Scorched pages rest in random dispersion all over the ground: all the unfathomable leftovers of some sort of cataclysmic blaze.

The small amount of ash left in here suggests that – whatever these accounts contained prior to their incineration – they were not lengthy.

The flames were particularly merciless on these records, leaving absolutely nothing - not even ashes - as proof of their previous existence. A tenuous warmth, however, still lingers in this place, and it is rather comforting.

Little pieces of scorched paper lie scattered all over the ground. It is impossible to retrieve any significance of what these letters once meant, except that there seem to be two different handwritings.

The tome in which these accounts were contained has been cruelly incinerated. Only ashes remain, and a rusty pendant made of brass and a pink quartz stone.

There is a pile of very thin and white ash here, being gradually scattered by the wind. Amidst the cinders lies a large pearl covered in soot and stained black by the flames.