As Guz and Joel slept by the campfire, a figure slid inside the tent; just one foot crossing the threshold was enough to wake them both, who instantly lunged into an attack.

  "Wow," Guz managed to say as, miraculously, six blades whizzed past him.

  "Double wow," Joel muttered.

  "Are you serious?!" Guz fumed.

  "It happens," the figure replied.

  Guz threw himself at the intruder.

  "Ha, ha," the figure laughed, and with a quick movement, grabbed the assailant's mask. "Care to calm down? I haven't come to fight."

  He tugged the mask and let go: the mask violently slapped the man's face again.

  "Who are you?" Guz asked.

  "Hachipusaq," the figure said in a cold voice.

  Following that, she took Guz by the shoulders and sat him next to Joel.

  "It's time to talk, gentlemen."

  "What do you want?" Guz replied, resigned.

  "Straight to the point; nice. Give me that, and the matter is concluded."

  Guz clutched the scroll to his chest.

  "You think we'll just give it to you? It was hard to get; this shit cost me a lot to obtain."

  "Perhaps it wouldn't have cost you so much if you hadn't gone and stolen it. Am I wrong, Joel?"

  "No," Joel answered calmly, "you're not wrong, but..."

  Guz fell silent.

  "I know," Hachipusaq continued: "You're afraid of Candado, you hate Esteban, and that's why you want to bring back Thanatos. Forgive me, Pharmagea, but you are a top-level idiot; it's already funny enough that you joined the Witnesses."

  "We're not those Witnesses," Joel defended. "We are a new order."

  "Of what? Lunatics?"

  "Wasn't it madness to raise a society in Antarctica? Wasn't it madness to found a city in the sea?" Joel countered. "I understand what you're saying, but even so: bringing back Thanatos..."

  "I never wanted to bring him back," Hachipusaq interjected. "I would never have joined the order if that was what they sought."

  Guz, without another word, handed her the scroll.

  "If this brings back that murderer, it's better off back where it was."

  "Just like that?" Hachipusaq asked in surprise.

  "Guz, you got it at a great price," Joel said. "Are you going to give up on it?"

  "Yes," Guz replied, his voice strained.

  Hachipusaq lifted the scroll in her hands and smiled, somewhat disappointed by the lack of drama.

  "Well... anticlimactic," she murmured. "I thought we'd fight, scream, spit at each other, or something."

  "I have no intention of fighting over this," Guz retorted.

  "Nor do I," Joel added.

  "I'm disappointed," Hachipusaq said, changing her tone, "but don't worry: I want to offer you a deal."

  "A deal?" they asked in unison.

  Hachipusaq pulled another scroll, identical to the first, from inside her cloak.

  "This is an exact replica of the Tiat writings; it was made by Tiat herself. I want you to give it to Desza, or whoever is in charge of this operation."

  Guz took the second scroll, still suspicious.

  "Why are you helping us?" he asked.

  "You helped me before," Hachipusaq replied. "I came to settle the debt."

  "Do we know you?" Joel inquired.

  "Hahaha," the figure laughed. "Not yet, gentlemen. You certainly are synchronized."

  "You are strange," Guz said, measuring every word.

  "So are you," she countered. "You handed over the writings without resistance; that is strange. Anyway: we'll meet again in the future. Who knows," she added with a slight gesture, "maybe we'll have tea."

  Hachipusaq snapped her fingers and vanished.

  Guz and Joel stared at the spot for a long time, confused by the appearance and the speed with which everything had happened.

  "Is this okay with you?" Guz asked, breaking the silence.

  "Yes," Joel replied. "We could tell them we were following orders and didn't know it was fake. Would you back me up on that?"

  "Guz," Joel said firmly, "I already told you: you're my friend."

  "...Whatever. Thanks."

  "Aren't you going to say the same?" Guz asked.

  "No."

  It has become clear on more than one occasion that hatred and rivalry are very thin lines, easily crossed. But can one remain in the middle? Can one maintain a firm balance? At what point is the path lost? Hatred is as easy as it is difficult... but how far can it be sustained? These questions echoed in Esteban's head, matters of great weight for him.

  "They got away from you, didn't they?"

  "They did."

