100.1 — The Tree That Remembers.
In the forest clearings, they worked in silence:
children with saplings, women tending the earth, men among the ashes.
"Further to the left.
That one needs more space."
Siraya's voice was calm but firm.
Dirty hands and intact smiles.
Planting something new… it always felt like winning a small battle.
Further off, among the trees that survived the fire, Enay walked alone.
Her brow was furrowed as she analyzed the canopy.
She stopped in front of a tree, observed it, and sighed with frustration.
"Not enough shade here..."
She kept walking, a single idea in her head:
the veterinarian would arrive soon… and with him, the sloths.
She had saved them, but now they had to return to the jungle,
not just anywhere, but somewhere safe.
***
In that moment, someone spoke behind her.
"Child… what is the matter?"
Enay turned.
Siraya, priestess and mother of Zayra, moved forward with the calm of one who belongs to the forest.
Her deep eyes listened more than they spoke.
"Nothing..."
Enay replied immediately.
Siraya raised an eyebrow.
"Truly?"
The young woman sighed, defeated.
"I'm worried."
She gestured to the trees around them.
"The sloths arrive today… and I don't know where to put them."
She hesitated for a second and added.
"Besides…"
Siraya tilted her head slightly.
"Besides?"
Enay pressed her lips together.
"I'm worried they will burn it all down again."
She looked around.
For a moment, the forest fell silent.
Siraya did not answer immediately; she simply observed the place.
Then, she pointed to a massive tree nearby.
"Come."
They walked to a gigantic rubber tree.
Its trunk was bulging, like an old belly… full of stories.
Siraya sat at the foot of the tree and gently tapped the earth beside her.
"Sit."
Enay obeyed.
"Close your eyes."
"Why?"
Enay asked, puzzled.
"Because I am going to tell you a story."
The priestess replied.
Enay sighed but complied.
The wind passed through the branches of the rubber tree.
Then Siraya began, and her voice grew soft and ancient, as if the forest itself remembered her.
"Long ago… on the banks of the river… there lived a young warrior."
Without realizing it, Enay leaned her head on Siraya's shoulder.
She smiled and tenderly stroked her hair.
The world went silent; the birdsong drifted away, and the forest became a distant murmur.
Siraya's voice continued no longer from the outside, but from somewhere far away.
"...on the banks of the great river..."
And then, the forest vanished.
The air burned in her lungs.
Enay was running.
She didn't understand why; she only knew she had to run.
Branches whipped her face as she tore through the jungle.
The ground trembled beneath her feet.
Her chest ached.
Her breath broke into desperate gasps.
She must not stop. The shouts grew closer.
A whistle cut through the air, and a spear thudded into a tree just steps away.
Enay did not look back.
She just kept running until the forest opened up.
The river appeared before her.
Immense, dark, and deep.
It roared like a living beast.
The current was violent.
Behind her, the pursuers emerged from the woods.
There was no time and no choice.
Enay took one breath.
And threw herself into the water.
The river was freezing.
The current swept her away instantly.
She tried to swim… but her body no longer responded.
The air left her lungs.
The water closed over her head.
And the light vanished.
The silence was absolute, and for an instant… she thought she would die.
Then, something changed.
The darkness began to glow.
A soft light appeared beneath the water.
It didn't come from the sun; it came from everywhere.
The fear and pain disappeared.
Something warm enveloped her, as if the river itself were holding her and the jungle were embracing her.
The light grew stronger, clearer, and more alive.
Her body began to change.
Enay no longer felt her arms or legs.
She felt roots.
Deep roots.
The water no longer drowned her; it sustained her.
Her chest opened into petals.
Her leaves spread across the surface of the river.
Large and strong.
Floating without sinking.
The current struck.
The storms came.
The river rose.
But she remained, floating.
Looking at the sun, in the middle of the water, a flower was born.
A flower that would open its petals at night reminding the world that even in the darkness… one can bloom.
***
"Enay?"
The voice came soft and distant.
The young woman's eyes slowly opened.
The rubber tree stood over her.
The branches gazing down at her.
Siraya was still stroking her hair and spoke.
"You fell asleep."
Enay blinked.
She could still feel the river; she could feel the current.
"I was..."
Siraya smiled tenderly.
"Dreaming."
Enay took a deep breath, her heart still beating fast.
"I was the warrior..."
She whispered.
Siraya let out a small laugh.
"No, child."
She looked at the forest around them.
The new trees, the wounded earth, and life returning.
"You were the river."
Siraya said, affectionately stroking her head.
She looked toward the water and added.
"From that, the Irupé was born the flower of the jungle that only opens its petals at night."
Enay looked at her.
"Why at night?"
Siraya smiled.
"Because even in the darkness… one can bloom."
Silence returned.
Siraya slid her hand gently over Enay's hair.
"Do you understand now?"
Enay remained quiet for a few seconds, the river still inside her chest.
"So… resisting is enduring… right?"
Siraya slowly shook her head.
"No… it is transforming. The wind moved the ashes above them. "
It did not sink to die, but to transform and carry on."
Enay lowered her gaze, thoughtful.
Siraya continued.
"Our people call it Aguyjé; it is not avoiding pain; it is crossing through it… and being reborn differently."
She looked at the forest, with new shoots rising from the scarred earth.
"To be like the river. It is to go around the stones in the path… and keep going."
The silence stretched for a moment.
The forest breathed around them.
"And the Irupé…"
Enay murmured.
Siraya offered a thin smile.
"It floats, no matter what happens."
Enay slowly looked up.
Her eyes were no longer frustrated.
Siraya looked at her with tenderness.
"That is how the jungle is, and that is how we are: if they wound us… we remain standing."
Enay took a deep breath.
Then she stood up abruptly and spoke.
