The first rays of sunlight filtered through the eastern hills, gilding the low clouds that covered the city of Bogotá. The air smelled of freshly brewed coffee, warm bread, and the smoke from buses roaring through the streets.
He walked steadily through the crowd, a man with dark skin and black hair streaked with gray, dressed simply in a knitted wool jacket, an earth-toned scarf, and carrying a wooden cane as old as the mountains themselves.
His deep black eyes shone with the calm of one who has seen and experienced everything. That man was Anayan, the Archmage of South America.
He was walking among the people, observing everything like everyone else.
Over the years, he had learned that power did not need to be shown but demonstrated, and today he was among non-magical people, feeling the pulse of the modern world and the breath of a city that vibrated with energy... somewhat chaotic, but alive after all.
He crossed a cobblestone street in the historic center of the city, where an old man was offering small emeralds that adorned all kinds of objects to tourists. Anayan stopped, looked at one of them, and smiled kindly.
The stone spoke to him in a silent whisper, telling him that it had been torn from the earth only a few days ago, the emerald still vibrating with the residual magical energy within it.
The Archmage held it for a moment and then returned it respectfully.
"The earth always has something to say..." he murmured in Quechua.
He continued on his way to a modest café where he ordered a cup of black coffee. The waiter, not knowing who he was, served him with a weary smile. Anayan sat by the window, watching the comings and goings of people in the streets, the mountains in the background, and daily life flowing between the hidden and the monotonous.
He had arrived from Machu Picchu with a clear purpose: to monitor the movements and awakening of the acolytes. The dark movements in Europe had crossed the ocean, and the earth had warned him that something was brewing.
Balance always found its way... and if chaos arose, he would respond.
As he drank his coffee, a boy approached him, offering him a handmade amulet made of feathers and a black stone.
"For you to take care of, sir," said the little boy with an innocent smile.
Anayan looked at him tenderly, took out a gold coin, and gave it to the boy.
"Thank you, little guardian. The earth already takes care of me... but I will keep this souvenir."
The boy's eyes lit up when he received the coin, and he left happily. Anayan felt the magic of the place envelop him. The city had a slow pace, and in the midst of it all, something was stirring on the other side of the world.
Soon, the wind would bring new news.
The Archmage closed his eyes.
His mind traveled beyond the mountains, crossing seas and mountain ranges, until he felt a spark in Europe... a distant, powerful, and dark echo.
Grindelwald's energy was stirring again.
Anayan opened his eyes, the sun reflecting in them. "Then... his time of silence is over," he whispered. The wind, soft and warm, seemed to agree with him.
Bogotá was always full of life.
It was a constantly moving organism, with thousands of arteries where metal and smoke replaced the old stone roads. Anayan walked calmly among the crowd. There was something about that city... about its modernity that both fascinated and confused him.
He boarded a bus that was packed.
The vehicle roared, and inside, conversations and laughter filled the small space, accompanied by the metallic sound of coins falling into the driver's box. The Archmage held onto the handrail on the bus ceiling, watching through the window as the buildings passed by so quickly in the landscape. The sounds and vibrations of the engine surprised him; it was an energy that did not come from magic but... entirely from human ingenuity.
The movement of the bus was, in a way, a choreography, something in balance created by people without magic.
When the conductor asked him for his fare, Anayan smiled and held out some coins, imitating the gestures of the other passengers. The young man barely looked at him before moving on to another passenger.
That pleased him. Being invisible was something he enjoyed... when he could.
He got off in a central area of the city and walked through streets crowded with vendors. The air smelled of empanadas, coffee, and gasoline.
A man shouted, offering clothes, while an elderly woman who claimed to read the future with cards sat under a faded umbrella.
Anayan stopped in front of her, curious.
"Would you like to know your destiny, sir?" asked the woman, shuffling the cards with trembling hands.
The Archmage smiled.
"Destiny, eh? It always changes when someone observes it," he replied in a calm voice.
The woman looked at him confused, but then let out a soft laugh.
"Then you must already know enough."
Anayan left her a coin and continued on his way.
At every corner, he learned something new. Even without being able to use magic, non-magical people had learned to tame nature and transform it with objects they called cables, machines, and formulas.
They had created their own power.
He entered a small bookstore where dust covered the shelves. There he discovered a book about physics?
He turned the pages slowly, his eyes shining with genuine surprise. The words inside spoke of energy, vibrations, and invisible particles. They were concepts that, in their own way, were similar to magic. For a moment, Anayan smiled with respect.
