"Some warnings arrive as whispers, others as earthquakes. The wise learn to hear both."
...
In the deep chambers of Stellarum, where ancestral stones still held echoes of broken oaths and half-fulfilled prophecies, the Council of Ancients convened for the first time in three centuries. The circular obsidian table reflected not only their faces marked by the weight of millennia, but fragments of distant worlds — magic that allowed sight through barriers separating realities.
Luna occupied her place in the circle, but her chair had been deliberately moved away from the others. The message was subtle but clear as crystal: she was no longer just the Heiress. She was an independent political force, one some Council members feared almost as much as they respected.
"The fissures spread like infected wounds," said Kael'thara, gesturing toward one of the reflective surfaces where golden cracks spread like veins of gold through familiar landscape. "The Eternal Plains Kingdom lost three more villages this week. Not to invaders, not to plagues or natural disasters. They simply... ceased to exist."
"It's the imbalance," murmured Lyralei, eldest of the Council, her voice fragile but still carrying authority that had witnessed empires born and die. "The prolonged absence of the Bridge of Worlds is corroding reality's fundamental stability. Like a body trying to function with half a heart."
Heavy silence fell over the circle. Everyone knew the truth no one wanted to verbalize: each day Gabriel remained in the other world, each day he drifted further from his true nature, both worlds disintegrated a little more. The bridge that should connect was becoming the chasm that destroyed.
"Then bring him back," said Theron, youngest Council member, his youthful impatience cutting through ancestral diplomacy like a sword through silk. "Send a detachment. Open a portal. Do whatever's necessary before there's no world left to save."
"And if he refuses?" Kael'thara's question hung in the air like a suspended blade. "If he's so rooted in that existence that he chooses to abandon us completely?"
Luna spoke for the first time since the Council had gathered, her voice quiet but loaded with weight that made even the Ancients straighten like soldiers before a queen.
"He won't abandon us. When he knows what's at stake, when he understands the true price of his absence..." She paused, looking at images of devastated lands mirrored in obsidian like ghosts of a dark future. "He'll come home."
"And if he doesn't know?" Theron insisted, his youth making him incapable of accepting uncertainties. "If he's so immersed in that life that he doesn't even notice the signs we send?"
It was Lyralei who answered, her voice carrying the cruel wisdom of one who had lived too long and seen heroes become legends, legends become myths, and myths dissolve into oblivion.
"Then we'll make him notice. By any means necessary."
Luna stood abruptly, the stone chair scraping against the floor like a bird of prey's cry. "No."
"Your Majesty," Kael'thara began, but she cut him off with a gesture carrying all the authority of warrior queens who had ruled before her.
"We won't hunt him like a fugitive criminal. We won't drag him back chained like a prisoner of war." Her voice grew, echoing through chambers with force that made torch flames tremble. "He is the Bridge of Worlds, not an object to be recovered by force."
"And while we wait for this epiphany," said Theron with barely contained sarcasm, "our world continues unraveling like a frayed tapestry."
Luna stared at him with eyes that blazed with their own light — a silent warning that made the young councilor instinctively retreat.
"We'll give him reasons to remember," she said finally, each word weighted like a sentence. "Not through brute force, but through... careful reminders. Memories planted in those closest to him. Dreams that aren't dreams. Echoes of our reality bleeding into theirs."
The silence that followed was loaded with implications.
"That's dangerous," murmured Lyralei. "Interfering with innocent minds, planting memories that don't belong to them... consequences could be unpredictable."
"The consequences of not acting," Luna replied, "are guaranteed. The destruction of both worlds."
She headed for the exit, then stopped without turning.
"Prepare the Shadow-Blades. It's time to remind my Solmere that some bridges work in both directions."
Behind her, the Council sat in stunned silence as reality itself seemed to shudder in response to her words. In the obsidian reflections, the golden cracks spread a little wider, and somewhere in a distant dimension, a young man with increasing power and decreasing wisdom felt an inexplicable chill run down his spine.
...
The UFPA campus breathed with the rhythm of Amazon seasons — a constant pulse of growth and renewal Gabriel had learned to use as a metronome for his thoughts. But this morning, as he walked along avenues of century-old mango trees, something in the air seemed different. Denser. Charged with expectations.
"Gabriel!" A voice intercepted him before he could reach the library entrance. A first-year freshman approached, visibly nervous but determined, carrying a folder against her chest like a shield. "Sorry to bother you, but... could you take a quick look at my project? It's about electronic waste recycling, and I heard you have a special talent for finding innovative solutions..."
Gabriel smiled — the kind of smile he'd perfected over recent weeks, warm on the surface but calibrated for maximum efficiency. "Of course. Tell me about the main problem."
