Far from the Caribbean, where pirates were celebrating their latest victory at sea, toasting with laughter over their plunder and the intoxication of rum, another story was quietly taking shape in the humid depths of the Yucatecan jungle. Instead of the thunder of cannons, only the buzzing of insects, the crackle of branches, and the distant calls of nocturnal birds could be heard—creatures oblivious to the human drama about to unfold.
Beneath an equally starry sky—shrouded, however, by a haze of heat and mystery—a man of faith faced a very different fate. He was tall, slender, with pale blond hair, and wore the austere garments of the Society of Jesus. His name: Hans von Lübeck.
He had walked for days with machete in hand, guided by a combination of astronomical calculations, intuition, and ancient documents. After an exhausting day's march, he set camp beside a moss-covered rock, lighting a small fire that barely dared to illuminate the tangle of trees surrounding him, as if he feared awakening whatever might be sleeping there.
Seated on a fallen log, Hans took from his satchel a cloth-bound volume, worn with use. On the cover, half-erased by time, one could still read:
"Mission Report in the Yucatán Peninsula, by OA."
It was one of the documents he had come across during his work as an auditor at the Mission of San Ignacio de Chenutialbak. Among the financial records, he had detected several suspicious entries: funds allocated to vague concepts, sealed with the initials OA. No one had given him a clear answer as to their meaning.
The report began by discussing mineral resources and economic advantages, but toward the end its tone shifted: it spoke of a forgotten temple, feared and revered by the natives, and warned that it should be investigated with the utmost discretion and care. It even contained a note in the margin:
"You never know what might be lying dormant in the heart of those ruins, for it is well known that the ancients did not merely treasure valuable objects and the remains of their chieftains; they also kept ancient curses to guard the eternal secret and rest of what was kept there."
Hans closed it carefully. Inside, between its pages, he kept an old map that had belonged to his family. Until now, he had never understood its meaning. The coincidence with the report was far too exact to ignore. He took out his notebook and began jotting down observations: position of the stars, hours of daylight, sketches of the terrain. He was not only plotting routes—he was trying to decipher a riddle.
For a moment, he sat in silence, staring into the fire. He recalled his years of study in Dillingen, in Bavaria—his training in philosophy, astronomy, and mathematics—and how, some time ago, an order had sent him to Yucatán to review the accounts of the missions. Officially, he was to return to San Francisco de Campeche, take a ship bound for Veracruz, and deliver the report to his superior in Mexico City. Yet instead of following the prescribed path, he had chosen another: the one leading into the heart of the jungle.
Hans leafed through his journal, written in German, until he reached a page where, in pencil, he had sketched a disordered family tree: German, Flemish, and Burgundian names intertwined like roots. His eyes stopped at one. A name enclosed within a firm circle, almost pressed into the paper: VERBECK.
A slight chill ran through him. That word conjured terror and dark legends in these lands, but for him it was the key to a far more personal mystery.
A rustle in the undergrowth broke his thoughts. Then, a deep roar made the ground tremble. Hans held his breath. It could be a jaguar… or perhaps not. He put away the journal, made the sign of the cross, and with measured movements lay down on his blanket, machete within reach, his satchel under his head.
He tried to close his eyes, but the name still burned in his mind: Verbeck. He had heard it once before, whispered in low voices in ghost stories he had known since childhood. The coincidence between those documents and his family's map no longer felt like chance.
The roar came again, this time closer. The jungle, once asleep, seemed to lean toward him, watchful. A shiver ran down Hans's spine. In the darkness, he understood that Verbeck was not merely a name from the past. It was a warning.