The circle slowly began to fade.

  The atabaques still echoed, but now the crowd scattered into smaller groups, laughing and repeating the steps they had just seen.

  Lukas and Luiz walked side by side — one dripping with sweat, the other smiling, both marked by the rhythm that had sunk deep into their bones.

  Then came the voices of the sisters.

  Leli ran toward Lukas, eyes shining, almost hugging him — but stopped herself, aware of the many eyes watching. Still, her voice was soft and warm.

  — I’ve never seen you like this, Lukas… you looked… happy.

  Valquíria crossed her arms, a half-smile forming.

  — I’ll admit, Lukinhas, you didn’t fall as bad as I expected.

  Selene, masked as always, tilted her head slightly, her green eyes gleaming.

  — Dance is more dangerous than it seems. You’re starting to understand.

  Lukas didn’t reply. He just smiled — tired, but genuinely happy.

  Above, from the banners of the viewing stand, the Patriarchs watched.

  Kyros, hands resting firmly on the rail, couldn’t hide his pride.

  — They dance as one people, not as separate houses. It’s what I always dreamed of, he said, voice heavy with emotion.

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  Kotan, Lord of Winter, nodded, though his tone was colder.

  — True, Kyros. But remember — there are still rats hiding in the shadows of the counties, waiting to see all this burn.

  Helena Summer, Aurelius Rowan, and Flora Anapelum also nodded in agreement.

  Kyros didn’t look away from the square.

  — Let them try. The sun burns brighter when the night is darkest.

  Then, a new presence entered the circle.

  A young elf — skin pale as ivory, lips the color of spring roses, and a long braid that ran from her forehead down to her back.

  Her features mirrored the matriarch Helena Summer herself, but her eyes burned with wild curiosity.

  — Aerya Summer, she announced, almost singing her own name.

  She stepped into the circle, unsteady but fearless. When an opponent moved to strike, her hands flared with summer fire, and her legs blazed like twin torches.

  The crowd roared.

  Aerya laughed — bold and mischievous.

  — Hope you don’t mind if I turn the heat up a little.

  When her eyes met Lukas’s, she didn’t look away.

  She walked closer, her smile sharp as flame.

  — You’re even more interesting than I thought, “failure.”

  Her tone was teasing, but the challenge was real.

  — Show me your rhythm… or should I teach you mine?

  From the back, Besouro burst out laughing.

  — That one’s never letting you rest, cousin!

  Lukas swallowed hard.

  Inside his mind, César growled, “That elf is trouble.”

  Morgana purred, “Ahhh, chocolatinho… what a delicious kind of trouble.”

  Aerya only smiled wider, spinning in the firelight — her legs painting sparks across the air, a perfect fusion of magic and capoeira.

  And so, under the gaze of the Patriarchs and the thunder of applause,

  the flame of Summer joined the rhythm of Palmares.

  End of chapter 7