⚠️ CONTENT WARNING ⚠️
🕯️💔🧠
The following chapter contains references to delicate situations,
particularly those related to emotional vulnerability.
There is no intent to sensationalize or exploit these themes.
Everything narrated is a work of fiction.
Reader discretion is advised.
📝 AUTHOR'S NOTE 📝
🤍📖🛠️
I apologize for my absence over the past few days.
I had planned to upload this chapter earlier,
but I was dealing with health issues and couldn't do so.
In addition, I've been working on the adaptation
of Chapter 1 for Global Comics,
correcting writing errors and improving the narration.
This needed to be done before moving forward.
From now on, chapters that are fully closed narratively
will include a checkpoint ✅, meaning
they will no longer be modified.
This chapter is intentionally long.
There is a possibility that the release on Global Comics
and the next announcement may take between four and seven days.
This is my first project in this format
(and also my first Toon),
so I truly appreciate your patience.
Thank you from the bottom of my heart
for reading and accompanying this story.
💙✨
____________________________________________________________
On the other side of the world, Kamei-san and Jack
were still crossing the China Sea
on a long and exhausting journey.
With them traveled Yeon-Shil, the last Hierophant,
on a voyage with no return.
The Korean girl, the man of uncertain origin,
and the final ancestor of the Astro pressed on
after facing violent storms
that had delayed their course far more than expected.
The small boat's engine roared unevenly, and the constant
sway of the sea grew increasingly exhausting
with the slow, unbroken passage of days at open water.
Kamei-san stared at the horizon for a few seconds
before speaking, his gaze fixed on the distant line of the sea.
"Frankly… I had forgotten how horrible it was
to cross the China Sea in such a precarious
and drawn-out way."
He paused and took a deep breath,
letting the fatigue accumulated over uncertain days
on the water slip out with it.
"I also don't remember how many days a journey like this takes.
And with this tiny motorboat…"
he shook his head,
"it exhausts me not knowing when we'll actually
reach our destination."
Jack, pale and leaning against the side of the boat,
answered with a voice slightly broken
by the persistent seasickness.
"I don't know… but we'll get there.
Don't worry too much."
He brought a hand to his stomach
and closed his eyes for a moment,
trying to face the sea to calm himself.
"Although right now…"
he swallowed,
"I feel nauseous.
I think I'm going to throw up. God…"
The sea felt distant,
yet its echoes seemed to reach them all the same.
On the other side of the world, in Vermont,
Nuriel, Adelaida, and Dánae
were going through an ordinary day,
though one weighed down by an uncomfortable atmosphere.
Adelaida kept her distance,
her arms crossed.
Nuriel said nothing either.
Since their last conversation,
she hadn't spoken to him again,
except to mention, barely looking at him,
that Nuriel had been having several nightmares
since that night.
Nuriel remained in the stable.
Adelaida, for her part,
only tried to clear her mind
while sitting in one of the towers
that stood before that gate.
It seemed that the loving coexistence of those days
had left along with Jack and Kamei-san.
Both knew what the other truly felt,
and even so,
they couldn't find a way to help one another
without hurting each other through ignorance.
They knew what to say,
but they also knew that words would not be enough
to understand what the other was feeling,
nor to soothe the anguish
without sounding hypocritical or pretentious.
Young Dánae watched everything in silence
and only thought:
"I could hear them. Not everything, but enough.
I think I can understand Nuriel, though not completely."
"I wanted to suggest that we eat together, but when
I came to see them, I saw Nuriel break down and talk
about how much it hurt him not to endure what he felt."
"Maybe it's selfish to think this way… I don't know
what he went through, but he isn't the only one
who comes from a war."
But she was different. Instead of trying to impose
a moralistic idea, she did something better:
she stayed with her and waited.
From the ground, she carefully climbed up to the tower
where Adelaida was. It took effort to reach it,
and when she finally did, Adelaida said nothing;
she remained silent.
Even so, Dánae tried to start a conversation,
perhaps only to understand something so complex for her.
It wasn't that she couldn't feel it, but when one has
someone who does not judge —like Jack— and does not
fully know human society, those concepts almost don't exist.
"Can I ask you something, Adelaida?"
She took a second before answering.
"What is it?"
Dánae hesitated before continuing.
"I've been thinking about something.
Jack used to mention a term called… suffering.
Can that really change a person?"
Adelaida did not respond immediately.
She looked away, as if searching for the words.
"Yes," she finally said. "We all carry some of that.
But not all of us face it the same way.
Some use it to seek something better.
