The sun had not yet burned away the serene morning mist when Tassi entered the quilombo's town hall. The air inside the newly built structure was cool and carried the comforting scent of lemongrass. Seated at her heavy solid wood desk, she wrapped her hands around the clay mug, feeling the heat of the tea penetrate her skin as she took a slow sip. The drink, bitter and sweet at the same time, was the best possible wake-up call. Beside it, a generous slice of moist, slightly sweetened corn cake completed her morning ritual. She could feel the sandy texture of the cornmeal between her teeth, a simple and profound comfort.

  Meanwhile, her assistant, a young man named Kaio, read the day's list in a low, clear voice, the paper trembling slightly in his hands.

  "Good morning, Tassi. The farmers who need your blessing today are: Old Man Zeca, in the northern cassava plantations; Dona Iaiá, with the new yam plants; and Old Man Elias, he needs help with the wheat."

  Tassi nodded, her eyes half-closed as she savored a piece of the cake. Old Man Elias's name made the corner of her mouth twitch upward. The wheat. It was her proudest project, a crop that refused to thrive in the quilombo's soil and climate without her direct intervention. A challenge she had gladly accepted.

  "Does Old Man Elias have the flour ready for me to take?" she asked, her voice a bit hoarse from the first sip of tea.

  "Yes, ma'am," Kaio replied, lifting his head a little. "He said the traditional mill worked perfectly. He set aside a bag especially for the town hall."

  "Good," Tassi murmured, standing up. The peace of the early day was a cloak she wore with gratitude. "Now, I need to inform Carlos about a matter."

  Before starting her routine, she headed to Carlos's office. To her surprise, Quixotina was there, the two immersed in an animated discussion about the school that would soon be inaugurated.

  "...we also need a cafeteria," Carlos was saying when Tassi entered.

  "Carlos, I need to inform you of something," Tassi interrupted, stopping in front of his desk. "Today, after completing my work, I will be participating in a duel. An old comrade challenged me."

  Carlos didn't even have time to open his mouth to respond before Quixotina jumped from her chair, her eyes shining with excitement.

  "A duel! Let me watch! I'm tired of messing with paper all day, this is real stuff!"

  Tassi sighed deeply, feeling the fatigue of the idea even before the duel began.

  "Sure, you can watch. But no interruptions, okay? This is a serious matter between two real warriors. That's why I need a judge," she said, turning to Carlos. "And you, Carlos, will be perfect."

  Carlos stretched in his chair, his bones cracking softly, and let out an exaggerated yawn before answering.

  "Sure, this sounds exciting. I'm tired of being cooped up in this place. A duel is much more my style than all this paperwork."

  "Agreed, then," Tassi concluded, turning to leave. "It will be at the soccer field after sunset. Don't be late."

  The visit to Old Man Elias was, as always, the most important on the list, a mix of work and celebration. The old farmer, his hands calloused from the hoe and with an easy smile that created deep wrinkles around his eyes, waited anxiously at the edge of his wheat field, which hadn't even grown yet.

  Tassi walked into the field, barefoot so she could feel the soil. She closed her eyes, planted her staff in the ground, and took a deep breath. A green and brown energy, only she could perceive, pulsed from the tip of the staff, flowing into the soil and intertwining with the wheat seeds like an underground river of life. She didn't force the growth; she whispered, encouraged, danced with the life potential that already existed there. Within minutes, the field seemed to breathe deeper, the colors intensifying from a pale yellow to a vibrant gold, as if the sun itself had decided to inhabit each stalk.

  Old Man Elias watched with a respect bordering on reverence, taking off his straw hat to wipe his brow.

  "Thank you, Tassi. With you, we will be able to eat bread like the plantation owners used to eat."

  Tassi turned to face the old farmer, a tired smile on her lips.

  "I just make the wheat grow, Old Man Elias. It's your sweat that harvests and turns it into food. Speaking of which, how is the flour?"

  He nodded towards a sturdy burlap sack leaning against the wall of his humble log house.

  "All ground in the mortar and pestle, the old way. The secret is patience. Let the wheat rest, let the stone do its work slowly…"

  Tassi smiled, smelling the flour dust emanating from the sack.

  "For now, that's how it is. But soon Carlos will install one of those steam engines for grinding. Have you seen what they're like? That thing is a metal monster, like a beast ready to roar and attack someone."

  Elias didn't seem to share the same enthusiasm. His face, marked by the sun, remained serious, and no smile lit it up.

  This narrative has been purloined without the author's approval. Report any appearances on Amazon.

  "For me, food has to be made with human hands, otherwise it loses its taste, loses its soul. That's why I live out here in the fields and refuse to work in those noisy factories. Everything I eat comes from this land…" He paused, spitting on the dirt ground with skepticism. "Even your magic, with all due respect, doesn't seem the most natural to me, but…" At that moment, a slight, unexpected smile appeared on his tired lips. "My wife really wants to make a cake with wheat flour, and I can't refuse her. She's already set aside the eggs."

  The other visits followed the same rhythm. Using magic to make plants grow, Tassi had never been good at dealing with people, but lately she felt she was improving, listening more to the stories and less just to the demands. It was tiring work that made her bones ache, but deeply rewarding. Seeing the earth respond to her touch was the purest form of magic she knew.

