The afternoon sun weighed heavily upon the Quilombo. In recent days, Nyran found herself entangled in a web of boredom and inertia. With iron becoming scarce, the long hours at the converter had given way to empty time. She couldn't return to the army – her value, they had told her, was here – so she clung to the only routine she had left: training to exhaustion, away from prying eyes, while unsuccessfully trying to gather information.

  "Dealing with people has never been my strong suit," she thought with a familiar bitterness. "Espionage, for me, has always been about silence, observation, the precise strike. Not about... small talk."

  Her muscles burned as she ran, marking the rhythm of her thoughts around the soccer field. In the center, a spectacle of carefree joy. Tassi, sweaty and laughing, dribbled past her friends with a natural grace, her laughter echoing in the air.

  "How is this possible?" The thought cut like a blade. "She just works, plays this ridiculous game, and barely touches a sword. And yet... she still defeated me. It's unacceptable."

  She increased her pace, trying to bury the frustration under physical exertion. Sweat streamed down her face, and she tasted its salt on her lips.

  "I wish I could end this soon," she wished, breathlessly. "But with the Popess acting as a peace mediator... That's why Caetano Velho hasn't given the signal yet. He's hesitating."

  A familiar, warm sensation pulsed on her finger. The ring. A silent warning.

  "And there's still this ghost, this shadow watching me," she reflected, slowing her pace until she stopped, hands on her knees, chest burning. "After the last attacks, the surveillance has only increased. Do they suspect? Do they know?"

  The hot air filled her lungs. A fly buzzed near her ear, insistently.

  "At least Caetano Velho is cautious. He gives me openings. And he'll open another one soon."

  As she caught her breath, she saw Tassi say goodbye to her friends and head towards the dressing rooms. Nyran followed her. Despite her constant claims that her steel wages were irrelevant, a part of them had been spent on a Mino warrior dress, identical to the one Tassi wore. The rough yet familiar fabric against her skin was an ambiguous comfort. Wearing it was like wearing a piece of a past that no longer existed, a feeling of home that hurt.

  As they changed in the stuffy locker room, smelling of ash soap and dried sweat, Nyran couldn't help but notice the details on Tassi's body. The muscles, once defined and ready for combat, seemed softer, less tense. The skin lacked recent battle marks.

  "Tassi... you're still strong," Nyran broke the silence, her voice rough from exertion. "But you'd be stronger if you trained like before."

  Tassi pulled her own shirt over her head, her voice muffled by the fabric.

  "But I do train! Just... less. I have a lot of things to do. But you..." She emerged, and her gaze swept over Nyran's body, marked by prominent muscles, a network of silver scars, and thick calluses on her hands. "With so many free days, you could do something besides torturing yourself. You could play soccer with us. I don't think pushing your body to that limit is good for you."

  Nyran shook her head, her face an impassive mask.

  "No. I need to be prepared. For anything."

  The two finished dressing in silence and left the locker room, the warm afternoon light caressing their faces. The noise of life in the Quilombo – children playing, the distant hammering of a blacksmith – seemed a world apart.

  "I've told you," Tassi started again, her voice softer, "just by helping with the steel preparation, you're already defending the Mocambo. It doesn't have to be all or nothing. The firearms will handle the defense."

  "Those weapons again," Nyran thought, a pang of frustration in her neck. "She always mentions them, but never goes into details. No matter how much I try to get closer, full trust doesn't come." The ring on her finger was cold. "And the observer is gone. He trusts that Tassi is a sufficient guardian for me... How humiliating. She's stronger living so carefreely. Why did I dedicate my life to strength, if all I achieved was falling behind?"

  "Is something bothering you?" Tassi's question was direct, soft.

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  Nyran was almost surprised. "What? How did she notice? I thought I hid it well." But a spark of opportunity ignited within her.

  "Are those weapons... really that strong?" Nyran's voice came out harsher than she intended. "Strong enough to negate decades of training? Decades of dedication?"

  Tassi simply nodded, a solemn gesture.

  "Give me more!" Nyran thought, desperate for a crack.

  "But..." Tassi hesitated, choosing her words. "There is a way for you to get stronger. Carlos has a theory... He thinks knowledge helps with magical aptitude, with the use of gems. He thought of it after seeing how I improved. Since I'm a minister, I have to go to school to learn to read and write. But even if I weren't, I'd go. To test if it's true."

