The bat's wings, like pavilions of shadow, are not human ears—and yet they perceive the whispers of specters and the sighs of wandering souls. The scythe called Harpt is but the veil: its true essence resides in the caduceus with two serpents coiled at its base, by which one crosses unhindered the thresholds of the realm of the dead. Not even the water of the River Lethe, where souls drink to forget, can erase the memory of one who carries within him the echo of the other world.