The dark nights of Rio had always symbolized a battle for Maria. As the floodlights burst to life in an abandoned port warehouse, she walked toward the ring. Worn black t-shirt on her back, hands wrapped tight, eyes burning with fury and focus. The ring at night was her sanctuary. It was where she hurt, but also where she felt most alive.

  The crowd roared: “La Reina!”

  That was her name. The Queen. But she hadn’t built her kingdom with a crown—she built it with her fists.

  Her opponent was down. Gasping for breath. The audience went wild. Maria was panting, her heart racing. Then her eyes locked on something on the man’s wrist—a strange tattoo:

  "From five, the power must unite."

  Time stopped.

  The roar of the crowd faded.

  Her eyes were fixed on that phrase.

  And inside her, a familiar emptiness began to grow. She had never seen those words before, but her soul seemed to have always known them.

  With the first light of dawn, Maria prepared for another battle in the backstreets of Rio. Outside the fights, her life was another kind of war—on the streets. Every morning, with a small team she had built herself, she fought to rid the neighborhoods of muggers, drug dealers, and the darkness of gangs. Her team... was made up of kids just like she once was. Orphans. Lost. Forgotten. She had taken them from the streets, given them shelter, a purpose.

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  Each morning, their fight began with the sunrise.

  This time, their fists were raised for the streets.

  In Maria’s eyes, no child was born a criminal.

  They were all products of the system, the streets, of desperation.

  And she was determined to pull them out of the same hell she had survived.

  But the real war wasn’t just outside.

  Maria’s true battle began in her dreams.

  Every night... the same dream.

  Five children.

  Far apart, yet walking in the same darkness.

  Each spoke a different language—none understood, but all felt.

  And one of them always whispered the same name:

  “Maria...”

  Every time she woke up, her eyes were wet with tears.

  A hollowness, a sense of something missing clung to her chest.

  Again, one night, Maria jolted awake.

  Her body drenched in sweat.

  The room was stifling hot, the air thick and nearly unbreathable.

  Darkness still blanketed the sky.

  In the distance, a siren wailed.

  Stray dogs barked endlessly.

  Slowly, she got out of bed.

  Parted the curtain and opened the window.

  A gentle breeze brushed against her face.

  And then—she saw him.

  A man in a hoodie, standing by the opposite wall.

  He was spray-painting something fast and messy. His movements were rushed but deliberate.

  Maria narrowed her eyes, watching closely.

  He didn’t seem to want to be noticed.

  A few seconds later, he lifted his head.

  They were just a moment away from locking eyes...

  But the man suddenly dropped the spray can and ran, disappearing into the shadows of the street.

  Maria turned her gaze quickly to the wall.

  "You have a new mission. Time is running out. We will find you. Until then, be ready."

  She couldn’t look away from the words.

  This... couldn't be a coincidence.

  The dream, the tattoo, and now this.

  Someone was watching her.