In anger, I left the canteen before even asking Marta about the shoemaker’s daughter. I tried to put Ana down, but the wind gave no respite, forcing me to seek shelter on the other side of the square, between two old houses. From one of them came the muffled sound of two people talking.

  “Ana, do you know where the shoemaker’s daughter lives?” I asked, gently placing her on the ground. “I’m going to get food for you.”

  She didn’t run. She merely stared at the backpack while I pulled out a fresh apple, grown in Shoros. The immediate sparkle in her eyes and the haste with which she took the fruit from my hand brought me a quiet satisfaction.

  Ana took the first bite and, with it, her face opened in a wide smile.

  “Do you know anything about the shoemaker’s daughter?” I pressed.

  She shook her head in denial.

  “AX, can you identify which houses have someone inside?”

  AX materialized, expanded, and projected a map of the village, marking the inhabited houses with purple dots — most around the square and the main street.

  It took a few minutes for the wind to weaken; when it did, the heat became suffocating. It was easy to understand why people preferred to stay indoors. I followed the main street and, not far ahead, found a house with half a sign hanging — what remained of the drawing of a boot.

  “There is a young woman inside. I estimate about twenty years old,” AX informed.

  I knocked on the door. Nothing. I knocked again, harder, and still got no response.

  “She is agitated,” AX added. “And malnourished.”

  “Unlock the door, AX.”

  The door opened slowly. I observed the interior with caution. Everything was clean and organized — a stark contrast to the abandonment outside. There was an open suitcase, clothes scattered over it. In the back, in a bedroom, wearing old leather pants and a shirt, stood the young woman — frightened, holding a knife.

  “I came to talk.”

  “Go away!”

  Ana got scared and stretched her arms toward me. I smiled involuntarily; a single apple had been enough to win her trust.

  “Are you the shoemaker’s daughter?” I asked, already carrying Ana again while wiping her dirty mouth. “I want to know about the ancient legends.”

  The young woman slowly lowered her arm.

  “My mother died four years ago,” she replied, staring at me with suspicion.

  “She died? Marta told me she used to read to people in the square.”

  “That was many years ago. Who are you?”

  “Willian. I’m looking for people who know the stories and legends of this place. Can you help me?”

  She took a deep breath, accepting that there was no immediate danger. She looked at two chairs placed facing each other and made a silent gesture.

  I sat down, settling Ana on my lap, and waited for the obvious question.

  “My name is Anastácia,” she said, sitting. “Were you the one who bought the slave?”

  “I was,” I answered bluntly, already preparing myself for a difficult conversation.

  “And are you going to do the same with Ana?”

  “I am.” I was harsher than I intended, feeling the discomfort grow. “Did you also find it bad to go without food because of me?”

  “I don’t eat meat.”

  The answer surprised me, but I stayed on track.

  “What’s the problem with meat?”

  She remained silent. She looked around, hesitant. With her nails, she hurt the fingers of the other hand. Her discomfort — and suffering — were evident.

  “Anastácia, I’m not here to judge or scold you. What happened?”

  “My family never accepted eating Seliums. But the dried meat… many times you can’t tell the difference. So we stopped eating it,” she said, lowering her head, almost in a confession. “Without Tariel, there is no one to help in the fields. She was the only one who could handle the potatoes without being harmed by the poison.”

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  It was only a few words, but enough to illuminate a fragment of Donna’s darkness. She looked at me with a sad smile — the smile of someone who had long needed to share that anguish — and continued:

  “There won’t be any food for me this winter,” she murmured, her gaze drifting toward the suitcase. “I thought about leaving… but there is nowhere to go.”

  A tear ran down her face, and I felt an unexpected relief: not everything was lost.

  “AX, bring more fruit.”

  “You will be alone for eight seconds,” he informed.

  I nodded and sought the young woman’s eyes, who was trying to understand where that voice came from.

  “You called Tariel by her name,” I observed, capturing her attention. “Why? Didn’t you hate her?”

  “No. She was a decent person,” she replied, still looking around before turning back to me, startled. “That’s not what I meant…”

  “You’re afraid they’ll find out you don’t hate the Seliums,” I cut in.

  Anastácia lowered her head again, once more hurting her own nails.

  “Eat a fruit,” I suggested, pointing at the three apples on the table.

  Ana didn’t hesitate. She grabbed one and took the first bite. Anastácia, however, remained still, confused, searching for explanations she couldn’t yet form.

  “Tariel…” I smiled, taking an apple for myself. “I love her.”

  In that moment, the fact that Anastácia trusted someone she had met only minutes ago — without questioning, without wondering about my strange clothing and even ignoring the fact that the fruit had simply appeared on the table — said a lot about how far she had been pushed.

  She knew something was wrong. Yet she took the fruit and bit into it slowly.

  “It’s sweet…” she murmured, while the skin on her arms shivered. “Delicious…”

  I let her eat. I watched the raw mix of need and pleasure turn into silent tears. It tightened my chest. I needed to do something. There had to be more people like Anastácia.

