— I'm not sure — said Cauã, bringing a hand to his head, eyes half-closed, still feeling the throbbing pressure. — I think they… literally do brainwashing. Some sort of psychological manipulation.
Michel crouched down slowly, held his friend's face carefully, and looked into his tired eyes. The dilated pupils revealed the effect of the hypnosis, and the lethargy clouded his memory, blurring it. He could barely remember what he had typed at the end.
— Breathe deeply — Michel ordered, helping him settle onto the sofa. Minguado, restless, let out a low meow, as if sensing the tension in the air, and sat nearby, alert and watchful. Michel went to the kitchen and came back with a glass of water, which Cauã accepted without realizing how long he had spent browsing that suspicious site. He ran a hand over his face, exhausted.
— Looks like… it really was a kind of induced hypnosis — Michel murmured with a sigh. He picked up his phone and began typing a message to the police chief. — I'll send him the site link to investigate. At least now we have something concrete.
Cauã clutched the sleeve of Michel's shirt, not fully grasping the reaction.
— Are you upset with me? — The question came out timidly, almost a whisper, at a moment when everything felt too hard to even think about other people's feelings.
— Of course I am — Michel burst out, his voice laden with frustration and concern. — You did something incredibly reckless, alone, without supervision. You could have put yourself in danger, Cauã! Why didn't you wait for me? We could have done this together, if it had to be done. — He took a deep breath, the day's accumulated tension and the recent danger rising to the surface. — And what if this place isn't safe anymore? Have you thought about that? What's your next step? March into their headquarters and just say "hi"?
Cauã shivered, his body trembling under the weight of the words. The sudden mental strain had left him in pieces, and Michel's harshness only added to the overload. He covered his head with his hands, breathless, trying to anchor himself in the present, to hold onto reality as it slipped away. It was hard. He closed his eyes, feeling the truth in his friend's words, but also the sting of being attacked when he most needed support.
He was no longer a teenager, but still a sensitive adult — and the pressure in his chest almost suffocated him, making even breathing feel like a near-impossible task.
Michel saw what he had done and regretted it instantly. The tension in his shoulders eased, and he knelt beside Cauã, gripping his shoulders firmly.
— I'm sorry, I'm sorry… — Michel murmured, pulling him into a strong embrace, not letting him pull away. — I shouldn't have blown up at you. It's not your fault; you only did what you thought was right. None of us knew these people were so unhinged… I'm here, with you. I always will be.
Cauã, eyes still closed, let those words sink in, feeling calm return little by little. He slowly turned until they were face to face, hugging Michel and resting his head against his chest, his breathing still uneven. Michel cupped his face gently, and their foreheads leaned together in quiet closeness.
For a moment, Cauã almost felt that kind of closeness might overwhelm him — but the warmth in it made him tremble slightly. He gripped Michel's shirt and allowed himself to rest there. Michel's hand moved through his hair with quiet care.
— Feeling better? — he asked softly.
— I think so — he replied with a small sigh, glancing at the laptop. — I… need to explain what happened. — His voice still carried a trace of daze.
— Alright, but do you forgive me? — Michel smiled, a little sheepish.
— I think so — Cauã answered with a crooked smile. — But not entirely.
— Then I guess I'll have to make it up with a solid dinner, maybe with some Northeastern seasoning? — Michel teased.
Cauã thought for a moment and gave a shy nod.
They shared the meal with quiet appetite and comfortable silence: moqueca, baião de dois, and acarajé steaming on their plates. Of course, it wasn't the same as eating at a seaside restaurant in Recife, but still, Cauã felt content. The taste grounded him — warm, familiar, welcoming.
As they ate, he slowly recounted what he remembered from the incident with the site — the sentences he had typed without full awareness, the visual triggers, the sensations. Michel, attentive, glanced at the site briefly, just enough to sense its danger before sending the link to the police chief. He remarked that the police IT team should examine it with extreme caution — never alone, he warned. He hoped they would find something useful from this lead, though he knew how easily such things could dissolve into mist.
— At least now we have another lead — Michel said, letting out a tired sigh as he offered two pieces of meat to Minguado.
The cat merely sniffed at them with disdain before walking toward his food bowl, dignity intact.
— He prefers chicken. — Cauã commented with a faint smile.
Michel rolled his eyes with affection and leaned back in his chair. A brief silence settled between them, until he spoke again, his voice heavy:
— My uncle… he started talking about some very strange things. Said our family is "chosen," spoke of blood purity, destiny, the Lacerda lineage…
— Sounds like a very troubling speech. — Cauã replied plainly, his expression serious and his gaze steady.
— It is… — Michel confirmed, voice low, almost lost in the quiet room. — It only shows me that Lourdes probably agrees with it. And who knows how many more share that warped idea of purity. But in all of human history… that's never meant anything good. — He toyed with the food on his plate, pushing grains around as though searching for a thought hidden in the crumbs. — And… my mother. I can't be sure, but everything suggests she disagreed. The way she tried to run, the way she begged not to be left alone. She probably opposed all of it. And because of that… he might have killed her. Maybe my father too. For the same purpose. And I can't even investigate.
Cauã watched him in silence, his gaze heavy with empathy, sensing the weight of the loneliness Michel carried — like an heir to a fate he had never asked for.
— And then there are the fanatics — Michel went on, letting out a dry, disbelieving laugh. — On one side, my uncle wants me to be the sacred vessel for a new era, with my child — or children — bringing about some great change. On the other, a lunatic cult wants to erase me from existence, as if I were the herald of an apocalypse. Really, I'm spoiled for choice.
Cauã reached out and rested his hand lightly over Michel's — a steady, silent gesture that said "you're not alone" without needing words.
