⚠️ Warning
This chapter contains delicate and explicit themes.
It addresses experiences of childhood abuse with due
respect and care.
I am not an expert on these subjects.
If you have lived through something similar, I ask for
discretion while reading, or, if you feel it is better,
to skip this chapter so as not to unsettle your experience. 🤍
📝 Author's Note — an honest summary of a week and a half 💻
If I had to sum up these days in one word, it would be: chaos.
A damn virus got into my computer and wiped everything out 😓💥
I don't know how it got there, I don't know what I downloaded;
it just appeared, and that was it.
I had to completely format the machine 🧹⚙️
I lost photos, lost Word files, and several saved chapters.
I also lost the comic adaptation that was already well advanced 🎨📄
Yes, I could have used the cloud, but I chose to trust my computer.
My mistake.
Everything that had been done… poof, gone ☁️❌
The story was far along, but now it's time to start from scratch.
I didn't publish earlier because I needed to face this chapter 🔄📘
Here, a major turning point occurs within the plot.
And, as I've said before, I am not an expert on these topics 🤍
I studied a great deal to make this as clean and respectful as possible.
I do not intend to offend anyone with what is narrated here 🙏
Thank you, from the heart, for continuing to read and walk with me 💙✨
______________________________________________________________________
The crackling sound of a simple campfire could be heard
from a distance. Firewood was stacked; the familiar warmth,
the kind necessary to make it through a night outdoors.
And there, seated, we can see an immortal.
He stared intently at the angel who accompanied him.
A river flowed nearby.
That was where they had caught their dinner.
As this man eats, the first thing he says
to the angel is the following:
"Tell me the truth…"
The angel did not react right away.
Galton did not take his eyes off him.
"Helena isn't the only one, is she?"
"What are you talking about?"
the angel asked.
Galton spoke without raising his voice.
As if there were no need to.
"This may be nothing more than speculation on my part…
but something tells me that Kamei-san has left
Vermont. Am I right?"
The angel held his gaze.
He neither denied it nor confirmed it.
And the silence, for the first time,
felt like an answer.
Galton lowered his eyes to the ground,
as if he already knew what was coming, and said:
"Then it's true."
The angel tried to correct himself:
"Galton, listen to me, I—"
But Galton interrupted him,
without harshness, without anger:
"I'm not here to question what God wants.
Don't think that."
"If I ask, it's because I don't know
whether my actions are obstructing
His purpose…"
"…or if I'm helping Him obtain
what He needs for this prophecy."
He lifted his gaze.
"I know it… well, I knew it
from the moment I left Helena."
"It doesn't seem like a coincidence to me
that such strange things are happening
on a spiritual level."
"And it doesn't seem logical either
that God would leave me in this place
without intervention…"
"…and yet still allow me to act alone,
to go after the saints, to make decisions
without telling me anything."
He paused.
"When I usually make a mistake… Kamei-san
is always away."
"It's as if the thread of fate,
twisted by my own decisions,
draws him in to correct it."
"To return it to the path I diverted
by wanting just a little more time."
"Kamei-san has been here since before all of this,
and I was there even before he had that name,
when he was still just a young boy…"
"Gao-lee, when our paths cross again,
I will beg your forgiveness on my knees…
and I will pray that God sends you back to Vermont"
He fell silent for a few seconds.
"Thus allowing God's purpose to come to pass.
Am I wrong?"
The angel finally spoke, his voice low:
"Then… what do you plan to do?"
Galton did not hesitate.
"Kamei-san is heading
toward the saint of the land."
The angel looked at him.
It was not an ordinary gaze.
It was dense, restrained.
As if the heavens themselves were watching,
not only Galton, but also the angels
and the choices they dared to make.
He did not answer.
Because God had forbidden it.
Galton exhaled slowly.
"God does not want me to know,
is that right?"
"Did He ask you to silence me…
or did He ask you to remain silent?"
The angel said nothing.
"I will go to the saint of the land," said Galton.
"And when I reach him…
I will make my decision."