  Esteban laughed bitterly, rested his forehead against the window, and watched a streetlamp flicker.

  "And they still haven't fixed that piece of shit!" he shouted furiously.

  "They'll repair it tomorrow, calm down," Dilan said softly.

  Then he sighed.

  "How can you be so incompetent, Patrick? Not only did one idiot escape, but the captive Pharmagea did too."

  "They won't go far. They'll be caught."

  Esteban walked over to him, looking at him severely.

  "The Tiat writings must be recovered."

  "They're in Antarctica, sir. The frozen desert will finish them off," Dilan commented.

  "Don't underestimate those idiots. Don't let nature kill them without checking first. They must be caught."

  "Understood."

  "Now, get out."

  "As you command," Patrick and Dilan said, taking their leave.

  Esteban was left alone in the room.

  "Shit..."

  The door opened.

  "Are you alright?"

  "News, ha. Do you want the truth or a lie?"

  "I prefer the truth," the newcomer replied, closing the door behind him.

  "I'm not alright. I'm tired, angry, and sad."

  "I see. You need to rest, you're not..."

  "Fernán News, do you think you can give me orders?"

  "They're not orders, Esteban, they're requests. Requests from one friend to another."

  "Yeah, what a great way to rest when some of the most dangerous writings in the world are loose outside."

  "You're starting to sound like Candado."

  "Don't compare me to that idiot."

  "He may be many things, but not an idiot. And you know it."

  "Now you defend him."

  "You must accept that you launched an invasion to keep the voters happy. You did what any adult politician would do."

  "His betrayal stained my image. It was so great that they stripped me of the title of 'The Upright' and created that of 'President.'"

  "I understand that, but you must also understand that it was his people and his followers who betrayed him, used him, and wanted to get rid of him."

  "Are you justifying him?"

  "No. I just want you to understand the why of his actions. What did you expect from someone betrayed by a nation he considered his home? We took that away from him."

  "Sure... He shouldn't have run if he was going to be so soft."

  "Esteban, he was nine years old. It's the first time in Tanacia's history that someone so young has taken office. And I must remind you that it was you who pushed him into it."

  "No, I suggested it, and he accepted."

  If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.

  "I'm foolish, but not blind, Esteban. You desperately wanted him to be part of the leadership formula. You wanted to make history in Tanacia."

  "..."

  "I'm not the one to tell you what you should or shouldn't do, but your attitude toward him has been immature. Candado was just a boy who made the decision he thought was correct at the time."

  "Do you think I'm going to make peace with him?"

  "Time will tell."

  "You are very... loose."

  "Hahaha. What was that?"

  Esteban sank into the chair, exhausted.

  "Anyway... do you need something?"

  "Yes, it's about what happened."

  "Oh, really? What could have happened?" he asked sarcastically.

  "We have a mole."

  "I see we're thinking the same thing."

  "So you reached the same conclusion?"

  "Yes. There was no way the Witnesses could know the Tiat writings were here. The Grand General Council is the only one with the authority to decide who accesses that information."

  "Do you suspect anyone?"

  "Apart from Richard, I think the Senate and the G.G.C. are the main suspects."

  "Richard?"

  "The passes those two used had his signature on them. He's the only one authorized to give them out, and I'm surprised he did: he's always been very attached to the rules."

  "Where is he?"

  "Don't worry. He's being interrogated by the Triumvirate."

  "And why aren't you there?"

  "I tried, but Patrick denied me entry. He says I'm 'too savage' in terms of interrogation."

  "You tortured the Pharmagea."

  "I see you found out."

  "Yes. And it's a shame. To think that you were the one attacking Khangar for keeping torture legal."

  "I know... I know. I was a bit upset."

  "You are a President, Esteban. Don't forget that."

  "...Anything else?"

  "I understand," Fernán approached and handed him some files. "I asked Addel to investigate these individuals."

  Esteban flipped through the folder.

  "Thirty-eight? Seriously?"

  "They are the most suspicious according to my criteria. And also... also..."

  "Also what?"

  Fernán closed his eyes for a moment, then opened them.

  "It is highly probable that Guillermo reached the same conclusion and knew, long before, the magnitude of what we are experiencing now..." he said. "And it's also probable that the people on that list were the cause of your brother's death."

