Hammya was quietly eating in bed, her gaze fixed on Candado. He was there, sipping mate under the warm light of a lamp, a book resting in his hands. The room was filled with silence, broken only by the faint clinking of cutlery and the whisper of wind sneaking in through the window.

  “Candado,” she said softly.

  “Speak, Esmeralda.”

  “Can we...? I don’t know... Can we walk together under the moonlight?”

  Candado smiled, his eyes still on the pages.

  “Of course, why not? Finish your food first.”

  “Aren’t you going to eat?”

  He took another sip of mate before replying.

  “I already did. Don’t worry about me.”

  Hammya continued devouring her meal happily. Candado gave her a small smile before diving back into his reading.

  An hour later, he stood up, took Hammya’s empty plate, and washed it. Then, he put away the thermos and mate cup in the kitchen cabinet. When he returned, she was waiting eagerly. He offered her his hand. The gesture caught her off guard, but she took it. Then, to surprise her even more, he took her arm and escorted her like a lady.

  “Let’s go,” he said in his usual dry tone.

  Hammya, letting herself be guided as if already accustomed to his ways, whispered:

  “To explore.”

  Though she said it with an adventurous tone, the truth was he decided where to go—she still didn’t know the area. But to Hammya, that didn’t matter. She was happy—more than happy. She felt like a princess… even though he despised princes and princesses.

  The island’s nightscape was a living painting. The sky stretched endlessly above them, scattered with twinkling stars, while the full moon hung like a silent lantern over the world. The air was fresh, caressing their skin gently, carrying with it the distant murmur of the sea.

  Candado led her to Harambee Square, a corner forgotten by time. There, the trees stood tall and proud, their wide canopies whispering ancient tales with every breeze. The streets were deserted, as if the whole city held its breath. Carriages stood still and unmounted by the road, while elegant wrought-iron lamps held living flames instead of electric light, casting trembling shadows on the cobblestones.

  “It’s so beautiful...” Hammya murmured, her eyes gleaming in wonder.

  “Yes, it is,” Candado replied, though a quiet melancholy seeped into his voice.

  With every step, memories assailed him. This place, once filled with laughter and games, now hurt. He remembered coming here with Gabriela, his sister, running through the trees, laughing beneath these very stars. But the memories weren’t as sharp as before; they seemed fogged by time. It hit him like a sudden blow to the chest.

  “Candado...?” Hammya asked gently.

  “I… I was here once. Honestly, I never wanted to come back.”

  She remained silent, as if she already knew what was coming.

  “It’s because of Gabriela, isn’t it?” she finally asked.

  Candado nodded, his gaze fixed on some point in the past.

  “When she died, I tried to remember everything about her—every detail, every gesture. I tried with all my strength… but it’s impossible. Over time, things faded. Sometimes, I can’t remember her laugh… or her voice. And that terrifies me.”

  His voice trembled, and the tears began to fall—silent and uninvited.

  “Canda…” Hammya whispered, stepping a little closer.

  “I know I’ll have to let her go someday. Everyone’s told me that. But... I don’t want to. I don’t want to leave her behind.”

  “You don’t have to,” Hammya said, with an unexpected firmness. “No one can force you to forget. She can live on—with you, in a different way. In what you do. In what you love. In who you are.”

  Candado clenched his jaw. He wanted to speak, but the emotions strangled him.

  “When you saved me…” he finally said, “I felt anger. Anger that I hadn’t died. But when I saw you bleeding because of me… I realized I was the one hurting you.”

  He stopped in his tracks. In front of them stood a lonely stone bench beneath an old tree with twisted branches.

  "Do you want to sit?" Hammya asked, glancing toward where his gaze had frozen.

  Candado hesitated. He was about to say no, but then he felt her hand—not gripping tightly, just gently guiding him.

  "...Yes," he finally replied, his voice barely audible.

  They sat down. At first, Candado leaned slightly to the side, trying to maintain some distance, but Hammya slipped an arm around him and rested her head on his shoulder. Her warmth was real, and her silence comforting. They needed no more words.

  "I... want to thank you for saving my life," Candado murmured, not looking at her, his voice just above a whisper. His eyes were lost in the dark sky. "Look at me... I'm twelve years old and I already see the world as damaged, broken. I guess I’m a mistake."