"Don't think that I don't care
about the well-being of the saints."
"In fact… right now, I'm worried
about Helena."
"After you and I saw that thing,
and you wouldn't even tell me what it was…"
"…it looked as if a corpse had bathed in pitch
and crawled out of hell."
"That thing was breathing.
It had countless eyes all over its body."
"It's the most abominable thing
I have seen in my entire life."
"And the worst part of all…
is that it seems those things are following me."
"And if they're following me,
that means they must also be
following Helena."
Galton clenched his teeth.
"There's something you can do for me."
And then, his voice breaking,
yet steady, Galton said:
"Please, tell Helena to run away
with the saint of ice."
"Tell her to get out, to go to Vermont."
"It no longer matters whether or not
they capture the saint of metal."
"The situation is far worse
than I thought."
"They have to leave Lisbon,
no matter what."
"It was a mistake to leave
the saint of ice behind."
"But it's already too late to turn back."
"Now… the only thing I have left
is your help."
Galton said the following:
"Forgive me, please.
I serve God; help me fix my mistake."
"I was wrong, I was wrong about everything.
Crying won't change a thing.
For me, the only way to make this right
is to find the saint of the land
and have him go to Vermont.
But please, take this message to Helena.
Please, tell her to run for her life…"
The angel looked at him, saying:
"God told me I was to serve
a lost man,
but that he was the last torch
of old Israel."
"I am at your service, Thiago,
son of Enós."
"And the love of God is as great
as His justice,
and it is through it
that you remain alive."
"The love of God has made Helena hear you from here,
and His justice will ensure you find
the saint of the land."
"And do not despair.
Helena will escape…
You only need to have faith…"
But the feeling he had was not one of surrendering repentance.
It was like knowing you've made a mistake
and having to do what is right,
yet, even while doing it,
your heart stops feeling anything,
and you feel guilty for feeling nothing.
That same weight could also be felt by the angel.
For that very reason, he tried to comfort him.
How could an angel do it?
If pain doesn't force you to break,
then you simply have to endure,
because at some point God will touch your heart,
and it will be at that moment that you feel
insignificant before all that He represents.
Insignificant before your problems,
insignificant before what you recognize
as your reality.
Because, in a way, what we do
and the stories we build for ourselves
to feel like a chosen one
are nothing more than simple fables
we use to deceive ourselves.
And that is where it truly hurts:
when you can no longer lie to yourself,
but you cannot feel either.
Just like in Lisbon,
this man deceives himself.
June 27, 1964, Lisbon, Portugal.
The dining room was uncomfortable,
despite the leather chairs.
It was hard to explain
without falling into redundant speculation.
The drunken man, entrenched in his misery,
let the alcohol dull him
from his initial cynicism
and release the truth,
but only the truth as seen by him.
"Teodoro, my sister…
she was not always a sensible woman.
She lived between reality and her fantasies.
Your mother is far away;
she may have abandoned us…"
He let out a sarcastic laugh,
but then it shifted into something more genuine,
an expression of anger.
"It's natural for her to run; she's done it before,
probably to keep living her fantasy…"
Uncle Joaquim looked at Teodoro
with intense rage for a moment,
but then he smiled, saying:
"I won't lie to you
like Nona did."
"I can only tell you…
that my sister is dead."
His voice was slow,
heavy with alcohol.
The man took another sip
and gave a crooked smile.
"You know something?"
he said, dragging the words.
"You resemble her a lot."
Teodoro lowered his head,
uncomfortable.
"In fact, you inherited many things.
Her long hair…
her curls… her freckles.
My mother always compared us.
And now that I see you…
yes, you are just like her."
Teodoro was shocked by the response,
but he was also afraid.
His uncle was not speaking
like an adult.
Joaquim set the glass down on the table.
"Do you know why I have you here?
Because I want to preserve something of the family.
Something that was lost
when my sister married that bastard."
"Your father was never a good man, Teodoro.
He left custody to me."
He removed his vest,
sweating.
"He left me a letter," he continued.
"It said his son should stay with me…
even if many say terrible things about me.
