The summer sun shone brightly in the clear sky, pouring down scorching heat. The temperature, already unbearable since dawn, was rising by the minute.
In the colossal city of San Martín, the flow of people never ceased. Countless nuns, believers, and priests came and went, crossing the wide avenues of white stone.
Among them, large caravans could be seen arriving from distant lands: men and women walking slowly, their faces expressionless, their eyes dull, as if they had been stripped of all free will.
Dominating the skyline, the distinctive six-kilometer cross rose toward the heavens. Its colossal shadow covered much of the city, enveloping the inhabitants in a dark cloak that seemed to devour the sunlight.
