The wind greets concrete and nature, yet the people are blessed to feel it. Its giddy currents flow through woodland canopies, unaware of how its song soothes those who can hear. People always thought of the wind as so free, chaotic even, yet it too has its path even if there are infinite possible destinations. It has air with passion, a drive that powers onward, wherein every direction is an option.

Rome, an evangelical and splendid city. Its deep history shall always remain eternal, never to be forgotten. The empire which is now nothing but a mere city which was ruled for more than a century. Men usually called this period, "The Era of Seven Bad Kings."

1968, and the advents of war have been finally sealed by its own faith. Benito Mussolini's yearn for the Roman Empire to rise once more has been devoured by the Allied Forces for more than a decade now. Peace and tranquility were left in these fertile soil, except for miniature movements and coalitions.

On one of Rome's barren streets, lies nothing except for a desolate house. The spirit of the house had rescued itself by sleeping in the walls, by retreating into the welcoming wood away from the dust. It stayed there with the memories of its birth, of the hugs and laughter that once were its colors and music, for that is the way of spirits. So though the floors were bare and the paint was in need of loving care, though the furniture lay still without the warmth of its family, it stood all the same, strong beneath the flakes and dirt of years.

Today, the ninth symphony of the house shall commence. Let the history of its residents and former past echo unto its walls, for this, will be the last time the house shall remain deeply rooted to its alma mater.

From the squeaky gates, made out of nothing but pure rust, comes a crimson red Chevrolet Impala, a car famous during its era. The driver ceased the car's operation and parked in front of the rustic gates. The leaves which hung above barren trees, slowly danced down upon the car's shed, while an old man, wearing such tuxedo and monocle, stepped unto the grains of sand and gravel.

Sir Dexter S. Lucre, a famous billionaire and auctioneer. His eyes see nothing but wealth and fortune, while his cane supported his broken ankle. Today comes to the evaluation of the abandoned house, which would soon become part of Sir Dexter's industry.

Together with a few more men, Sir Dexter continued his saunter to the porch of the house. His eyes were mesmerized by the house's structure. Indeed he imagined, how big his industry would grow after renovating an old worn-out house. Tons of money, dozens of fortune, the antiques will serve nothing but trees of wealth.

With heavy force, his men pushed down the dilapidated wooden doors, as the dust dispersed out to the new world. A world, wherein technology is necessary, a world wherein employees are being replaced with machines.

Having an old age of 78, Sir Dexter gave a cough, due to the dust's irritating particles entering his nostrils. His men sauntered in, mesmerizing at the fine artistry the house has to offer.

"Alright men, you know what to do. Search for anything valuable." Sir Dexter Lucre instructed with a hoarse throat.

His loyal men responded in a blitz. They ransacked every room, every corridor, and hallway. Even the bathroom has been scoured, as so as the dusty attic.

Sir Dexter on the other hand, stayed on the ground floor, looking at himself through a translucent and shattered mirror. He gave a pleasant smile while fixing his bowtie in front of the shattered mirror. His heart on the other hand, yearned for more wealth, revenue, and income. Becoming the richest man in the world despite already being a billionaire is one of Sir Dexter's profound dreams.

"Sir, you may want to take a look at this." One of his men, rushed down the staircase with a large box on his pale hands. Sweat drooled down this man's face, while his heart on the other hand, gasped for fine oxygen.

"A box? What do you want me to do with that box?" Sir Dexter uttered with a sarcastic tone while adjusting the lenses of his monocle.

"Gli Scacchi" Sir Dexter uttered with an intriguing voice, as he carefully reads the label of the box.

"Right sir? This box is worth more than five hundred Euros, imagine how rich you can be."

"I am very aware of that sonny. This is truly a remarkable find, your salary for this month will be increased by four hundred Euros." Sir Dexter appraised. He gave the man a pat on the shoulder as he gently grabs the box from him.

Truly astounding and captivating, this wooden box is. "Gli Scacchi" a term used by hundreds of generals. In English, it means Chess. However, this wooden box contains a chessboard like no other, an antique chessboard used during the times of Emperors and Empress. It truly is remarkable to see one during these kinds of eras.

On the other hand, the man felt pleased with Sir Dexter's praise. His body couldn't resist the urge to beam with excitement after such historical discovery. The quality of the pieces is still unknown, for it has recently debuted in the modern era.