  Esteban looked closely at the pages inside the folder.

  "Are you saying these thirty-eight people are on these sheets?"

  "Yes."

  "Investigate them all. All of them."

  "Understood."

  "Whoever it is," Esteban added, his voice sharp, "will pay."

  "Yes," Fernán replied, "he will pay... but alive."

  "...Leave now."

  "Yes, sir."

  Fernán left the room. Esteban sighed and looked up at the sky.

  "The day is artificial, but it is still beautiful," he murmured.

  Outside the city, Patrick was investigating the cruel frozen desert of the continent. The wind lashed the snow, and the horizon looked like an endless white wall.

  "Still months until sunrise," he said to himself, looking into the distance.

  "Stop right there."

  Patrick turned and saw a person standing in the snow. It was a woman wrapped in a cloak; her eyes shone under the hood.

  "You are in a dangerous place," Patrick said. "Return to the city quickly."

  "Oh, of course I will," she replied, "after you allow me a few words."

  "I don't have time... Miss."

  "Please, call me Hachipusaq."

  "Very well, Hachipusaq. Please, return to the city; I will speak with you there."

  "Oh, but please, grant me your time. After all, it matters to you."

  "I don't think so; I'm wasting time talking to you. I'm in a hurry."

  "Not even for this."

  Hachipusaq pulled a scroll from her cloak: the one Patrick had been looking for. She showed it calmly.

  "The Tiat writings? How...?"

  "Now I have your attention, don't I?"

  Patrick descended from the void in which he floated and approached. His movements were fast, vigilant.

  "What do you want?"

  "I want to make a deal."

  Patrick tried to snatch the scroll, but she hid it with a swift gesture.

  "Ah, ah, let's talk first."

  "That scroll is not a toy; give it back."

  "You'll have it if we speak clearly."

  "Here? In the middle of all this snow?"

  Hachipusaq smiled and extended her hand.

  "What are you doing?"

  "Come on, a handshake."

  Patrick hesitated, but finally shook her hand. The instant their fingers met, a light enveloped them. A brief vertigo and, in a blink, they were inside a cabin.

  "What...?" Patrick stammered.

  "Tea or coffee?" the woman asked naturally.

  "Nothing, thank you."

  "That's a shame. Derfla, get me juice."

  A man dressed in black, with a mask reminiscent of the Black Death, appeared with a glass of juice in his hand.

  "I don't plan on asking about your tastes in this cold," he said without affection. "You wanted to talk, didn't you? Then let's talk."

  "Of course," Hachipusaq replied. "Sorry, I was thirsty," she said, took a sip, and looked back at Patrick. "Let's sit down."

  "How did you find me?" Patrick asked, still alert.

  "I didn't find you," she lied with a sly smile. "I was leaving when you stood in the middle of the road; coincidences tend to be too frightening."

  "What is it that you want?"

  "You'll see a war soon; unfortunately, no one will be able to stop it."

  "Since I can remember, the Circuits and the Guilds have been at odds," Patrick retorted. "There have always been tensions, friction, a constant cold war between those states. What can change now?"

  "Witnesses," Hachipusaq said in a cold voice.

  "A handful of useless people," he replied.

  "That's right. Useless people who set Buenos Aires on fire."

  Patrick pressed his lips together.

  "I'm aware," he said. "It was the province's fault for not having control over the situation."

  "I trust you would have done much better," Hachipusaq countered with a tone that bordered on sarcasm.

  "That mocking tone says it all," Patrick replied.

  Hachipusaq laughed but then composed herself.

  "What I really need is insurance."

  "Insurance?"

  "You see, Esteban agreed to protect Candado."

  "Did he?" Patrick scoffed in disbelief. "I doubt that very much."

  "Ha, ha. I thought the same, but it's true. Now I want one thing from you."

  "What?"

  "Your loyalty."

  Patrick frowned.

  "No," he said immediately. "I would never give my loyalty to someone hiding behind a mask."

  Hachipusaq laughed again, that short, meaningful laugh.

  "Not to me," she clarified. "To Esteban."

  Patrick tensed. Hachipusaq looked at him calmly, like someone who knows she has struck a sensitive chord.