Five minutes later, she walked away with a complete implementation plan and eyes shining with a mixture of gratitude and admiration that made him feel simultaneously gratified and slightly empty. Simple solutions, he thought while watching her leave. Why do people overcomplicate basic logistics issues?
The thought stopped him mid-step. When had he become so... dismissive? When had he started measuring human interactions in terms of efficiency resolved?
"Impressive." The voice cut through his thoughts like an ice blade.
Gabriel turned. Professor Henrique stood a few meters away, observing him with that analytical expression that always made him feel like a specimen under a microscope.
"Professor Henrique." He kept his voice neutral, professional. "Good morning."
"Good morning, Gabriel. I couldn't help but observe your... impressive facility with complex solutions. It's genuinely rare talent." Henrique approached, hands clasped behind his back in a posture suggesting both academic reflection and military assessment. "But such talents, especially when they seem to defy conventional probabilities, bring specific responsibilities... and particular dangers."
Gabriel felt a chill run down his spine like ice fingers. There was something in Henrique's precise word choice that was too specific to be coincidence, too targeted to be casual observation.
"Dangers, professor?" His voice came out tenser than intended.
"The energy that drives a high-performance engine," Henrique continued, eyes never leaving Gabriel's face, studying each micro-expression like a cartographer mapping unknown territory, "can be the same energy that catastrophically overloads it, if not properly directed and controlled. Especially when that energy is... statistically unusual."
For a fraction of a second, Gabriel considered confronting Henrique directly. Asking what he really knew, what specific suspicions he harbored, what evidence he'd collected during his careful observations. But something new moved within him — a calculated coldness he didn't entirely recognize as his own.
"Our success, professor," he said, voice perfectly modulated to transmit confidence without arrogance, competence without defensiveness, "is due exclusively to hard work, efficient strategy, and exceptional team dedication. Nothing more... statistically unusual than that."
Henrique's smile was small but loaded with meaning Gabriel couldn't fully decipher. "Of course, Gabriel. Of course." He began walking away, then stopped and turned one last time. "Just remember: even the purest and most well-intentioned light can cast unexpected shadows when not properly anchored in clear purpose."
Gabriel watched him leave, heart accelerating against his ribs like a war drum. He knows, the thought crystallized with brutal clarity. Or at least suspects enough to be investigating.
And for the first time since arriving in Belém, the prospect of someone discovering his truth didn't fill him with relief or gratitude, but with something darker. Something that whispered that secrets were power, and power shouldn't be shared without careful strategic consideration.
The feeling was foreign, cold, and utterly addictive.
...
The Enactus room had metamorphosed again. The schedule on the wall, courtesy of Mikaela's military precision, dominated an entire side of the space — a cascade of deadlines, goals, and milestones extending like a paved road to the World Cup. There was something geometrically perfect about the organization that made Gabriel feel simultaneously impressed and vaguely claustrophobic.
Outside, Belém pulsed with the organic rhythm of rivers flowing toward the sea, of trees growing toward light, of people living according to natural rhythms of tides and rains. Inside, time had become linear, quantified, optimized.
"Everyone," Mikaela was saying, her voice cutting through air-conditioned air with surgical precision, "let's establish some fundamental realities. The South Korean team operates with a two-million-dollar budget. Germany has strategic partnerships with three multinational corporations and access to laboratories our university can't even dream of possessing. The United States..." She paused for calculated maximum dramatic impact. "Has a support team of fifty people and technology that makes our prototypes look like science fair projects."
The silence that followed was dense as the air before an Amazon storm. Gabriel observed faces around the renovated table — Carlos nervously biting his lip, Caio losing his usual brightness in his eyes, Felipe calculating impossible costs aloud, Leonardo absorbing data with increasingly somber expression.
Among them, scattered like satellites in carefully calculated orbits, the team's new members listened with the intensity of those who'd just discovered they'd enlisted for war.
"So," said Caio, trying to inject his characteristic lightness into the heavy atmosphere, but his voice came out slightly forced, "that's it, guys. We go there to look good and take Instagram photos?"
No one laughed. The joke, which would have broken tension with familiar efficiency just weeks ago, now sounded inadequate, childish in the face of the challenges they confronted.
"No." The word came from Gabriel's mouth with authority that made everyone in the room turn toward him like plants toward the sun. "We're going there to win. Completely. Indisputably."
There was something in the quality of his voice — iron certainty that transcended confidence and touched territory closer to manifest destiny — that made even Mikaela arch an eyebrow with renewed interest.
