Sobrenatural: Por Favor Me Chame de Flash Dourado

June, 1923. Summer.

As the morning mist began to dissipate, the mountain stream donned a robe of flowing silk. The brook winding down from the snow-capped peaks danced among the colorful stones like shattered jade falling onto a tray, wearing away the granite that had lain for millennia until it was smooth and gentle to the touch. The rain-soaked stones at the creek's bottom glimmered with the luster of agate—vermilion, ochre, and brilliant yellow mingling with the clear blue water, a spectacle as if the goddess had dropped her legendary five-colored stones from the heavens to the mortal realm.

On the mountain path, a youth with a wooden basket strapped to his back strode briskly toward the summit, bathed in the golden morning sun. His pace was swift; in only a few breaths, he had climbed dozens of steps. Soon, as his foot pressed down on the final stair, he reached the mountain's peak.

There, an elderly man with a hunched frame and hair as white as snow had been seated for some time already. Sensing the youth’s arrival, a satisfied smile crept across the old man's lips.

“Not bad. Your speed is improving more and more,” he remarked, glancing at the distant sunrise before turning to offer the youth a smile.

Bang!

The youth set down the wooden basket with a thud, sending dust swirling and leaving a deep pit where it landed. Upon closer inspection, the basket was filled with heavy green stone bricks, weighing several dozen pounds.

“Old man, I don’t get it. You teach me nothing but the art of drawing talismans, so why