  "You’re not," Hammya said softly. "You have a gift."

  "A gift?" Candado echoed with skepticism.

  He raised his hand before him. His fingers trembled slightly as a violet flame slowly bloomed, dancing on his palm like it resonated with his sorrow. He stared at it with a mixture of revulsion and resignation.

  "I'm not exactly... stable," he said quietly. "I can hurt you with words. Sometimes I don’t even mean to. It just... happens. And I’m sorry."

  Hammya didn’t pull away. Her voice was calm and gentle, as though brushing against his shattered thoughts.

  "It doesn’t bother me. I know you don’t say things out of cruelty. From the moment I met you, I understood—many of your words come from pain. And still… I’m glad I arrived at your home, even if it was out of nowhere. I’m glad I annoyed you."

  Candado lowered his head a little. The flame in his hand remained, quiet and bright, as if it, too, were listening.

  "Yeah... a lot happened today," he said at last, with a rare, tranquil smile—almost invisible on his usual expression.

  And then, something unexpected happened.

  Hammya’s hand, warm and soft, reached for his. Despite the white gloves she always wore, he felt her touch as if there was nothing between them. It was the first time she touched him like that, right in the middle of the flame, without fear.

  "Your flame is beautiful," she whispered, keeping her eyes on his hand.

  Candado startled slightly. His expression immediately shifted back to its usual stiffness.

  "It’s dangerous. You could’ve gotten burned," he warned reflexively.

  But Hammya didn’t let go.

  "It’s warm," she said with a faint smile. "Beautiful... and sad."

  "Fire doesn’t have feelings."

  "That’s so you," Hammya replied, holding back a small laugh. "Always so logical, so cold in your words."

  She leaned closer, still holding on.

  "Just let me hold your violet flame."

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  Candado looked at her for a moment, trying to read her expression, but Hammya didn’t return the gaze. Instead, she gave him a sincere smile—one that needed no words—and then looked back down at their intertwined hands, as if in that silent connection she had found a kind of peace.

  "You really scared me today," he said, his voice soft.

  Hammya was about to respond with a playful remark—her usual style—but she stopped when she saw the vulnerability in Candado’s eyes. He didn’t need jokes tonight. He needed truth.

  "I’m sorry," she said quietly.

  "You should be. It’s an annoying feeling," he muttered dryly, though without any real sharpness.

  She smiled, amused on the inside, though she didn’t show it much.

  "I’ll keep that in mind," she replied lightly.

  The silence stretched on, under the pale moonlight, until Hammya spoke again, her gaze drifting.

  "You often call me ‘Emerald’... May I ask why?"

  Candado paused for a second before answering, raising a slight eyebrow.

  "Does it bother you?"

  "No. I just… want to know why you call me that," she said, her curiosity genuine.

  Candado seemed puzzled by the question, as if the answer were so obvious it didn’t warrant asking.

  "Your hair, your eyes..." he began, in the calm tone of someone confessing more than they realized. "They’re just like an emerald. Vivid, bright… and beautiful."

  Hammya felt something strike gently against her chest—a flutter, tender and warm. She blushed, lowering her head slightly, though a hidden smile lingered on her lips.

  "Do you think I'm pretty?" she asked softly.

  Candado didn’t hesitate.

  "Of course. Hammya, you’re beautiful. Don’t you see that?"

  She let out a small laugh, charmed by the unexpected sincerity.

  "You're beautiful too."

  Candado looked away, shaking his head.

  "No… I don’t see myself that way. I’m cruel. Horrible, even."

  Hammya frowned, serious for a moment.

  "Not to me."

  "Then you must have a serious visual problem," he replied, half-joking, half in denial.

  Hammya lifted her head with a mock-offended expression, exaggerating a scolding gesture as she pointed a finger at him.

  "Candado, I want you to promise me you’ll never insult yourself in my presence again."

  He looked at her for a moment. Silence. Then, a sliver of tenderness softened the harshness in his expression.

  "…Alright," he said at last.

  They both stood. Candado slowly released Hammya’s hand, and with it, the violet flames that had danced across his fingers faded into a soft glow, dissolving into the night. Hammya looked down, visibly saddened by the loss of contact—something Candado noticed.

