Torches lit up the great plaza of Sorriso. Tables overflowed with meat, bread, wine, and fruit. The smell of spices mixed with the smoke that still rose from the bonfires.

  People laughed, drank, and shouted his name between gulps:

  “CHO-CO-LA-TI-NHO! CHO-CO-LA-TI-NHO!”

  Lukas, sweaty and still wrapped in a few bandages, sat between Aníbal and Amélia. Two ribs in hand, he bit into them and smiled — a real smile, without shame or masks. For the first time, he felt light.

  Then a staff struck the ground behind him.

  — Boy! — Chique-Chique’s booming voice cut through the noise. — What was that today? You were born for the roda, kid! Ever think about joining Palmares?

  Before Lukas could answer, a sharp voice rose from the other side of the table.

  It was Elder Neiva, of the Black Sun — white hair tied in a tight bun, eyes glinting like blades.

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  — Don’t even think about it, old man, she snapped. — The boy’s of the Black Sun. What he showed today was discipline — control — breath. Palmares doesn’t teach that.

  Laughter broke out around them. The teasing began immediately:

  — Palmares! Palmares!

  — Black Sun! Black Sun!

  The rivalry reignited like fire — but this time in celebration. Every barrel of wine rolled by, every rib passed along, came with more playful taunts between the schools.

  Lukas only laughed, mouth full, looking at both masters.

  — If it’s up to me… I just wanna eat right now.

  Besouro roared with laughter, slapping his shoulder. — That’s it, cousin! Talk less, eat more!

  Aníbal raised his mug of wine. — To my brother — to Chocolatinho!

  Amélia, a bit shy, lifted hers too. — To the Eclipse!

  The tables erupted again; drums thundered back to life, music flooding the night.

  Lukas leaned back in his chair, still chewing, still smiling. For the first time since his return… he was truly happy.

  Inside him, César’s voice rumbled, steady and grim:

  — Enjoy this peace, boy. Tomorrow… the war continues.

  And Morgana, laughing wickedly, purred:

  — Let him be, César. Tonight he’s earned it. And when Anatoly comes… ah, chocolatinho… he better come calm. We’re ready for disaster.

  Lukas bit another chunk of meat, eyes lifting toward the night sky of Sorriso.

  Come calm, Anatoly. This time… I’m ready.

  ?? End of Extra I — The Banquet of Celebration