Prologue – Shadows of Belchite The screen is dark. For a moment, there is only silence, as if the past itself is holding its breath. Then, slowly, the faint sound of wind begins to rise. The camera opens onto a ruined archway, its stones cracked and fractured, its edges softened by time but still scarred by violence. Dust shifts across the ground like the whisper of old voices. A bell tower, broken at the top, tilts against the gray sky. The village of Belchite lies before us — a ghost frozen in the aftermath of war. “Here, in the ruins of Belchite, history did not end. It was left open, exposed, preserved in silence. This village is not just rubble. It is a memory carved into stone — a memory of fire, of death, of promises made and promises broken.” The camera drifts through narrow streets where grass has forced its way between bricks. Empty windows stare like hollow eyes, their glass long gone.