  For a brief moment, he hesitated. But then, as if reasoning that the gesture—something as simple as holding her hand again—meant something important to her, he reached out once more.

  Hammya looked up, surprised and moved. She gave him a warm smile and, without thinking too much, intertwined her fingers with his again.

  And so, hand in hand, they continued walking beneath the soft glow of the streetlamps and the distant murmur of the sea.

  "Sometimes I wonder..." Candado said, more to himself than to her, "if you and Gabi would’ve been close."

  Hammya turned her face slightly toward him.

  "I think we would’ve been like sisters," she replied sweetly.

  Candado smiled at the thought.

  "Yeah… I guess you would."

  For a while, silence reigned. Only the sound of their synchronized footsteps surrounded them. Hammya eventually broke it, her voice more intimate this time.

  "You don’t have to hold back what you want to say. You can share it with me, if you want."

  Candado paused in his mind. He hesitated, as he usually did. But this time… he chose to go on.

  "Gabi had a very unique attitude," he began, eyes lost in the night sky. "She was mischievous, rebellious by nature. If something bothered her, she’d say it without thinking. She never held anything back. That, of course, got her into a lot of trouble... but she was so authentic."

  Hammya listened intently, still walking hand in hand with him.

  "I guess that's where you got that habit of always telling the truth… right?"

  "Not exactly. It wasn’t admiration or inspiration... it was trauma." He stopped for a moment, as if the memory weighed more than expected. "When I was six, I lied to Gabi about something. I told her... something awful. I made her cry. I remember she just stayed silent, her eyes full of tears. I felt like a monster. So I promised her—out loud—that I’d never do something like that again. That I’d never lie."

  "And did you keep that promise?" Hammya asked gently.

  "At first it was hard... but then I realized you can tell half-truths."

  She smiled.

  "Of course you found a loophole."

  "What can I say?" he replied with a sarcastic shrug. "It’s an arbitrary world."

  They walked a bit further. Hammya watched him from the corner of her eye, as if torn between curiosity and respecting his quiet. Then she dared to speak again.

  "Can I ask you something?"

  "Go ahead."

  Hammya reached out and, with the utmost delicacy, brushed the scar that crossed over Candado’s eye.

  "What happened here?"

  He didn’t pull away. He let her touch him, though it was clearly something he didn’t share easily.

  "That... was an accident. Tínbari did it. I wanted to be stronger. He... was just trying to push me away. But in doing so, he gave me this cut. I remember I bled a lot. Still, I told him I wouldn’t give up. And with no other choice, he let me train."

  "Train?" Hammya repeated, surprised and worried.

  "Yeah..." Candado paused, weighing how much to say. "To be strong, I had to go through his training. According to him, it wouldn’t guarantee I’d become superior... but it would make me stronger mentally. And he was right. It was painful."

  "I know," she whispered. "I saw it in your face when you fight. There's no emotion. And when that Bari ripped the skin from your hand... you didn’t scream. You didn’t even flinch."

  Candado hesitated. But when he saw the genuine desire to understand him reflected in Hammya’s eyes, he chose to go on.

  “The training wasn’t what you imagine,” he said. “Tínbari carries a sphere with him. I always thought it was just some strange trinket… I never imagined what it was really for.”

  “What is it?”

  “It’s a miniature universe,” he answered coldly. “According to Tínbari, some Baris can create one. His… was cruel and violent. It had a particular trait: you can’t die there.”

  Hammya’s face turned pale.

  Candado continued before she could speak.

  “I died many times in that place. Each death was more painful than the last. Eventually, you get used to it… if you don’t lose your mind first. I know what it’s like to be devoured by a creature. I know what it’s like to die inside a volcano. I know how it feels to perish on the surface of the sun, to be torn apart by the vacuum of space, to be swallowed by a black hole…”

  Hammya squeezed his hand tightly, as if she could shield him from the memory through that single gesture.

  “Does anyone else know?”

  “Only Héctor and Clementina. And now you. The others think it was a normal training.”

  She looked at him in silence, and in that stillness, she realized how much he had entrusted her with.

  “How long were you in there?”

  “A long time, over there... but only a few minutes here,” Candado replied, giving no further details.

  They walked for hours, moving through the plaza until they reached one of the quietest corners of the island. Before them stretched a lonely beach bathed in the soft glow of the moon. The sound of waves gently unraveling on the shore had a melodic, almost hypnotic tone. Hammya stopped, mesmerized by the view.