Others… become harder."
Dánae fell silent, looking toward the stairs.
"Do you think Nuriel will be okay?"
Adelaida lowered her gaze.
"I don't know anymore," she admitted softly.
"I think now I'm the one who can't fully understand him."
She took a deep breath.
"Sometimes I wonder what my brother thinks of me."
Then she gave a faint smile, almost defensive.
"Forget it. It doesn't matter.
I'm saying nonsense."
She turned slightly and pointed to what lay before her.
"I'm sorry, Dánae. The truth is, I don't know how
to answer that question. I feel that if I did,
I would be being a… forget it. I'm talking nonsense."
"Nonsense?" Dánae asked.
"Yes, Dánae. Nonsense. Nothing but nonsense
comes out of my mouth…" Adelaida said,
trying not to show that more than not knowing how
to answer, she truly didn't know how to feel
without hurting herself.
The wind blew through the forest and echoed against
the entrance, dark and heavy, as if the place itself
understood the weight of being cut off from the world.
Before arriving in Vermont, each of them had lived
a different life, and some carried echoes
that refused to fade.
Helena was one of them, though she still did not
fully understand what it meant to embrace her abyss.
In Lisbon, where we now find ourselves,
those echoes took on a different form.
Helena was dreaming. Or so it seemed,
though nothing was truly clear.
She found herself in the middle of the sea,
floating over black, dense waters.
The sky, completely extinguished, held no moon
and no sun, only a uniform darkness
that covered everything.
She could barely feel her own body,
as if it no longer belonged to her.
The emotional exhaustion from running
all the way from Odivelas to Lisbon was so
overwhelming that even in her dreams,
she couldn't think clearly.
Everything felt slow, distant, almost unreal.
Then, in the middle of the dark sea,
a woman appeared holding a baby in her arms.
Helena took time to recognize them.
It was her mother.
And the child was her brother, dead for years.
Upon seeing them, she immediately thought:
"There are only two options.
Either death is coming for me.
Or I've simply gone insane."
The woman floated closer until she stood before her.
She leaned in, almost kneeling,
and brought her face close to Helena's.
"You have to go get Teodoro, sweetheart."
After that, Helena woke with a jolt.
She had slept too long.
The midday light struck her eyes,
and it took her a few seconds
to understand where she was.
Her body felt heavy, as if she hadn't rested
at all. Then she noticed she wasn't alone.
A man was watching her cautiously.
"Miss, are you all right?"
"Yes… excuse me…" she replied,
sitting up abruptly. "Ah—yes."
The disorientation did not fade.
She had run all night.
She wasn't thinking clearly.
She ran, she moved forward, she complied…
but she didn't feel as though she was heading
toward any kind of home.
Something inside her was beginning to dim.
Perhaps because, without realizing it,
she was embracing her own abyss.
She slipped a hand into her pocket
and pulled out the Orbs of Creation.
She held them for a moment, watching them
in silence, weighed down by a heavy melancholy.
She knew what she had to do.
She held in her hands
what needed to be done.
And yet, her mind remained far away.
In the favelas.
In what she could have done
before all of this.
After reading Teodoro's letter
and the one her mother had written,
Helena couldn't stop thinking about the worst.
Beyond the words, what the woman had done
unconsciously linked itself in her mind
to her biological father and, perhaps—
just perhaps—to herself,
for having left Teodoro in someone else's care.
The determination she had gathered
with so much effort began to crumble.
She wasn't someone who made abrupt decisions
without stopping to face what she felt,
but this time, the weight was different.
In her mind, like persistent echoes,
the thought repeated itself:
"I should have taken Teodoro with me.
I thought leaving him with someone else
would be the most prudent choice…
but now, with this, he'll think
that I abandoned him. And thinking it through,
I believe that's exactly what I did."
"I think I did the same thing his mother did…"
Helena stared at the ground with heaviness. At some point
in life, people tend to judge decisions too easily—
love, work, or life itself. What they often forget
is that not everyone thinks when they feel.
People like Helena feel more than they think,
and when they try to think, they are already overflowing
inside. At that moment, Helena was not processing
the situation. Processing was not understanding,
but deciding based on it, and that was what she
could not do at that precise instant.
Not because she was incapable, but because she had
never been someone who shielded herself from what
she felt when something hurt. Helena was not
particularly intelligent in practical matters.
She did not calculate consequences; she carried them
without questioning them.
That was why she was there, on the ground,
blaming herself without reason. She reproached herself
for not having understood sooner, for not having helped
Teodoro when she should have. In her mind, her decisions
seemed to have contributed to the harm caused by others.
