In Smyrna in 1935, I open up my insides. I search for the other connection, the one that connects me to my painful past. Do I worship the memories that I should forget or not? Am I anxiously searching for guilt or trying to fulfill my own needs?
In Naxtil's house, the flesh celebrates, and as I become one with the whole of the East, my opium whispers words that I shouldn't remember. I am drawn into the litany of initiation. At the end of the grand celebration, I leave behind only one inheritance in a letter with a single recipient. He is the only one who should know and the only one who will be able to judge. Lost vows oppose, hide, and tremble at every word of mine. May my great secret find its echo in revelation.

Alexis of today passes by the lands of Asia Minor pushed by the instructions of the paper he holds in his hands. By his side, his assistant Cleo, whom he has just met. Neither of them could have imagined that the writing they would discover would be capable of changing both of their lives. Neither of them would want the face of that myth to be real.