The sun beat down gently on the village, made up almost entirely of wooden houses nestled among the folds of the tropical forest. The tin roofs reflected the light with a soft glare, while the scents of onion, coriander and coffee wafted from the open windows. Orchids of impossible colours exploded in the gardens, and hummingbirds, flying gems, zigzagged in silent duels among the leaves.
Gabriel clutched a basket of freshly picked mangoes. He walked barefoot along the path leading to Isabelle's house: discoloured planks, a rope-coloured veranda, a floor that creaked with every step.
"You woke up early again today," said Isabelle, sitting on the step with a book on her lap. The sun made her dark hair shine with coppery highlights.
"Dad wanted to take me to the market, but I pretended to be asleep," he replied with a crooked smile. "What are you reading?"
"A collection of myths. Here it talks about the jaguar as a messenger of the gods. They say it can travel through time."
Gabriel sat down next to her. "It's just like you."
Isabelle smiled without answering.
******
Life in the village was slow. At the market, people bartered: rice for bananas, fish for cassava, black beans for rare spices. No one was in a hurry, yet everyone was busy. Children ran barefoot between the stalls, old people told legends under the sacred fig tree, and smoke from the embers rose in spirals into the air.
After lunch, Gabriel and Isabelle set off into the forest, over the hill, towards the gorge they called the dragon's mouth. It was a forbidden place, and for that very reason, irresistible.
"The ground is dry, it hasn't rained for days," said Gabriel, looking at the path. "The ravine must be at least twenty metres deep."
"It's not the depth that's scary," Isabelle replied. "It's not knowing how to get back."
Gabriel laughed. Then a stone gave way under his foot.
The world turned upside down. The sky turned green, the leaves swirled. He fell. But he didn't plummet.
Time crystallised, as if immersed in water. His hair floated around his face, his body slid with unreal slowness. He saw every detail: a lizard on the wall of the ravine, a nest among the roots, Isabelle's frozen face above him.
A vine. His arm stretched out, driven by something that was not just instinct. He grabbed it. He swung. He remained suspended.
Isabelle pulled him up, panting.
'You were... flying.
"No. I was falling."
"Sure. Falling in slow motion, like in stories."
"I'm fine, just a little scared. Don't you ever get scared?"
"I get scared every day. But fear has nothing to do with this."
Gabriel stared at her. He wondered at what point in her life she had become like this: strong, authentic.
They walked silently along the ridge. The cicadas chirped, the heat was humid, resinous. Gabriel looked at his hands: dirty, scratched, but intact. The arm that had grabbed the vine wasn't shaking. It seemed stronger. As if, for a moment, it had become something else.
"Don't say anything to my parents," he whispered.
"I couldn't. We already have too many secrets," replied Isabelle. "But you should talk to your mother about it."
"She thinks I'm special. The way every mother thinks of her child.
"What if you really are?"
Gabriel was silent. Isabelle stared at a spot among the leaves. She saw things that others didn't, not only in the jungle, but in people.
"The old man with the tamarind seed necklaces was at the market today," he said, changing the subject. "He says they bring good luck, but only if you find them without looking for them."
"You don't need seeds," she replied, kicking a stone. "You are a seed."
Gabriel laughed. "You're crazy."
"Not me. The forest," she said, smiling.
They returned at sunset, with the sky orange and the buzzing of insects growing louder. Gabriel's mother was waiting for them on the veranda, with a sketch in her hand. An architect, she also drew in the evening, losing herself in lines and roofs as if in a second life.
"Where have you been?" she asked without looking up.
"Looking for sticks for Sam," replied Isabelle. "The dark ones that tourists like."
It wasn't a lie, but it wasn't the whole truth either.
For dinner, they ate rice, black beans, sweet onions, and fried bananas. The radio blared 1980s music. His father arrived late, his hands dirty with diesel, his shirt rolled up.
"Everything okay today, Gabriel?"
"Yes, Dad. I helped out a bit."
He nodded wearily, pouring himself some water.
"Are you done with the boat?" asked his mother.
"Eh. The old one still has a combustion engine. I always get dirty. And to think that the house runs entirely on solar energy, even the shower water is filtered."
"You designed it," said Gabriel, smiling at his mother.
"And your father brings it to life," she added.
His father chuckled. "The multinational I work for would do anything for a place like this. They'd turn it into a luxury resort in no time. Better not to talk about it too much."
******
That night, lying in his hammock, Gabriel listened to the sounds of the jungle: the beating of moths' wings, the leaves whispering in the wind, the drops sliding from one leaf to another. He could still taste the fried banana and smell his father's diesel fuel on his hands.
He thought of his mother, elegant even amid splashes and mud, capable of growing houses as if they were trees. Of his father, torn between screens and boats, multinationals and fishing nets. Gabriel loved that contradiction: the eco-friendly house, the solar panels, the garden full of orchids... and the old boat, coughing up smoke. An imperfect but true balance. Like him.
And he thought of Isabelle. She always knew where to put her feet. She had a calmness that adults often lacked. Her phrase — You are a seed — had stayed with him like a slow song.
He touched his chest. He didn't know why, but something was stirring inside: an echo, an impulse. A promise.
******
The heat was suffocating. The sheet stuck to his skin, but it wasn't the heat that kept him awake. It was the feeling of being watched.
He got up slowly and went out into the garden, which was shrouded in darkness. The dragon fruit flowers glowed in the moonlight, huge and fragrant. He took a few barefoot steps on the grass. Everything was clearer: the wind in the leaves, the roots under his feet, even the beating of a bat's wings.
Then it happened.
A giant moth stopped in front of him, suspended in the air. It did not move. Its wings were still, its body frozen in time.
Gabriel held his breath. He saw every detail, even the heart beating in its abdomen. A word echoed inside him. Not a voice, but a clear command:
Listen.
His heart began to pound. He reached out his hand. The moth remained still. Then, suddenly, time began to flow again. Its wings vibrated, and the insect flew away among the flowers.
Gabriel stood motionless, his hand outstretched.
That's when he saw them. On the nearest tree trunk, marks that hadn't been there before: lines burned into the bark, subtle curves and mysterious intertwining patterns. Not words, but a forgotten alphabet. In the centre, engraved more deeply, was the outline of a wing.
He stared at it, while a cold breeze, out of place in the tropical night, brushed the back of his neck.
His body trembled. Not with fear, but with recognition.