight into the depths of hell.

Finally, he understood, Nestor couldn't be sure about it. However, this speculation carried the very his last thoughts.

Deep inside he was sure about it, for his entire life they lied to him. For almost forty years he was the victim of a plot orchestrated by the abbot and probably even the bishop in Florence together.

' My keepsake, was it truly a memento left for me by my mother? He couldn't be sure. God would never lie, but humans, he now understood were well versed in such actions.

They made me believe the story behind the origins of the medallion so that I could verify the true nature of the objects. In the case that it was a real sacred relic they would have simply taken it for themselves. Yet it turned out to be of blasphemous origins, thus I became a disposable pawn.

This is why nobody is going to save me, God has already forsaken humanity.'

Finally, Nestor felt the seemingly eternal agony reaching its end, life started to slip away from his body.

"Hahahahah!! Cough... Cough...."

Suddenly the crazed laughing of the dying man resonated through the village, now only leaving the crackling sound of the fire to be heard. The words of hatred and ridicule of the crowd had quieted down, as if to better hear Nestor's last words of madness.

" You pathetic fools! Whom God has already left behind, heed my words. Today won't be my last, there is more awaiting those that have yet to fall into falsity and corruption.

I will reach such a place, out there, beyond the stars!"

The stupefied crowd of people still repeated these words, undecided whether they held some truth or were simply the rumblings of a dying man.

Nestor couldn't notice such things, as he mustered his final breath to exhale one last sentence.

"A lie will remain a lie!"

With his death, the mysterious medallion suddenly disappeared, as if it had reached its purpose.

Those present at the execution will probably remember the mad monk for quite some time, before putting this story on the back of their head. Only to recollect it as a means of entertainment while drinking with their friends in the local tavern.

Yet Paolo Benedetti, the Inquisitor, could simply forget such speech. His hands were shaking and his legs were slightly trembling, be it for fear or excitement only he could know.

' I should report this to the bishop... Should I?'

Nestor suddenly woke up, his mind was madly spinning, still having his last memories representing him as a living torch.

The first thing he felt was the soft touch of the bed he thought to be lying on. Sadly enough he apparently couldn't see anything, the simple thought of opening his eyes appeared as an insurmountable task.

Furthermore, that damned splitting headache kept pestering him, thus Nestor had no other choice than slowly touch himself and his surroundings while attempting to assess his situation.

At least he now had a proper body and from what he felt it wasn't as skinny as his original one. It wasn't really trained or muscular, but it appeared to be well fed. About his height he couldn't tell, maybe once he stood up he would be able to get a general idea.

Nestor mustered his strength and barely straightened his legs as he suddenly lost his balance.

'Maybe there really is something wrong with my head, it does hurt and seems to have no sense of balance...'

Thus Nestor decided to touch it, maybe he would discover some kind of injury.

"AHHH!"

Upon touch had involuntarily shouted a scream of both terror and disbelief. This was because there wasn't anything to touch at all in the first place!

'Wh-What in the, how is this possible! Jesus help this poor believer of yours!"

Partially due to his headache and his sluggish mind, only now Nestor had come to the conclusion that he had already died.

' This is quite the bizarre occasion, but it is true that I just died and yet here I am recollecting my own death. It doesn't make sense in the first place, it doesn't matter if my head is missing, I died already'.

After a brief moment of silence, he finally heaved a loud sigh.

"Could it be that I have been sent to hell?"

Soon after a few muffled hurried steps sounded in the room, which Nestor now understood to be quite the large space.

The steps finally stopped reverberating and an old rasped voice immediately followed.

"Ah! I see you have finally woken up. Quite the lively soul weren't you? Fret not, I assure you that I have almost finished stitching up your body for good, only the head remains.

Ehm, I almost forgot, you can call me Mr Domino. I welcome thee to the Chained City!"