I was here before them. Long before.

Before the streets, the palaces, the churches, and the bells. Before the borders. Even before the men who tell my story today knew how to pronounce my name.

I was already watching over the highlands.

From my summit, I gazed out over an immense land: endless deserts, lagoons of impossible colors, dormant volcanoes, and seas of salt that reflected the sky.

At my feet lived the people of the White King. They knew that I was not just a mountain. Mountains had a spirit. The earth was Pachamama: mother, origin, and destiny.

And I held a secret deep within me.

Silver.

They did not yet know the hunger that word would awaken.

Until one day, men appeared from a distant world. They had lighter skin, long beards, metal armor, and giant animals never before seen at these heights. They carried a cross… and an unknown ambition.

They had come looking for me.

They had heard of a mountain of silver. When they found me, I realized I would never be the same again.

They climbed my slopes. Then they entered me.

First there were just a few. Then hundreds. Then thousands.

They cut wounds into my rock and dug deeper and deeper. Around me, they built a city: Potosí.

And the city grew until it became a marvel of stone and wealth. Its squares filled with merchants, miners, priests, and travelers from every corner of the world. Bells rang where once there was only the wind.

My silver crossed the Andes, traversed the oceans, and circled the globe. It passed from kingdom to kingdom, until kings who had never seen my face learned of my existence.

Then I ceased to be merely a mountain. I became a name. A promise. A treasure.

While Potosí shone as one of the world’s most opulent cities, I continued to be drilled. Deeper. Further. Deeper still.

I saw men arrive from all peoples and races. I saw languages, beliefs, music, and festivals blend together. I saw a new world come to life at the foot of my slopes.

I had been a sacred mountain.

Then I became a mine.

Then I became wealth.

And over time, I became memory, identity, and history.

Men began to sing of me, and one day I heard my new voice:

“I am Rich Potosí, the world’s treasure, I am the king of the mountains, the envy of kings.”

Then I realized that it wasn’t just my name that had changed. The world had changed.

My depths still know the silence of those who descended into them. From on high, I continue to gaze upon the highlands as kingdoms come and go and coins disappear.

I stay.

Because some mountains hold minerals.

Others hold water.

I hold a story.

And as long as someone continues to retell it,

I will remain the Rich Potosí.