  "I know you're starting to lose faith in him, because of some of his actions," she added. "But there are still things you don't know."

  Patrick recalled the blunder he had made in Congress and how he had tortured a prisoner.

  "The elections will be in two years. We'll see how things go, but one thing is certain: Esteban is not going to win and will never be president again."

  "You are wrong about that. In two months, you will see how things change."

  "I don't think so."

  Hachipusaq let out a smile.

  "I see..." she pulled out a notebook and started writing. "I knew it wouldn't be easy."

  She tore off the sheet, folded it, and handed it to Patrick.

  "What is this?"

  "Don't read it yet. Tomorrow..." Hachipusaq looked at her watch and corrected herself. "Today..."

  Patrick raised an eyebrow, noticing the confusion.

  "...Certain things will happen in Víctor Plaza. I want you to sit down and observe your surroundings. At nine forty-three in the morning, you will open the note and start reading."

  "And then?"

  "What I want you to do is also written there. Of course, only if you choose to do it."

  Then she extended the scroll.

  "How do I know if it's real?"

  Hachipusaq passed it to Derfla. He pulled out a lighter and tried to set it on fire, but nothing happened. Then he threw water on it, and the paper remained intact.

  "And how do I know you didn't use magic to protect it?"

  Hachipusaq took the scroll with her other hand, cast a small spark of harmless magic... and it bounced off.

  "And what if you just took ordinary paper and made it immune to those things?"

  Hachipusaq's patience was wearing thin. Abruptly, she removed the seal from the scroll.

  "How do I know...?"

  Before Patrick could finish, she threw the scroll and the seal directly into his face.

  Patrick caught it, unrolled it, and read it.

  "It's genuine."

  "Go to hell."

  Hachipusaq snapped her fingers, and in the blink of an eye, Patrick was back in the cold desert of the continent.

  "I think I made him angry," she murmured.

  Meanwhile...

  "Do you think he'll follow the plan?"

  "He will. He's a horrible, dense idiot... but he'll do it right."

  Patrick returned to Tanacia with the scroll in his hand. He was confused by the words he had exchanged with that woman who called herself Hachipusaq. He had doubts: why would she want to help him in the first place?

  He looked at his hand. He was still holding the note she had given him, wondering what he should do with it.

  Upon arriving at the presidential palace, Esteban was waiting for him.

  "Excuse me."

  "Come in."

  Patrick approached and showed him the scroll. Esteban was skeptical at first, but as soon as he touched it, he knew: it was real.

  "It can't be..."

  "The job is done. I'll retire now."

  "Wait."

  Patrick stopped.

  "How did you do it?"

  "It wasn't me. I just got lucky."

  Then he left the room.

  "...Good," Esteban murmured.

  He sat in his chair, contemplating the scroll and Fernán's files.

  "At least I can say I have one thing secured."

  He smiled, but suddenly his eyes widened, and he slumped forward. Invisible hands caught his forehead. An intangible force, which decided to manifest, held him up.

  It was Freud.

  "That was close," he whispered.

  Freud rested his forehead on the cushion, then took the scroll from Esteban's hands and walked slowly toward the exit. As he opened the door, he caught sight of Patrick's back growing smaller and smaller as he descended the stairs. He closed the door halfway and took out his cell phone.

  "Come on, answer..."

  "Hello, hello."

  "Addel, I need you to come to the palace."

  "The same place?"

  "Yes."

  Addel hung up.

  Some time later, he appeared as a cloud of smoke and soot.

  "What's going on?"

  Freud extended his hand with the scroll.

  "Put this somewhere safer."

  "I don't believe it..."

  "While you're at it, make a replica, so the same thing doesn't happen again."

  "And Esteban?"

  "He's resting. After holding that filth in his hands, he relaxed quite a bit."

  "Only inform a very few trusted people where the scroll will be hidden. Preferably five."

  "Five?"

  "You, me, Esteban when he wakes up... and two others."

  "Okay."

  Addel vanished.

  Freud returned to the room and observed Esteban, who was sleeping soundly.

  "I told you not to overexert yourself," he murmured.

  He approached, picked him up in his arms, and carried him to the armchair. He placed a cushion under his head, took off his shoes, and then wrote a letter that he left on the table.