"I know!"
Siraya raised an eyebrow.
"What?"
Enay pointed to a group of younger trees near the river.
"There. That is the perfect place for the sloth family."
Her eyes were shining again.
She looked at the forest with determination.
Siraya watched her in silence and smiled.
Somewhere among the branches… the jungle, wounded but alive,
began to breathe once more.
100.2 — Pieces That Do Not Kneel.
The city was awake.
Below, patient cars.
Above, a nameless building.
Inside, an office.
Dark walls, a minimalist bar.
Screens showing maps and routes.
And inside, the former president who still moved the country…
was removing his cufflinks with surgical precision.
He sat down.
Crossed one leg.
Let the silence speak for him.
The door opened without a knock.
A tall man entered, wearing an expensive suit and a foreign accent as subtle as perfume.
He carried a black folder and a tablet.
As if he had come to talk about markets… and not lives.
"Good evening."
The foreigner said, with precise courtesy.
Ivor Amaro did not respond immediately.
He only looked at him.
Finally, he spoke.
"Speak."
The foreigner nodded, accustomed to the tone.
He opened the tablet; a map appeared with marked points.
"We have new confirmations. Eastern Bolivian zone."
The man smiled slightly, as if he had been told "there is cake."
"Oil again?"
"No. This time it is mineral."
"What mineral?"
Ivor asked, without real interest.
The foreigner hesitated, as if measuring how much ignorance the king could afford without looking ridiculous.
"Coltan and Thallium."
The man blinked once.
"And what the hell is that?"
He asked, without shame.
The foreigner smiled with the patience of someone explaining the obvious to someone dangerous.
"Technology."
The man let out a brief, dry laugh.
"Ah, so… the new fever."
He leaned back.
"And what is it worth?"
The foreigner said little, only the keyword.
"Millions."
The silence grew tense… and he understood why they had asked him to set that area on fire.
He leaned his elbow on the desk and massaged his temple.
"And where exactly is this marvel?"
The foreigner zoomed in on the map: green, orange, red… and a strip in the Chiquitanía.
Ivor's smile widened.
"The Chiquitanía..."
He repeated, as if savoring a joke.
The foreigner continued, professional.
"The bosses demand guarantees: security on routes, protection at loading points, and discretion."
Ivor raised an eyebrow.
"Discretion?"
He asked, as if laughing internally.
"This country is so discreet it doesn't even notice when it's being robbed."
He whispered.
The foreigner did not laugh; he wasn't there for jokes, but to demand results.
"There are also reports of local extraction on their own account, mostly gold."
"And?"
Ivor shrugged.
"They will learn. The easy way… or the other way."
The foreigner said, like someone ordering a lightbulb to be changed.
The foreigner lowered his voice slightly.
"The partners want to avoid noise."
The man clicked his tongue, feigning annoyance.
"How delicate."
He sighed.
"Militia and police are at your disposal… if they are properly recognized."
The foreigner nodded.
Ivor looked at the map again.
He noticed a line and asked.
"What does this line represent?"
"Trains."
The man's laugh was longer this time.
"Ah, of course."
He settled into his chair.
"A massive department… without a train for its people, but with a train to loot them."
He paused and reflected.
The foreigner remained serious.
"We need it to stay that way."
Ivor waved his hand as if shooing a fly.
"I have people in places you can't even pronounce."
His eyes gleamed with irony.
The foreigner swallowed hard but continued.
There were things that could not be omitted.
"There is another matter."
That phrase changed the air.
Ivor stopped smiling.
"Which is?"
The foreigner opened another folder within the tablet.
"The forest reserves."
A muscle in the man's jaw tensed slightly.
"What about the reserves?"
The foreigner took a second.
"You lost that front."
Silence.
The air grew cold… because Ivor stopped pretending to be patient.
"What do you mean I lost?"
He asked, calmly.
The foreigner lowered his gaze.
"The case was lost. The environmentalists were better."
Ivor didn't scream… but something snapped.
"The lawyers..."
He repeated.
The word tasted bitter.
Lawyers and journalists… small stones, but uncomfortable ones.
"Who is leading them?"
He asked slowly.
The foreigner replied.
"There is no specific leader."
Ivor let out a humorless chuckle, went to the window so as not to glare at him, and questioned.
"And my officials?"
The foreigner held up the tablet, showing names.
"Some responded; others cooled off. The pressure changed… and the climate."
The man pressed his fingers against the edge of the glass.
"They cooled off?"
He whispered.
"Now they're growing a conscience?"
The foreigner, ever professional, dropped the final bomb.
"The bosses want you to resolve it. It is an obstacle; we cannot operate like this."
Ivor took a deep breath and reflected.
"How ironic… I was president, and now I take orders.
But in this game, we all have a boss… and forgetting that costs you your power."
He turned slowly, with a controlled smile.
"Don't worry… no one is incorruptible; they are just poorly appraised."
The foreigner nodded.
"There is also the matter of the lithium contracts."
"That is already handled. My senators will deliver."
Ivor raised a finger.
The foreigner closed the folder.
"That is all."
"Send everything to my assistants. And tell your boss that I am… busy."
He said, without looking back.
The foreigner hesitated.
"Busy?"
Ivor gave a toothless smile.
"Governing even if they haven't given me the title yet."
The door closed.
Silence returned.
Ivor stopped and poured himself a drink.
The map was still there.
Bolivia, painted in green, orange, red.
A box titled "To Vacate" listed 34 communities, coordinates, population, and "operational risk."
Ivor looked at the wooden Cross on the wall and spoke.
"If these people don't know what they have under their feet… it's not my fault."
Ivor straightened up slowly.
And in that silence… someone had just decided that the jungle was no longer a jungle.
It was loot.