It was an unfair thought, but one far too familiar to her.
That pattern had followed her since the favelas,
when she supported her mother and her brother
with what little she had back then. She had always
been like this: she felt first and thought afterward.
And when she thought, she only saw what was directly
in front of her. In front of her stood a bar.
In moments of stress, Helena knew one thing for certain:
alcohol silenced more effectively than any reasoning.
She checked her pockets almost instinctively and remembered
the money from her grandmother's room, saved in case
there was no food.
She held it between her fingers a moment longer
than necessary.
"Well…" she murmured.
"A drink won't hurt me to wake up."
She entered the tavern. They hadn't opened yet;
they were only cleaning, preparing to receive customers
when morning arrived.
As she opened the door, a deep voice stopped her at once.
"Young lady, it's very early. We're not open yet."
"Please… help me," Helena said, her voice trembling.
"I just want wine… no, better cognac.
I need to drink something."
The man watched her warily, assessing her condition.
"Are you all right?"
"No," she replied, letting her shoulders drop.
"I'm not fine… not at all."
She placed all her money on the counter
without saying anything else.
"Please… give me the bottle. Everything you have.
I just want to forget, for a moment,
what I'm supposed to do…"
The bartender sighed.
He had seen that look before.
Without a word, he set the bottle of cognac
down in front of her.
Helena stared at the glass, her eyes completely empty.
She drank.
She drank again.
And she kept drinking.
Changing scenes, we find ourselves in the same Lisbon,
in Avenidas Novas, inside Joaquim's apartment.
He had finished breakfast and left the house.
The sound of the door closing lingered
for a few seconds before silence
settled in completely.
The maid remained standing a moment longer,
tidying the table and collecting the dishes
with slow, deliberate movements.
The morning sun came in through the window,
warm and unhurried.
When she finished, she allowed herself to sit down.
She had barely rested her body on the chair
when a voice broke the stillness of the place.
"You sat down," Teodoro said,
his tone calm.
She startled.
"Ah… I'm sorry. I shouldn't have done that."
"No," he replied at once.
"It wasn't a complaint.
I just… heard it."
She hesitated, looking around,
as if Joaquim might appear at any moment
from one of the rooms.
"This is Mr. Joaquim's house.
It's not right for me to sit like this."
"But he isn't here right now," Teodoro said,
with a faint smile that could be heard in his voice.
"Besides, you don't make any noise when you sit down.
That's unusual."
She let out a short exhale, almost a laugh.
"All right… just for a moment."
She adjusted herself carefully.
The house fell silent again,
broken only by the distant song
of some bird.
"Don't worry," she said after a while.
"You'll be fine here. My mother will come by
later as well. She heard you were part of
Mr. Joaquim's family and wanted to bring
you some cookies."
"Thank you," Teodoro replied.
"That sounds… kind."
Time continued to move forward without any hurry
inside the house. The light shifted slightly in angle,
and the warmth began to feel heavier
within the rooms.
"Hey…" Teodoro said after a long silence.
"Do you know how to read?"
"More or less," she replied.
"Not very well."
"That's okay," he said.
"I don't read like I used to either."
She looked at him, confused by the answer.
"Then why are you asking me that…
if you're blind?"
Teodoro smiled.
"Because someone used to read to me before.
Helena. She read me books, stories…
anything at all.
It didn't really matter what it was."
His voice grew softer, almost careful.
"She was very good to me."
The silence that followed was different,
heavier than before.
The maid didn't know what to say
after those words.
"She's going to come for me," Teodoro added,
with a certainty that needed no explanation.
"Even if she doesn't know where I am."
"How is she going to find you," she asked,
"if she doesn't know where you are?"
Teodoro tilted his head slightly.
"I don't know," he whispered,
with a mischievous smile,
but at the same time with fear,
unsure whether that would truly come to pass.
The hours went by without anyone counting them.
The sun slowly began to withdraw,
and the house filled with long shadows
when Joaquim returned at dusk.
The afternoon faded away completely
without anyone noticing.
When Joaquim returned to the house, the light was low
and the air smelled of freshly cooked food from the kitchen.
The maid served him dinner in silence, without looking at him.
He took the first sip of coffee, mixed with whisky,
and only then did he decide to speak calmly.
"Thank you, young lady," he said.
"Tomorrow is your day off, remember?
Tomorrow will be mine as well."
He paused briefly before continuing.
"Leave me alone with young Teodoro.
