Silence took over the plaza. The atabaques had stopped, and even the merchants quieted their voices.

  At the top of the stands, Tariq Fernandes Silva rose. Kyros’ middle brother looked carved from stone: calm eyes, measured breathing, and a presence that weighed like the sun itself.

  — “Listen, people of Sorriso.” — his voice echoed, deep. — “Just as the Palmares have their goddess, we too have our root. Before the crest, before the castle, before the South was called an Empire… there came a man. Hyami.”

  As he spoke, monks in beige kimonos entered the central circle. Two by two, they bowed to each other and began to fight. There was no music. Only dry falls, twists, strong breaths. The people watched in silence, impressed.

  — “Hyami came from the sea, rejected by the island of Akitsushima. He brought nothing but his body and his discipline. They laughed at him. Called him weak. Until he fell — and rose. He dropped giants with a breath. Bent warriors without a sword. And when they thought he was dead, his breathing brought him back.”

  One of the monks fell, the other knelt over him. The entire line breathed together, the unified sound echoing like a dry thunder.

  — “That was when the god Tupanari revealed himself. The Breath and the Thunder. He said: The body is the sea. The mind is wind. The spirit is thunder. Bend yourself, and no one will be able to bend you.”

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  The monks repeated in chorus, fist to the ground:

  — “Body is sea. Mind is wind. Spirit is thunder!”

  The crowd murmured, goosebumps rising. Nobles and peasants alike felt the weight of that discipline.

  Tariq then raised his hand, and a young man with a red belt entered. He performed a sequence of perfect falls, firm as steel. Right after, a pair — one white belt, one red — fought before the crowd, showing hierarchy, respect, and obedience.

  When they finished, Tariq lifted his arm and spoke:

  — “Just as the Palmares have their yellow, green and black cords…” — he pointed at Nannda and the capoeiristas. — “…we also have our mountain. From the white belt to the red. And only three in all of Sorriso have reached the summit, the black.”

  The audience held its breath. He struck his fist to his chest:

  — “Nannda, master of Capoeira. I, Tariq, master of the Black Sun. And Kyros, Patriarch, who commands both.”

  His voice deepened, and everyone knew it wasn’t just ceremony:

  — “It is because of Hyami that the Castle of the Seasons is now called the Castle of the Sun. For when he left this world, Kyros honored him with a tomb under the walls, and the sun began to shine over all the seasons. Hyami’s breath rests there, but his thunder lives within us.”

  The monks stomped their feet, the rhythm like rolling thunder: HAA! HAA!

  Tariq opened his arms:

  — “Two schools, two paths. The ginga and the silence. The drum and the thunder. I ask you, people of the South…”

  Silence weighed for a second, until the phrase exploded like lightning:

  — “Who will be the next to reach the mountain of Sorriso’s martial arts?”

  The people roared in response. Some beat their chests in the rhythm of the Palmares, others raised their fists for the Black Sun.

  And Lukas, in the middle of the crowd, felt his heart race. In his past life, he had never seen anything like this. But now… now it felt as if destiny itself was pulling him toward this choice.

  End of chapter 10