I don't know if they are true.
I don't believe them.
Do you believe them, Teodoro?"
He stepped closer slowly
and whispered into the boy's ear.
Teodoro froze.
His heart raced.
As a way to evade his uncle,
he said almost in a whisper:
"I'm sleepy…"
he finally said, barely audible.
Joaquim smiled.
"Sleepy, Teodoro?
Relax. I'll help you get to your room."
The man took his hand.
His clothes smelled of liquor.
And he guided him down the hall
in silence.
Joaquim held his hand,
but he was not heading to Teodoro's room.
The hallway was long,
the silence heavy.
"Where are we going?"
the boy asked, uneasy.
"This isn't my room."
"Relax, Teodoro," the man said
in a slow voice.
"This is a special room…
for you."
He closed the door
with a dry click.
Teodoro froze.
Fear gripped him from the inside.
The man began
to unbutton his shirt.
"I'm surprised my sister left," he said.
"She was always a sweet, cheerful girl,
especially when she was a child.
Our bond was always something special."
Teodoro swallowed hard.
"Uncle, did my mother really
abandon me…?"
His uncle looked at him
with a mix of pity and malice on his face.
"Yes, Teodoro.
Your mother fled the country.
She was never hospitalized.
Well… she was,
but she left late.
After the accident.
I think you visited her, didn't you?
I saw you once leaving her room."
He stepped closer,
and whispered in his ear:
"But let's say your mother…
was a very shameless person."
Teodoro trembled.
He tried to gently pull away from his uncle,
but he held him tighter.
The man gripped him
by the shoulders.
"Your mother abandoned me.
And she abandoned you too."
His fingers moved down,
button by button.
This abominable man
was letting his twisted heart
take one more step
closer to hell.
Teodoro felt
a hand holding him tightly
in a place where no one should touch.
"Uncle, what are you doing?
It hurts…"
Teodoro felt
the air leave him.
He couldn't speak.
He couldn't move.
The disgusting abuser replied:
"Shhh… calm down, Teodoro.
I won't abandon you.
You have so much of her…
her innocence, even the way you speak.
You are just like her,
her freckles, everything."
His voice broke
between the liquor and madness.
"I'm going to remember her…
tonight… with you," he whispered.
Teodoro shivered.
He couldn't speak.
He couldn't move.
Only silence filled the house.
…
Just a few meters away, moving
away from Joaquim's dark room, several streets over,
we found Helena.
She was drunk, lying face down on the ground,
blocking the pedestrian path.
The people walking by complained
when they saw her lying motionless on the pavement.
That's why they called the Polícia de Segurança Pública,
who arrived and took her into custody.
She was medically examined to rule out serious injuries.
There were no worrying signs. Helena was fine.
Since she didn't wake up from anything, not even cold water,
they transferred her to a police station in the Alfama neighborhood.
They locked her in the cell with three other people,
leaving her under police jurisdiction.
She was detained indefinitely;
her ethnicity, lack of identification,
and a self-portrait linked to the South Atlantic incident
classified as terrorist all influenced the decision.
After a while, Helena began to regain consciousness.
She woke up in a completely dark room.
The only light came from the corridor.
Inside the cell, there was nothing.
The room was so dark it felt like a dungeon
rather than a temporary holding space.
Several hours had passed since she woke.
"Where am I? Where am I?"
she said to herself.
Panic surged. She was about to scream.
Then, a weak voice spoke from the darkness.
"Don't be afraid."
Helena startled. She didn't know where the voice came from.
"Who are you?" she asked, tense.
"Who am I? From the way you speak,
it's clear you're not from here."
"They told me you were drunk on the ground."
"Don't worry. Nothing will happen here.
In a few hours, they will let you go."
"If that was the only thing you did, you'll be fine."
Helena didn't think. She had no time to.
She jumped to her feet.
"I don't have time to waste.
I have to get out of here."
She clenched her fists. She was about to break the bar.
"Don't do that," the woman warned.
"If you make a scene, you'll stay longer."
"Longer?" Helena replied.