  "Rest, my friend."

  Finally, he became invisible and turned off the light. Only the moon's halo faintly illuminated the room.

  The next day, Patrick obeyed Hachipusaq's instructions. He woke up at 7:30 a.m. and was at the park by 9:35, anxious to satisfy his curiosity. He sat on a bench that creaked under his weight.

  "Here we go..."

  He waited until the clock struck 9:42. Forty seconds before the minute changed, he opened the note.

  "Hi, this is what will happen from 9:43 a.m. to 10:02 a.m."

  Patrick smiled in disbelief.

  "9:43 a.m.: Fernán News will run by with a planner. He overslept and, in his haste, will trip over a woman."

  He looked up at the clock. It was 9:43 a.m. when a nearby door burst open.

  "Sorry!" Fernán apologized, rushing out.

  Patrick caught sight of a planner in his hands.

  "Good morning, Patrick."

  "Morning," he replied, polite but surprised.

  He read the note again: "Will trip over a woman."

  "Let's see..."

  Fernán ran toward the street. Due to his recklessness, he was almost hit by a car and ended up colliding with a woman.

  "Oh, God, I beg your pardon!" he exclaimed, helping her up. The woman, far from being annoyed, thanked him for his gesture.

  Patrick was slightly surprised. He returned to the note.

  "9:45 a.m.: there will be a shooting star in the sky. As an extra piece of information, if you want to see it again, it will pass next week, on Sunday at 2:33 p.m."

  Patrick looked up and saw a small shooting star pass by. He wasn't too impressed; he even found it ridiculous. But it had happened.

  He kept reading.

  "9:46 a.m.: the bench you are sitting on will break if you lean back on it."

  Patrick stood up and pushed the backrest. It snapped with a crunch.

  "Bloody hell..."

  He read another line.

  "9:47 a.m.: maybe nothing happened to you because you got up, but where you are standing, a streetlamp might blind you."

  "What?"

  "Listen, Camilo, you have to press this button once, not twice, because the thing jams," said a nearby electrician.

  Patrick watched two men working on a streetlamp in front of him.

  "Good, now turn it on," an old man ordered.

  "Alright."

  The young man pressed the button, and the streetlamp turned on with such an intense light that it illuminated the entire park. Patrick had to cover his eyes.

  "Turn it off!" the old man ordered.

  "Done. It still needs adjustments."

  Patrick took a deep breath and returned to the letter.

  "P.S.: the streetlamp won't be fixed for the next six hours."

  He continued reading.

  "9:50 a.m.: there will be a traffic accident. A boy with a green cap and a grey vest will cross the street when his mother is distracted by a radio advertisement. The boy will survive but will never walk again."

  Patrick was alarmed and scanned the area until he found the child. He was next to his mother, who was holding a baby and, distracted, barely holding back the little one who was trying to break free.

  It was 9:49 a.m. He didn't hesitate: he ran toward the child. The boy was playing with a stone, kicking it until it reached the street. Just as he was about to cross, Patrick grabbed him by the vest and yanked him back, just as a car roared past.

  "Go to your mother before I get angry."

  The boy nodded nervously and ran to her. Patrick returned to the letter.

  "That's all. I won't torture you anymore. Enjoy life, Patrick."

  "What a piece of..."

  "Patrick."

  "Yes? Ah... úrsula."

  "Is everything alright?"

  "Yes, just... nothing, forget it. What do you need?"

  "It's time for the patrol."

  "We still have two hours."

  "Hmm, I thought you'd want to do it with me."

  Patrick looked at the note one last time, confirming that nothing was left written.

  "Alright, lead the way."

  úrsula smiled.

  "Right away."

  Patrick followed her, thinking about what he had just witnessed and wondering if he should really play along with Hachipusaq.

  One thing, however, was clear to him: he had never doubted his loyalty to Esteban Everett. Even though he was a member of the triumvirate chosen by Candado, his allegiance was with the President, always. But still... he remembered Hachipusaq's words: that Esteban would win the elections, and that his loyalty should be to him, not to the figure of the President, but to Esteban as a person.

  "Only time will tell," he whispered.

  "Did you say something?"

  "No, just thinking. Don't worry."