A Summer elf — blonde, beautiful as legend — was dancing side by side with Lukas. Laughing with him. Matching his rhythm. The crowd clapped for both.
“Damn skinny failure…” Dariam hissed between his teeth.
“And you too, Besouro… If you side with the rabble, you’ll die with them.”
Then—
“Open the circle!”
The atabaques changed rhythm. The music grew deep, solemn.
And what no one expected happened: Kyros Fernandes stepped into the circle — smiling, moving, dancing like a man half his age.
At his side, Nannda Guaracy, the capoeira master, spun with wild grace.
The crowd roared.
It was like watching the sun and the moon dance together.
Lukas froze.
“Father…?”
Old Chique-Chique tapped his cane, laughing.
“The Patriarch’s a master of both arts, boy!
He carries the discipline of the Black Sun and the joy of Palmares.
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He rejoices… so that others may rejoice.”
César: “Impressive.”
Morgana, teasing: “Adorable, chocolatinho… looks just like you, but older.”
Kyros’s movements were precise — each ginga carried the weight of the world, yet freed it at the same time.
The entire festival pulsed with his rhythm.
Meanwhile, the air filled with roasted meat, spices, and sweet molasses. Merchants shouted from their stalls, selling colorful fabrics, jewelry, and food from every corner of the Empire.
Capital Sorriso glowed brighter than ever.
But Lukas didn’t smile.
Something was off.
“Chique-Chique… where’s the Emperor?”
The old man sighed, scratching his beard.
“He hasn’t arrived yet, boy. If he had, Kyros would’ve gone to greet him himself. The festival’s only starting. There’s still time.”
But Lukas knew.
In the other life, the Emperor was never late.
Quietly, he handed a sealed letter to a nearby servant.
“Take this to Catarina at the border. Ask for a report.”
On the other side of the circle, Aerya approached — her legs still sparking faint embers from the Summer flame.
“So it’s true,” she said, her tone playful. “You won three trials, didn’t you… failure?”
Lukas avoided her eyes.
“Maybe.”
Aerya tilted her head, smiling like fire.
“You and Besouro seem close… think there’s room for another heart in that circle?”
Lukas flushed.
“We’re not that close.”
Morgana burst out laughing.
“Ahhh, chocolatinho… this elf knows how to play.”
César grunted.
“Focus, boy. Don’t let her distract you.”
Lukas took a slow breath. The drums thundered.
The circle burned bright.
And even as shadows moved beneath the music — Sorriso had never felt more alive.
End of chapter 8