  “Tariel… is she alive?” she asked, chewing the last piece.

  The exhaustion was visible. Not just physical — the mental weariness too, the kind that seemed to vanish completely when a Sekvens enveloped us with a simple smile.

  I stood up, and she, startled by the sudden movement, did the same. I moved before she could resist and pulled her into a firm but contained embrace — careful.

  “Tariel is alive and well,” I whispered at her ear. “And you will be too.”

  I held her until she yielded. She cried. Then, she hugged me back. We stayed like that for a few minutes until she composed herself and stepped away, embarrassed.

  “I…”

  “You don’t need to explain,” I interrupted gently. “I understand. And I want you to know you’re no longer alone. Neither you nor Ana.”

  “Thank you,” she said, breathing more calmly.

  “AX, do we have more apples?”

  “I have bananas.”

  “They’re going to love it.” I looked back at Anastácia. “We are not from here. We came from very far away… to help.”

  I noticed the apprehension return to her face.

  “This is AX. My friend. My guardian.”

  “Hello,” said AX, appearing at the exact moment when the bananas appeared on the table.

  Anastácia stood abruptly and stepped back.

  “It’s alright,” I reassured her quickly. “From now on, many things will challenge your logic. All I ask is that you keep an open mind. Would you come with me?”

  She didn’t answer right away. After relieving some of the burden she carried, she seemed more aware of herself.

  “If I bring Tariel here… would you trust me?”

  “I think so.”

  “AX, ask Tariel if she can come. Tell her I found someone who cared about her.”

  A brief silence followed.

  “Tariel is not the one you used to know anymore,” I warned gently. “Her wounds were treated. She’s well. She’s beautiful… and she has hair.” I took the banana from Ana’s hands. “You don’t eat the peel, sweetheart.”

  “Hair?” Anastácia frowned. “They used nanachá leaf on her. That burns from the inside. It’s permanent. My mother said she almost died… There’s no hair growing in two days.”

  “Jazzia said Tariel is getting dressed. I will bring her now,” AX informed.

  “Eat the banana, Anastácia,” I said, peeling the fruit and handing it back to the girl. “Without the peel.”

  While she tasted it, I observed her carefully. Medium black hair, mistreated. Brown, opaque eyes. A body too thin — almost sickly. With care, she would be beautiful.

  “We are not from this planet,” I explained. “We have technologies you cannot imagine. So don’t be afraid. AX will grow… and Tariel will appear.”

  There was no time for anything else. AX expanded, becoming a perfect sphere, large enough to surround her. Then, he vanished — leaving Tariel before us.

  “That was strange,” she complained, but with a smile. “I was happy to be called.”

  She moved to hug me, but with Ana still in my arms, she wrapped me from behind the chair. Only then did she notice Anastácia.

  “Anastácia?” she said, surprised.

  “Her family never ate meat, out of respect for you,” I explained, noticing the shock on the young woman’s face. “Tariel has become my wife.”

  “I don’t know what’s harder to believe,” she murmured. “Is it really you, Tariel?”

  Tariel nodded. Her hands rested on my shoulders, steady and calm.

  “I always wanted to talk to you,” said Anastácia. “To listen and share thoughts about the stories my mother told… but I was afraid of being seen. I’m sorry.”

  “It’s alright,” Tariel replied. “I’m fine now.”

  “Tariel,” I said, “I’m taking these two with us. Tomorrow, I’ll find a better place for them to stay.”

  “No,” she smiled softly. “Ana is just a child. Anastácia’s family never hurt me. I don’t hold any resentment… But I couldn’t accept the others.”

  “Alina liked you,” Anastácia said. “She died shortly before my mother.”

  “I remember,” Tariel replied. “Even when she only said ‘hello’, I liked her.”

  Anastácia took a step closer.

  “You’re too beautiful… Your features are the same, but you’re another person. I can’t understand.”

  “She’s still tense,” I explained, “but soon you will see the smile. And then you’ll understand the beauty Tariel has always hidden.”

  I placed Ana on the ground.

  “Let’s go. I’m eager to hear your mother’s stories. If you’re attached to anything, bring it.”

  Anastácia took a few belongings and followed us. When we turned the corner of the square, we came face-to-face with Marta.

  Tariel’s radiance, combined with her Selium traits, made the reaction inevitable. Marta’s expression was hard to define.

  “The slave?” she murmured, incredulous, her right eyelid trembling.

  “No, Marta. This is Tariel. My wife,” I replied. And, as a human, I felt my blood boil with satisfaction. “I told you I would show you what people who don’t know how to hate are capable of. Behold.”

  We moved on, leaving Marta behind.

  “Willian, I’m taking Tariel. I don’t want her meeting anyone else,” AX informed.

  “See you soon,” I said, kissing her lips.

  She smiled. And AX took her away.