The room was cold. The fireplace had not been lit since years. It hadn’t been modified much as they hadn’t dared touch it after the events. He moved towards the mullioned window, drawn by a reflection. The sun played making ricochets on the road of the Knights. He opened the shutters and leaned over. He examined both directions of the road: both forbidden. This could be strange for another, but for him it was a supplementary sign. This was indeed the place. He closed the window again, softly, like then. He heard a noise, and turning quickly, he noticed a fleeting shadow. So he wasn’t alone. His hand moved naturally where the sword was but it changed mind. He should be careful not to be revealed. Here he wasn’t but in a visitor’s refuge, nothing else. He came out of the room again to go towards the entrance over to the interior balcony that allowed the discovering of the stone staircase, without raising suspicions of the shadows and walls. There wasn’t anybody. Not a single trace, he thought. Without having time to concluded his thought, he noticed a detail on the second to last step. His gaze wasn’t fooling him. It was a pawn. The latter was white. He examined it from up close. It was impossible. As if the game of time had begun without waiting for the setting of the players. It reminded him of Bernard because he had the same wounds as the abandoned pawn. It was another sign. He closed again his hands on pawn as if he was embracing again his old combat friend. It was as if it wanted to warn him. Only, who could still remember the knights of Rhodes? Nobody here knew the secret of the ramification, even less that of the chosen branch. So what was he to think? And above all what was he to do?
He lifted his sleeves again and moved into the other room, that of the meeting. The ladder was still the same even if the access to the sky was well forbidden. He leaned over without kneeling down. This time, he found again the coin that he had hidden on his previous stay. The face of the great master was intact.
Fleur de lys.
Sign of perfection
So the passage was open.
And there wasn’t but one reason for this.
The danger
Only, which was the analogy?
And especially which date?
He recalled the dates.

In any case the enemy was always the same. He thought of the teaching and the disciples. Would they be ready in time?
The game of chess was only an initiation, a view of the passage, without this how would they understand the sense of mortal combat, of a combat across Time.
Rundlauf.
He had arrived again at his initial position , but this time, Time was with him.
He reconsidered the geometry of the places thinking of the time travels. On whitest walls, he projected the souvenirs.
Jeusalem.
Cyprus
And presently, Rhodes.

All this took on a new sense of a war that never ceased. He thought again of the sieges of 1480 and 1522 and of the Grand Masters Pierre d’Aubusson and Philippe de Villiers de l’Isle-Adam. Two heroic resistances, forgotten by everyone, except by the forbidden ones. And now he had to deliver a new battle within a society where oblivion and indifference reigned.
He knew that it was always so because he was a servant of Humanity.