The meeting continued with well-oiled machine efficiency. Mikaela directed a complex technical question to Carlos about new prototype efficiency data. Gabriel saw his friend hesitate, saw familiar insecurity settling in his eyes like clouds covering sun, and acted on instinct.
"The statistical variation in the data," he said, cutting through Carlos's hesitation with blade precision, "results from dynamic environmental adaptation of the systems. Our algorithms are demonstrating learning capacity and self-optimization based on each installation's specific conditions. It's exactly the kind of adaptive innovation that will differentiate us from more conventional and static solutions from international competitors."
The answer was technically impeccable, strategically sound, and delivered with confidence that made Mikaela nod with genuine approval. New members seemed impressed. The schedule on the wall seemed to approve.
But Gabriel caught the quick look Carlos gave him — not gratitude, but something more complex and disturbing. A mixture of relief and diminishment that made him realize, too late, that he'd answered for his friend, not with him.
Just efficiency, he justified to himself, pushing discomfort into a well-locked mental compartment. The team needs definitive and quick answers, not hesitation at crucial moments.
But the justification tasted bitter, like a lie becoming truth through repetition.
...
Two hours later, Gabriel ran through Belém's streets with urgency bordering controlled desperation. The meeting with Mikaela had extended far beyond planned schedule — an irony not lost on someone who'd become obsessed with temporal efficiency — and now he was dangerously late for an event that admitted no flexibility: Sofia's father's birthday dinner.
In Paraense culture, some traditions were inviolable. Missing a family patriarch's birthday without life-or-death reason wasn't just rudeness — it was a declaration of disrespect that would echo through future generations of family conversations.
Belém traffic had apparently conspired specifically against him. He looked at his phone: fifteen minutes late and counting continued rising like debt accumulating interest.
In front of him, a red light blocked his path with medieval castle gate obstinacy. Behind, a line of cars extended for entire blocks. Beside him, bus passengers observed him through windows fogged by the city's perpetual humidity.
Frustration rose up his throat like bile. Just a traffic light, he thought, fingers gripping the steering wheel until his knuckles turned white. A stupid, inflexible light between me and...
He focused.
It wasn't a conscious decision — it was pure instinct, pure will manifesting through channels he still didn't completely understand, but which responded to his need with growing efficiency. Green, he ordered silently, directing his will like a laser through space between his car and electronic equipment. Now. Immediately.
The traffic light blinked erratically — red, yellow, red again — then jumped to green with speed that completely defied normal urban timing patterns.
Gabriel accelerated, a satisfaction smile touching his lips like the first sip of water after a desert day. It had worked. Quick, efficient, no apparent consequences for anyone who really mattered.
It was only when he was three blocks ahead, navigating through traffic with a sense of control that had become addictive, that he heard the discordant symphony of horns behind him. Through the rearview mirror, he saw the confusion he'd left in his wake like debris from a controlled explosion — cars from other directions that had advanced in what should have been their time, emergency hard braking, a near collision between two motorcyclists avoided by centimeters and feline reflexes.
The smile died on his lips like a candle snuffed by wind.
More disturbing than urban confusion, however, was the sensation that followed direct power use. The "cold void" he'd experienced before, but intensified and expanded. As if something fundamental inside him had been drained and replaced by irritation he didn't recognize as originally his own. An impatience that whispered in an increasingly familiar voice that obstacles existed to be removed by force, not circumvented through patience.
As he fumbled for his keys while jogging toward the restaurant, something fell from his jacket pocket and skittered across the sidewalk. Gabriel barely glanced at it in his rush — just caught a glimpse of metal catching streetlight before disappearing into a storm drain.
Minor operational costs, he rationalized, trying to ignore how his hands trembled slightly on the steering wheel. All power has operating expenses. What matters is that it worked perfectly when I needed it.
But when he arrived at the restaurant and saw Sofia's relief smile transform into concern as she studied his expression, Gabriel knew some costs were higher and more visible than he'd initially calculated.
He tried to recall what had fallen from his pocket, but the memory felt strangely distant. Something small, metallic. Probably just loose change or a pen. Nothing that couldn't be easily replaced.
The cold void in his chest pulsed with quiet satisfaction, and Gabriel pushed away the nagging sense that whatever he'd lost had been far more important than spare change.
Focus on what matters, he told himself as he embraced Sofia and offered apologies to her family. Everything else is just distraction from the real objectives.
But throughout dinner, even as he charmed Sofia's relatives with stories of their impending World Cup victory, Gabriel found his hand unconsciously reaching for his jacket pocket, searching for something that was no longer there.
Something that felt, inexplicably, like it had been the last anchor connecting him to a person he was forgetting how to be.