  "So that's why," Nyran's thought was quick, sharp. "I see members of the guard going to the school at night. Even the other spies... They're all seeking this."

  "Perhaps..." Nyran let the word hang in the air. "Perhaps I should start, then."

  They walked along the concrete sidewalk to a simple bar, with new wooden tables and the pleasant smell of homemade food in the air. They sat down.

  "Yes, do start!" Tassi encouraged, a mischievous smile on her lips. "Because currently I'm one of the dumbest in the class, and I need someone dumber than me to feel smart."

  Nyran's expression didn't change, but a faint, almost imperceptible smile tensed the corners of her mouth. Luckily, the waiter appeared to take their order, giving her a moment to recompose her facade.

  After the man left with their order for two caipirinhas, Tassi returned to the subject.

  "The pity is that we're short on teachers. Almost everyone who knows how to read and write is doing overtime at the school, teaching the basics to earn a little extra cash." She sighed, looking around. "To be honest, the money is never enough. Carlos keeps putting more things on the market... The latest were some beauty products. I'm using some on my hair, it's really good. I also moved into one of the new apartments they built, and the rent is absurd..."

  "There she goes talking about Carlos again," Nyran thought, her interest piqued. "The person she mentions the most. If I could get close to him, it would be perfect. I could discover where all this strange knowledge comes from... The rumors say he came from another world. It can't be true."

  The waiter brought the drinks. Tassi took hers immediately.

  "Well, maybe the rent is absurd because I took one of the best apartments," she admitted, taking a large gulp. "But that's beside the point."

  This time, Nyran couldn't completely contain her smile. A low sound, almost a laugh, escaped before she could stifle it.

  "Dealing with Tassi is bringing out sides of me I didn't even know I had," she reflected, observing her calloused fingers around the glass. "In the army, we never had time for moments like this... But it's all for the mission. I think..."

  "You know," Nyran said, her voice a little less rigid, "you have to take me to see this apartment of yours!"

  Tassi finished her gulp before answering, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand.

  "I will! It's just... I'm still fixing up the place. It's a mess, I haven't finished organizing the new furniture I bought."

  The two talked a little more, about trivialities, about the sour and sweet taste of the cacha?a, about the relentless heat. The tension in Nyran seemed to have lessened a bit, dissolved in the easy conversation and unexpected company.

  After a while, the two left the bar and said their goodbyes. Nyran smiled a little, remembering her recent days in the Mocambo. Until the sound came.

  It was first a guttural, distant blast that cut through the Quilombo's hustle and bustle like a knife. A single, long, and urgent note. Then, another joined it. The horn.

  For everyone in the Quilombo, that sound meant only one thing: attack.

  For Nyran, it meant opportunity. She didn't wait. She turned and sprinted away.

  Her heart pounded in her chest, not from fear, but from anticipation. She reached her hut, a simple, dark room. The smell of dry straw filled the air. With precise movements, she reached inside the straw mattress and pulled out a small roll of paper tied with a string: her most recent report.

  Then, she ran into the forest. Her feet knew the path, avoiding roots and rocks with an agility born of repetition. She passed trees with almost imperceptible marks, signals only her trained eyes could decipher. Finally, she reached a specific tree, with a hollow trunk disguised by vines.

  With fingers trembling with haste, she pushed the vegetation aside. The opening was there. She prepared to insert the report when her fingers touched another paper. There was already a letter there.

  The blood seemed to freeze in her veins. With a dire premonition, she unrolled the new message. The handwriting was Old Caetano's, dry and merciless.

  The reading was quick. The words burned more than any blade.

  “In the next attack, seize the opportunity and kill Chief Carlos and Tassi Hangbé.”

  She was supposed to stand firm. Focus on the mission. It was what she had always done, for years on end. Obedience was the backbone that allowed her to live in this new world she had been thrown into.

  But this time, something different sprouted in her chest, a poisonous and uncomfortable seed.

  Doubt.

  Her hands, steady enough to wield a sword, trembled holding the light piece of paper. The impassive face she had so carefully cultivated cracked, and in the distant echo of the horns that continued to sound, alone in the dark forest, Nyran allowed herself, for a single instant, to doubt everything.