  At noon, the unmistakable aroma of feijoada – a heavy smell of black beans, bay leaves, and fatty meat – guided her like an invisible thread to Aunt Vera's restaurant. The place was a convergence point of the mocambo, always noisy and full of life, with the sound of cutlery clattering on plates and voices overlapping in animated conversations. Tassi got her food and settled in a corner on a rough wooden bench. The black beans shone, the dried meat fell apart, the ribs were succulent… it was a banquet of resilience and flavor.

  As she ate, savoring the creamy texture of the beans, listening to the conversations around her, the topic turned to the recent attacks on the quilombo's borders. Two young warriors, their voices laden with raw indignation, spoke of the people killed by monsters just before dawn.

  "I bet it was the Governor's doing, it's always the same thing… they won't leave us alone!" said one of them, his fist clenched on the wooden table, making the plates tremble.

  Tassi slowly chewed a piece of collard greens, feeling its slightly resistant texture between her teeth. The words echoed within her, but found a place cushioned by experience. The news was serious, yes, but it didn't surprise her. It didn't affect her with their desperation, they who barely knew the constant, bitter taste of war. Instead of panic, a familiar, heavy sadness settled in her chest, cold as a stone. She remembered other times, when her spear was lighter in her hands and the war cry was more frequent on her lips. She remembered faces, names of sister warriors who were no longer there to sit at the table and share a feijoada. Loss was an old acquaintance, a scar that ached less with time but never completely disappeared.

  She finished the meal in silence, and the sadness was dispelled with a simple and perfect dessert: a scoop of mango ice cream she bought from the ice cream parlor where Jorginho worked. The fruit was sweet and sour at the same time, a freshness that cleansed her palate of the saltiness of the feijoada and, in a way, soothed her spirit. She noticed the man behind the counter seemed happier lately, humming softly, but she didn't comment, preferring to delight in the smooth texture of the ice cream melting on her tongue.

  The afternoon was dedicated to her other work: experimentation. In the laboratory fields, as Carlos called them, a series of straight, organized beds housed her boldest investigations. Today, the focus was corn. The air smelled of damp earth and manure.

  She had created a peculiar mixture of bat guano, with its strong, ammoniacal smell, and cattle manure, incorporating it into the soil of a specific bed. With the grass gem bracelet firmly adjusted on her wrist, she channeled her power over the seeds planted in the earth. It wasn't the gentle whisper of the morning; it was a focused command, an intense and controlled stimulus. A light sweat broke out on her forehead from the effort.

  The results were, indeed, promising. The corn plants sprouted and grew before her eyes, the green leaves unfurling and reaching knee-height in a matter of minutes, with a faint sound of vegetation expanding. She observed the vivid green color of the leaves, the firmness of the stem to the touch. The grass gem only forced the growth; now she had to ensure the plant maintained its nutritional value, something else she learned from Carlos, and also its taste.

  "Kaio, note this down," she said without turning around. "Accelerated growth. Vibrant color. No apparent wilting. Now we just have to see how long this will last. The last one stayed like this for ten minutes."

  She heard the sound of the young man's pen scratching against paper. Each day that passes, the idea of learning to read and write sounds better… I think I'll have to go to school at night too, when the school is open for adults.

  The sun began to say goodbye, painting the sky with shades of orange, purple, and a deep red. Tassi wiped her dirt-stained hands on her clothes, a satisfied fatigue weighing on her limbs, mixed with anticipation for what was to come. The workday was almost over, but one last appointment awaited her.

  With the last rays of sun lighting her path like golden torches, Tassi headed to the soccer field. There would be no game today; the space was silent and empty, except for a single figure. There, under the flickering light of twilight, a slender, serious woman waited for her with a rigid posture: Nynran.

  The warrior, about the same age as Tassi, wore a pair of sturdy shoes adorned with green gems, wind gems, which seemed to capture and reflect the last light of the day.

  "You're late," Nynran said, her tone a clear, cold challenge.

  "You know I'm a Minister, don't you? I have a lot of work to do. Work that directly impacts the future of this quilombo," Tassi replied, stopping a few meters away.

  Tassi wore only two simple bracelets: one contained the earth gem, opaque and brown, and the other the grass gem, with a soft inner glow. The revolver she owned was with Carlos; after all, she didn't even want to think about killing her old friend. Besides, using a firearm in a duel like this would be a kind of cheat, a dishonor.

  Seen from afar, it seemed there were only the two of them on the wide field, but both felt a dark, attentive presence hidden at the edges of the lawn. Tassi knew it must be Shadow.

  On the wooden benches, in the distance, were two more people, who would be the judges: Carlos and Quixotina. Watching the two warriors prepare, they conversed in low voices carried on the breeze.

  "It seems you're not the only one who loves duels, Quixotina," commented Carlos, a mischievous smile on his face.

  Quixotina wrinkled her nose and crossed her arms, visibly irritated.

  "Hmph, at least I win my duels!" Quixotina said this loudly enough for her voice to echo clearly across the field and make Tassi roll her eyes.

  Even from far away that pest manages to be a nuisance.

  Nyran looked in the direction of the two in the stands, her face a mask of disdain.

  "It seems you've made little friends. They seem quite… weak. But what that pale one said… Don't tell me you lost to her?"

  Tassi didn't let herself get irritated. She took a deep breath. After all, she had learned very well from Quixotina herself that appearances can be deceiving.

  "They will be the judges," Tassi replied calmly. "And don't worry, they will be impartial. You can trust them."