"I'm not staying a single minute."
Before she could force the grate,
a light appeared in the middle of the cell.
A blinding flash filled the room.
The women were blinded for a moment.
Two were asleep. The third fell to the floor.
What had appeared was an angel.
The angel presented himself to Helena and said:
"Helena, what are you doing here?"
"And why aren't you with Teodoro?"
"That's what I'm trying to do," Helena replied.
"I have to get out to find Teodoro."
"Everything is ready. The resources, the exit.
I don't have time for excuses."
The angel interrupted her, firmly:
"Helena, you have to go for Teodoro now."
"Yes," she replied. "That's what I will do."
Helena shook the grate violently,
making the building tremble.
"What's happening?" asked a guard.
"It's downstairs, sir," replied another.
The angel insisted, without raising his voice:
"You have to go for Teodoro."
Helena, beside herself, answered:
"Shut up already.
You always appear when it's no longer a message,
but just decisions full of ambiguity.
You always do the same.
It doesn't help that you're here.
I'll go for Teodoro now."
"Helena," the angel said.
His presence made the room shake;
the authority of the heavens manifested in him.
She startled and took a step back.
The angel spoke with power:
"Helena, daughter of Luzia.
Elohim has decreed that you take Teodoro to Vermont.
The saint of ice must be guided
by the saint of light."
Helena wanted to respond:
"That's what I'm doing. Right now.
I am…
But…"
The angel interrupted her.
He imposed his power on the cell with contained force.
The pressure made her fall to the floor.
"Helena, you have to go for Teodoro now.
Otherwise, the course of the stream will divert again,
and human errors will make it harder to heal the past."
"You disobeyed God's orders.
And now Teodoro needs your help."
Upon hearing this, Helena, almost instinctively,
raised her voice, trembling.
"What's happening to Teodoro?"
She shouted, desperate:
"What's wrong with Teodoro?!"
The angel began to levitate in the room.
His voice remained calm.
"God has already decided, now it's only for you to decide."
"God makes the stream of destiny
always return to where it began."
"The end is just a beginning that was not told
to prevent past mistakes."
"But ruins always remain.
Even if only to be remembered."
"What are you talking about?!" Helena yelled.
"What are you saying?!"
"What's wrong with Teodoro?!"
The room went completely dark.
The angel's presence had vanished.
A silence filled the hearts of all the women
in the cell, as if responding to their stress.
Helena panicked.
Her hands shook. Her breathing was broken.
She had heard that Teodoro needed help,
but the angel had not told her the whole truth.
She held her breath and moved toward the grate.
With all her strength, she tried to tear it down.
The building began to tremble under Helena's force.
"What are you doing, woman?" a guard shouted.
"Get me out of here now!" Helena replied.
"Give me back the orbs!"
"Do you think I didn't notice I don't have them?
Where are they?!"
"Miss, step back!" the man warned.
"Don't make me repeat myself!"
Helena pulled harder.
A weld on the bar began to give way
The guard panicked.
Not only because of her overwhelming strength.
But also because of her size: she was very tall
for an average woman of this time.
And like a typical response from an armed man,
justifying his protection with order, the cartridge
of his gun fired the first bullet
aimed at her leg, hitting the floor.
"Stay there!" the man ordered.
"Don't try anything else! Help! Help!"
Helena felt a flood of emotions at once;
the shot only enraged her.
Besides the fear she felt seeing her blood,
she felt life slipping from her hands,
and the helplessness of having the only support
be the stone-strewn ground cutting her knees.
She felt her decisions had not helped Teodoro.
Perhaps they had made things worse.
Like in the favelas, she tried to survive.
Although dangerous, it was her only world,
but now, with the vastness of the world,
the street girl could not feel big, despite her height;
she felt tiny against this world that oppressed her
for her past and for the color of her skin.
Everyone underestimated her attitude,
her having been a prostitute in the favelas.
It no longer served her here, nor did being a maid.
So, what was Helena? A prostitute, a woman?
A maid, or a chosen one?