"Men without magic also learned to interact with the fabric of the world... only they call it something else," he murmured to himself.
When he left the bookstore, the sky was beginning to cloud over.
The rain in Bogotá, somewhat persistent in that city, fell on the roofs of houses and soaked the streets.
Anayan covered himself with his poncho and walked slowly. He didn't use magic to protect himself; He liked to feel the water on his skin, it helped his remember that the earth was still breathing even among all that concrete and metal.
He stopped in front of a colorful mural where an indigenous woman held a painted sun in her hands.
Under the drawing was a phrase that read, "The memory of the earth lives in us."
Anayan closed his eyes.
He could feel the magic responding to the silent call of the city. The ancient Andean spirits and the vibration of modern muggles coexisted, unaware that they were both part of the same fabric.
"They have advanced," he whispered with amazement and a hint of sadness, "but they have forgotten to look at what they forget and leave behind."
He crossed the street slowly as traffic intensified around him.
A little girl watched him from the opposite sidewalk, smiling at him. As he passed by, she offered him a small bouquet of flowers that she was selling with her mother. Anayan took a flower, placed it on his cane, and winked at her.
The simple gesture was enough to make the girl laugh.
That laugh was enough for the Archmage to understand that even though the world had changed, true magic, the kind that came from the soul, was still alive in human hearts.
The rain had stopped, but the air was still humid.
Anayan continued walking through the streets of downtown until he reached a seemingly ordinary corner, where a wall covered with paintings and graffiti glowed with a subtle energy.
As he placed his hand on the symbols, the painted figures—birds, snakes, and condors—began to move, slowly spinning until they formed a rippling portal of golden light.
The Archmage stepped forward. The world changed immediately.
The sound of cars disappeared.
He had arrived at the Mercado del Sol, the oldest magical area in Bogotá, a hidden enclave that stretched beneath the mountains, invisible to the eyes of Muggles. Its cobblestone streets were lined with colorful tents and steaming cauldrons, some wizards dressed in ponchos, hats, and amulets of feathers and gold.
The aroma of cocoa, incense, yagé flowers, tobacco, and the sweet smell of hot guarapo mingled in the air. It was a place where the ancient magical cultures of the continent came together. From the Incas, Muiscas, and Mapuches, all living together in harmony.
When he appeared, the crowd began to move aside respectfully to let him pass. Some bowed slightly, others simply looked at him reverently.
The name Anayan was known from Mexico to Patagonia. Not only as an Archmage, but as the Guardian of the Roads, the man who maintained the balance between ancient ancestral magic and the "modern" magic brought by the Europeans.
An elderly woman with wrinkled skin and bright eyes, who sold potions, greeted him with a nod.
"Master Anayan... the earth is glad to see you again."
The Archmage smiled kindly.
"And I am glad to see you, Mama Quilla. Your light never goes out."
He continued on his way through the market, watching young apprentices practice spells on coca leaves, healers haggle, and a group of musicians sing songs in a mixture of Quechua and Spanish.
The magic there was alive, organic, born from the union of various cultures that helped shape it.
A man in a green robe approached him respectfully.
"Archmage... we didn't know you would return so soon... have things been unsettled?" he asked.
Anayan nodded slowly.
"Yes. The earth hears what the world keeps silent," he replied in a grave voice, "and the world is beginning to tremble."
The magician bowed his head, understanding the weight of those words.
Anayan continued walking until he reached a natural viewpoint within the enclave. From there, he could see the entire expanse of the Sun Market, illuminated by floating torches and golden runes that formed constellations on the roofs.
The Archmage took a deep breath.
"This place... still retains the harmony I promised to protect," he murmured to himself. "But unfortunately, balance does not last forever."
A group of children watched him from a distance, somewhat curious and excited.
Anayan turned to them and, with a wave of his staff, conjured up a small wave of golden spheres that quickly transformed into butterflies.
The children laughed and ran after them.
The Archmage watched them with a smile. That innocence was what he had to protect. Not the temples or the secrets, but the connection between man, earth, and sky.
As the market air filled with laughter, an icy chill ran through the atmosphere.
Anayan narrowed his eyes instantly.
A faint vibration, almost imperceptible. A distant echo coming from Europe... Something had just happened.
The Archmage closed his eyes for a moment, listening to what the wind was trying to convey to him.
The darkness was growing again.
"So... it has finally begun," he said quietly, as the sky above the enclave seemed to darken for a moment, and although his gaze was calm, deep in his eyes burned the certainty that very soon his power would be put to the test.
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