There are things we need to talk about."
"All right, sir," she replied.
"And… I'll leave the bottle here."
"Perfect."
The young woman prepared to leave.
She did not live in that house,
and before crossing the door, she stopped for a moment.
"Good night, Teodoro."
"Good night," the boy replied.
The door closed.
The dry sound echoed more than expected
throughout the house.
For a few seconds, no one spoke.
"Uncle Joaquim…" Teodoro finally said.
"Why did you bring me here?"
He hesitated, as if the question were not enough.
"Uncle… can I ask you something else?"
Joaquim raised his gaze.
"What is it?"
"She…" Teodoro swallowed.
"She's not going to sleep here tonight?"
"No, Teodoro. She has her own house."
"Oh…" he murmured. "All right."
Joaquim smiled with barely concealed irony.
"What? Did you think she was like your Nona?
That woman did live in your house, didn't she?"
"Yes…" Teodoro replied, nervous.
"She lived in my house."
Silence fell between them, thick and uncomfortable.
Teodoro took a deep breath before speaking again.
"Uncle… can I ask you another question?"
"Go ahead."
"Do you know where my mother is?" he asked.
"Where is my mom…?"
The question unsettled Joaquim.
Although it might seem like something Teodoro
should have known, the truth was that the subject
of his mother had not been touched before,
not after so many months of silence.
And unlike other members of the family,
Joaquim had no tact with words.
He did not answer right away.
He simply looked at him with a hard, piercing expression.
And even though Teodoro was blind,
he could feel that weight upon him:
a gaze charged with more than silence,
perhaps annoyance,
perhaps restrained anger.
Meanwhile, Helena was still at the bar.
She could not think.
She cried, drank, laughed without knowing why.
Her mood unraveled with every drink she took.
At times she stood up and clumsily danced with men,
as if her body moved on its own, without will.
At other moments she returned to the table
and folded in on herself,
resting her forehead on her arms, exhausted.
One of the men who had invited her to dance
guided her toward the bathrooms beside the bar.
As he clung to her body and whispered
empty words into her ear, Helena began to give in.
The drunkenness had made her clumsy,
detached from herself.
But when he tried to kiss her, something broke.
The memories came without warning,
sharp and cruel.
She thought about why, having everything she needed
to leave, she had not gone to look for Teodoro.
And then a single image rose above all the rest.
Teodoro was waiting for her.
Helena reacted as best she could, trying to stay conscious
amid the drunkenness that clouded her senses.
"Let me go… let go of me now," she murmured at first,
her voice broken by alcohol
and a poorly contained desperation.
The man did not release her,
not even when she asked again.
"Please… let go of me… not now," she insisted.
"No… no, no… please, sweetheart… not now."
But this time it wasn't like before.
Something inside her broke.
Helena clenched her fist with what little clarity
she had left and struck him hard,
a direct blow to the head.
The impact was dry, brutal.
The man fell to the ground without reacting,
like dead weight.
"I told you no, damn it," she spat, breathing hard
as a tremor ran through her body.
The body lay still,
and the silence grew thick.
Still dizzy, Helena looked at him for a second
from the floor
and murmured with barely audible contempt.
"Drunk idiot."
She staggered out of the bathroom
and returned to the bar
as if her body were moving on its own.
She collapsed onto the stool beside the bartender,
exhausted.
"Another bottle… please," she asked in a rough voice,
scraped raw by tears and alcohol.
The man shook his head slowly,
without raising his voice.
"No, girl. You've had too much.
You've been here all day."
"We hadn't even opened yet," he continued,
"and you were already drinking nonstop."
"Just a little more…" Helena pleaded,
her eyes bright and glassy.
"Please… just a little…"
The bartender watched her calmly,
without harshness or judgment.
"And why are you like this, huh?"
"Drinking all day…"
"Tell me. Maybe it'll calm you down a little,
or maybe it'll just make you want to drink more."
"That's for sure… you drink like a sailor.
I still don't understand how you're standing."
Helena gave a sideways smile, tired to the bone.
"Because I can't fall," she murmured.
"If I fall… there's no one to pick me up."
She took another drink, slower this time,
almost carefully.
"I'm tired…" she continued in a low voice,
"of being strong all the time."
"Of pretending it doesn't hurt."
She looked at her hands and slowly turned them,
as if they no longer fully belonged to her.
"Sometimes I forget that I'm still a girl," she said,
with a weary modesty she could barely hide.
"Here, no one lets you be one."
She struck the bar without force,
more from clumsiness than bottled-up anger.