Her heart began to beat so hard it hurt to breathe.
And in her only language of love that she knew,
she tried to cling to something to avoid drowning,
to everything she was ashamed of and guilty about,
even though the decisions they made and the consequences
were out of her control.
Luzia, her mother; her aunt, her grandmother, her deceased brother;
Marco, the last child Luzia had left; Galton and… Teodoro.
Fear activated another gift besides divine strength.
Her eyes lit up.
A flash, similar to that of the angels,
burst forth right in front of her.
Her hands began to glow.
It was not lava. It was not fire.
It was something else entirely.
Veins, nerves, bones could be seen.
When she grabbed the bars,
the metal began to melt.
The guard had already brought three companions,
all of them just to witness
how this woman opened the cell.
And, prisoners of their divine prejudices,
fear did not even allow them
to try to stop her.
Helena ran out of there.
She took the stairs two at a time,
dodging the unprepared men.
They tried to stop her, but they could not.
The divine strength had increased;
every step she took
weakened the ground beneath her.
She reached the chief's office
at the police station.
She entered without announcing herself.
"Where are my things?" she asked calmly.
"I need the orbs."
The man was not afraid at first.
But when he realized the arrested woman
had come with hostile intentions,
he did not hesitate to draw his weapon and fire.
Everything made sense
when the bullet did not strike her.
It disintegrated before touching her chest.
Helena barely leaned on the desk.
Unintentionally, she split it in half.
"If you want to see your children again," she said,
"tell me where my things are."
The man could barely meet her eyes,
trembling, revealing his age
as he wet the floor;
shaking, he pointed to a drawer in the office.
Personal belongings and identifications were found.
There were the orb of metal and the orb of ice.
Helena took them
and slipped them into her pocket.
Then she jumped through the window
and began to run.
People were scandalized as they saw her pass:
beaten, bleeding,
running with fury.
Helena was not thinking of anyone she might hurt
as she ran, completely out of control.
The orb began to guide her.
A couple of blocks away.
Teodoro.
"I'm going to get you out of here,"
"I won't leave you in this place."
"I don't know what's happening to you, but I'm coming."
"I just hope I'm not too late."
In front of her rose a massive building,
its many windows dizzying to look at.
"Damn it… my God," she murmured.
Then, a voice said:
"Third window. Second floor."
Helena took it as a sign from heaven.
She put the orb away and climbed the wall
like an animal.
The neighbors screamed.
The police shouted for her to come down.
Helena did not listen.
Her hand began to glow again.
With a single strike, she shattered the window.
She burst inside, screaming:
"Teodoro! Where are you?"
Before moving forward, she spoke out loud:
"Forgive me for not coming for you sooner."
"I was scared."
"I didn't know what I was doing."
"But now I'm here."
"I'm not leaving without you."
"Never."
"You're everything I have."
"We'll go far away. I'll take care of you."
"Please, stay by my side."
"Without you… I don't know who I am."
The rooms were all open.
Every single one, except one.
At the end of the hallway.
"Teodoro," she said.
"I don't want to sound rushed, but I love you."
"Just tell me how you feel."
"That's all I want."
The door was locked.
From inside, an adult voice asked:
"Who's there?"
Helena kicked the door down.
But the abruptness of the gesture shattered time,
and her mind couldn't grasp
what her eyes tried to deny.
The room was flooded with tears,
with a silence that screamed for divine help,
help for innocents like him in the darkness.
The young boy curled into himself,
as if the weight of pain pressed him to the floor.
His heart burned.
His soul burned.
He had never felt so miserable,
so powerless before the world.
What she saw didn't need light to be understood.
The shadow was enough,
the trembling of a wounded body was enough,
the broken sound
with which pain silently cries for help was enough.
It was a scene ripped
from one of humanity's most abhorrent truths:
childhood shattered
by the desire of a narcissist
worthy of a mental illness.
And in that moment, she knew:
Teodoro was broken forever…
And Helena…
could only stand there,
amid the ruins,
feeling something inside her
also break forever.
Helena had arrived too late…