  “It’s beautiful,” she murmured, her voice softened by admiration.

  “Compared to the beaches of Mar del Plata, this one’s warmer and calmer, with water so clear you can see the bottom,” Candado said with a hint of sarcasm.

  “We should definitely come back one of these days,” Hammya said brightly.

  “Yeah, I’m sure we will,” Candado replied gently.

  They stepped onto the sand of the deserted beach, walking a few paces as the soft crunch beneath their feet broke the silence of the night. At last, Hammya let herself fall into the sand, inviting Candado to do the same. He hesitated at first, glancing down at his hands as though reluctant to get them dirty, but eventually he gave in. He sat beside her, his eyes reflecting the quiet vastness of the sea.

  “It really is beautiful,” he said, more to himself than to her.

  “Yes, it really is,” Hammya answered, her tone filled with a calm that only comes in moments of perfect harmony with the world.

  A little while later, Hammya rested her head on Candado’s shoulder—a gesture so natural for her, it needed no explanation.

  “You know,” she said softly, as if her words were drifting on the wind, “I think this is the first time we’ve been alone for so long.”

  Candado, unmoving, turned his face slightly toward her.

  “You could say that,” he replied, his voice distant, as though the thought were more an observation than anything meaningful.

  “We should do it more often,” Hammya insisted, as if saying it out loud could make it more real, more possible.

  Candado looked at her, a faint sigh slipping from his lips.

  “Please don’t.”

  “You’re no fun,” she said, laughing lightly, playfully.

  “I know,” he admitted bluntly.

  “Try denying it, at least!”

  “That would be a lie.”

  “Of course, Captain Truth,” she teased.

  “I’d rather be a general than a captain.”

  Hammya’s laughter paused for a heartbeat, only to erupt again in a soft, breathy giggle. The connection between them was unmistakable—a rhythm where words were only a part of the dance. Candado, however, didn’t share her joy. He simply watched her with his usual restrained demeanor.

  “Candado,” she whispered, suddenly serious.

  “What?” he replied, sensing the subtle shift in her voice.

  Hammya remained silent for a long while, as if words were building up in her chest, struggling to escape.

  “…,” she finally said, her voice emerging with a softness that caught Candado off guard. “Nothing… I just like being with you. I really enjoy being by your side.”

  Candado didn’t reply, but his eyes reflected something deeper than mere understanding. For a moment, he stayed silent, as though processing or analyzing what Hammya had just said. At last, with the calm that only he could carry, he answered.

  “…I understand. Thank you for that.”

  “You were about to say something else, weren’t you?” she asked, curiosity flickering in her voice.

  “…Yeah,” Candado admitted, his gaze drifting toward the horizon.

  “Something negative about my tastes, right?” Hammya teased, a mischievous smile curling on her lips.

  “…Yes,” he confessed, unable to lie.

  Hammya laughed gently, the sound soft and warm, like the release of a breath she didn’t know she’d been holding.

  “I’m glad you didn’t say it. I would’ve been mad… really mad,” she added playfully.

  Candado hesitated for a moment. Then, as if surrendering to the sweetness of the moment, he raised his hand and gently brushed her hair with his fingers. The gesture held more meaning than he himself might have realized.

  “I made you a promise,” he said, his voice low but steady.

  Hammya closed her eyes, savoring the gentle touch, embracing the warmth in his gesture.

  “I’m really glad you did,” she murmured, needing no further words.

  Time passed with a slow rhythm, like the waves softly crashing against the shore. Hammya began to doze off, her breathing deepening, steady and calm. Candado remained still, staring at the sea with a silent intensity. At last, as though deciding on something he had long considered, he slowly removed one of his gloves. With delicate care, he continued stroking her hair.

  Once he was sure she had fallen completely asleep, a nearly imperceptible smile formed on his lips. With tenderness, he leaned in and pressed a gentle kiss to her forehead.

  “Rest well, Esmeralda,” he whispered.

  The sun began to rise over the horizon, painting the sky in hues of orange and gold. Candado watched the natural display, a soft gleam in his eyes.

  “Yes… it really is beautiful,” he said quietly, as if speaking only to himself.