The wood creaked under the impact,
and a few splinters dug into her skin.
"Ow…" she whispered, pulling her hand back at once.
"Look how stupid I am…"
The bartender frowned, attentive.
"Hey, careful."
"Sorry…" Helena replied quickly.
"I didn't mean to."
She let out a nervous laugh,
wiping away her tears with the back of her hand.
"I'm no good at staying still," she added.
"If I stay still… I think."
The laughter died abruptly.
"I miss them…" she said softly.
"My mom.
My brothers."
"I couldn't say goodbye."
She hugged herself, curled inward,
as if her body were trying to protect itself.
"I thought I would come back…
I always thought I would come back."
The tears fell without making a sound.
"Do you know what the worst part is?
I didn't do anything wrong…"
"And still, I lost everything."
She drank in silence, without lifting her gaze.
"The only thing I have left is Teodoro…"
The name loosened her chest at once.
"It's strange…" she smiled faintly.
"When I say it…"
"It sounds like I adore you."
She laughed softly, embarrassed.
"I adore you, Teodoro.
How cheesy…" she shook her head.
"But it sounds nice."
The bartender glanced at her, curious.
"Who is he?
Your boyfriend?"
Helena shook her head slowly, still staring at her glass.
"No…" she finally replied.
"I wish it were that simple."
She looked at the dark liquid, as if searching for something.
"He's… different.
He doesn't look at me like the others do."
She pressed her lips together before continuing.
"With him, I don't have to pretend anything."
She shrugged,
like a child caught doing something wrong.
"And that… is a little scary."
She took another drink and smiled through held-back tears.
"I've known tall men, strong men…
the kind who walk into a room and everything goes quiet."
She made a vague gesture with her hand.
"Imposing, you know?
But him… him, no."
She frowned, searching for the right words.
"He's… pure.
That's it. There's no reason."
She took a deep breath.
"I shouldn't love him…
and I do."
She shook her head with a short, broken laugh.
"I'm not like this.
This doesn't happen to me."
She brought a hand to her temple.
"I thought I had everything under control,
that I was being good…"
"That everything was fine."
Her voice faded.
"And I'm not even thinking.
Nothing is fine."
"What if I hurt him?
By staying…
or by leaving?"
She closed her eyes.
"What if I only exist
to ruin Teodoro's life?"
Suddenly Helena let out an exaggerated, fractured laugh.
"Hahahaha! Well…" she wiped her nose.
"But I have to admit something."
She leaned her elbow on the bar, speaking without restraint.
"He's cute. I like freckled men,
light eyes, rosy lips, curly hair…"
She made a wide, almost theatrical gesture.
"Like he stepped out of a fairy tale.
Ridiculous, right?"
"Wow," said the bartender.
"So you really are in love."
"…"
"And why aren't you with him?"
Helena let out a long sigh, as if it weighed years.
"Well… I don't think it's because of age.
I'm eighteen… and he's fourteen."
She shrugged.
"It doesn't matter, right?"
The bartender spat out his whiskey.
"What!? He's younger than you?"
"Well… at least I think he likes me a little,"
she laughed. "And how could he not?"
She pointed at herself, half joking.
"Look at me… I'm a chocolate dessert."
She stopped short.
"No… that's what Cintia used to say… a friend."
Her voice softened.
"I miss her. I hope she's not doing badly.
We used to drink together after work…"
She stared at the glass, distant.
"The men treated us well
because we were together…"
"Cintia…" she repeated,
and her voice broke.
She cried again, this time without a smile.
"I don't know where she is," she murmured.
"I'm such an idiot."
She pressed her lips together.
"I left her sitting there. I stepped away…
just for a moment… and she vanished."
She looked up suddenly.
"How am I supposed to find Teodoro?"
The bartender looked at her, unsure what to say.
Helena grabbed her head tightly.
"I'm so stupid…"
Suddenly, she opened her eyes.
"Wait… I'm an idiot!"
She slammed the bar, suddenly energized.
"I have the Orb of Creation.
How could I not find him?"
"Kid, listen… I think you should go home,"
he tried to say.
"I don't have a home anymore," she replied firmly.
"But if I'm being honest…"
She smiled crookedly, dangerous.
"I don't know if it's the alcohol or what,
but I've got my courage firmly in place."
She straightened up, unsteady.
"This time I'm going to take the risk.
Like always."
She took a deep breath.
"Love wasn't meant for me.
But with him… it changes everything."
"I felt like a little girl again…
something I had forgotten."
