Melchor Arilla

High above the Yesa reservoir lies what was once a village, now nothing more than memories: Tiermas. There, where families and dreams once thrived, wild vegetation now reigns, along with a silence that embraces the passage of time. Yet, if we look closely at what were once streets, houses, and churches, we can sense the whispers of the lives and memories of a community forced to flee its very essence. Tiermas is a limbo between oblivion and nostalgia, where the water has advanced and the trees have grown, but the stories refuse to fade away.