"Maybe he's the only person
who won't judge me."
She smiled, incredulous.
"Maybe he's the only one…
and the new home I want to go to."
She laughed softly, unsure whether to believe it.
"If I were given two choices… to return to who I was
or stay with Teodoro…" she shook her head.
"I'd choose Teodoro without thinking."
The noise of the bar clashed with the silence in her mind,
two opposing forces coexisting without fully touching.
Helena remained quiet, seated, staring at her glass.
Inside her, a war raged, pushing her either to rise
or to accept what she had long kept hidden.
"I'm a whore. I don't know anything else," she thought,
without softening the truth.
"These past months I was happy because my dream was simple:
to live somewhere that didn't smell of damp walls."
She pressed her hand against her chest.
"And when I finally had it, before this tragedy,
they took that from me too."
She took a deep breath.
"But even so… I don't feel like a whore anymore.
And even if it was only months, it feels like a lifetime."
The images returned without permission.
"They tore me from my home. They punished me for wanting.
I crossed the ocean. They almost killed me three times."
She lifted her chin.
"I don't know anyone tougher than me.
And I'm still here!"
Her fingers trembled.
"And now I'm supposed to be afraid? No!"
"No!" said Helena, standing up abruptly,
as if delivering a verdict.
Inside her, guilt and avoidance wrestled,
but a third voice rose above them: duty.
"I was a child back then. We only wanted something better.
And you, drunk pieces of shit, judging my mother
and me all the time."
Rage surged.
"Who were you to judge?
Men like you ruined our lives!"
She slammed the bar.
"You told us we weren't women,
and then you used us to speak badly about us."
Her voice cracked, but she did not give in.
"It's time I take responsibility for who I am.
And yes, I'm stupid, rough, an idiot. So what?"
She raised her voice, drunk but steady.
"And yes, I like Teodoro! So what?
Are you going to judge me?"
Her eyes burned.
"I love him. I love him.
And because I love him… I'm going to get him out of here."
She struggled to breathe.
"I'm going to teach him what love is."
Her voice trembled.
"Love is not what I have between my legs… it's what my
mother taught me. My aunt. Cintia. My siblings."
She pointed at herself.
"And now I'm going after the last love I have left."
"You all have a life… I don't.
People like us don't complain.
Because if we complain, they laugh at us."
She lifted her chin.
"I embrace what I am. My name is Helena Carvalho.
And the God who is in heaven named me
with a title worthy of a novel: the Saint of Light."
She left a few bills on the bar, all she had left.
"Here. I'm taking the bottle. I'm going to look for
Teodoro. I'm going to tell him how much I love him…
because yes, I love him. So what?"
"This time there are no excuses. I'm not afraid anymore,"
she said, laughing through tears.
"I'm coming for you, my love," she said, laughing at the
taste of the wine.
The bartender only thought, staring at the open door:
"That woman has more than one problem."
"Well… at least she paid."
Helena staggered out of the bar, dragging her feet.
The cold air hit her, but it failed to clear her head.
She searched her pockets carelessly, clumsy and scattered,
guided more by anxiety than by memory.
"Let's see… let's see… calm down…" she muttered.
"It can't be that I lost the orbs…"
She sat on the ground and took another drink without thinking.
"Think… remember… damn it."
She threw the bottle away, frustrated.
"This shit doesn't help!
The alcohol won't let me think."
Then an idea struck her, confused and poorly formed.
The orbs.
Teodoro's backpack.
The letters.
"I buried them…" she whispered.
"In Odivelas… or did I?"
She wasn't sure.
Drunkenness blurred memories with guesses.
"God… why did I bury them?
How stupid I am!"
She struggled to her feet.
"No… I can't allow this.
I'm going to fight for my man…"
She laughed, drunk, unaware of how broken she sounded.
"I'm coming for you, sweetheart.
Wait for me… my love."
She laughed to herself.
She took another step, as if to keep walking,
but her body no longer obeyed.
Her strength left her all at once
and she fell to the ground, defenseless.
There she remained, breathing slowly, defeated,
Teodoro's name still on her lips,
until sleep finally claimed her.
Meanwhile, Teodoro still stood before his uncle.
Joaquim held his glass without drinking,
his gaze fixed on a point that did not exist.
"Teodoro… speaking of my sister
would be like speaking of Judas…"
The silence grew heavy.
"But there are things that can no longer be hidden."
At last, he lifted his gaze.
"And if you're going to stay here,
you deserve to know the truth."
Teodoro held his breath.
The past was about to open.