The apartment was quiet, except for the soft sounds of the movie they had picked almost at random — one of those light, predictable comedies that served well to distract. The glow from the TV lit their faces faintly, also reflecting off the bowl of popcorn they shared without ceremony, their fingers occasionally brushing. Minguado slept curled in the corner of the sofa, as if he too knew the moment needed to be protected.
Michel sat with one leg tucked on the sofa, the other on the floor. From time to time, he glanced sideways at Cauã, as if to reassure himself that he was really there — not elsewhere in mind or body. Cauã leaned back, still wearing the same oversized coat, now with a light blanket Michel had pulled over them both. His eyes, half-closed, betrayed the fatigue still lingering, but also the comfort of a fragile peace.
Near the end of the film, they shared a chocolate bar in silence, with small smiles. Michel broke the pieces carefully, offering them to Cauã as if each one were a quiet apology not yet spoken, a nameless gesture of care.
— You feeling better? — he murmured as the credits rolled.
Cauã nodded, his eyes on the dark screen, his head resting on Michel's shoulder.
— I am. With you here, the voices don't shout so much.
Michel slipped an arm around his shoulders and gave a gentle squeeze.
— Then let's do this more often. Silence the world together.
And there, in that warm little bubble of popcorn, chocolate, and quiet, they let the rest of the world fade away — at least for that night.
They kissed with a quiet tenderness, as if discovering time in a different rhythm. For a brief moment, the world around them ceased to exist. Their bodies remained close, breathing in unison, as though even silence had learned to touch. Michel's hand moved gently over Cauã's form with almost reverent care, and the doctor, more willing than the lawyer had expected, yielded with the calm of someone who chooses—not out of impulse, but out of trust.
They walked to the bedroom without saying a single word — they didn't need to. Their steps were light, their breathing uneven. Closing the door, they both knew what they were about to share. There was no naivety, no hesitation, only the quiet surrender of two men who, in the middle of chaos, had found shelter in one another. The connection was not hurried; it was whole. It grew in gestures, in glances, in unhurried touches that spoke more than any confession could. In that moment, all that existed was the hum of skin and the mutual consent to remain — intertwined, in something that was theirs alone.
Cauã woke the next morning.He felt both embarrassed and content. A faint warmth still colored his cheeks as he walked to the bathroom. Looking at himself in the mirror, he saw faint traces left by Michel — discreet, but impossible to ignore. The lawyer was still asleep in the bedroom, serene, his hair spilling over the pillow as if his whole body had finally found rest. Cauã didn't want to wake him. He knew Michel had early commitments, and such peace was too rare to break.
It had been a long time — perhaps never — since he had felt this way after a night spent with someone. There was something different, something that went beyond the physical. A genuine connection, rooted delicately in affection. Before, his relationships had seemed mechanical, born out of necessity or curiosity, always ending with the sense of not belonging. Michel wasn't exactly easy to deal with, but Cauã liked the way he existed beside him — sometimes sharp, sometimes gentle, almost always unpredictable. Above all, Michel made him feel seen. Understood. Respected.
With a shy sigh, he went to the kitchen. He prepared a simple but thoughtful breakfast: tapioca, bread with cheese, and fresh hot coffee. He left a discreet note on the table — "Had to go to work, but enjoy breakfast." He knew Michel would soon wake and start his home office routine. Maybe it was time to turn one of the rooms into a small office. But was he moving too fast? The thought of Michel being part of his daily life seemed too good — and precisely for that reason, it scared him.
He fed Minguado, cleaned the space, and stroked the cat's fur. "Take care of him," he murmured softly.Grabbing his backpack, he put on his helmet and rode off on his motorcycle. The sun still warmed the waking city gently, and the Metropolitan Hospital awaited him for the next few hours. Consultations until noon — then another shift awaited. And with it, perhaps, more questions than answers.
He attended to his patients with the same care as always — calm humor, attentive listening, genuine patience. But there was something different. Something light, almost imperceptible, like butterflies dancing beneath the skin and smiles that escaped without warning. He wasn't one to get distracted, but now and then his gaze drifted off for a few seconds before he smiled — as if recalling something beautiful.
The compliments from patients came as usual, praising his human approach, but that day they seemed more observant, as if they noticed a new light about him. The residents, still adapting to the intense routine, looked at him with surprise — and a hint of amusement. In whispered exchanges and knowing glances, they speculated about what could have happened to leave him like this.
— "That's it, Mrs. Eulália, take care. Your health is great, but don't forget your water aerobics, all right?" — he said with a gentle smile, helping the elderly woman to her feet. It was his last appointment of the shift.
He was about to leave, already thinking of lunch and the next shift at Jean Bittar Hospital, when something made him stop. A brief movement — a familiar figure in the corridor. His eyes caught it, but his mind took a moment to process. Had he really recognized…? Or was his mind playing tricks?
He turned, frowning slightly.He was certain he knew that silhouette.
Walking quickly toward it, he reached the elevator just as the doors closed. He glanced at the digital display: fourth floor. Odd. That wing rarely had movement at this hour. Impatient to wait for the elevator, he took the stairs, his heart pounding — partly from the climb, partly from the strangeness of the situation.
He arrived on the floor, slightly breathless. The hallway was nearly empty, silent, with a rarefied atmosphere. What am I doing? he thought, questioning himself for chasing a shadow — maybe a memory? A ghost? In hospitals, such things were common. Even here, in the relatively new Metropolitan, he still caught glimpses of visions that seemed to belong to another time.
He was lost in thought when two hands touched his shoulders from behind.He turned instinctively, startled — and his eyes widened as he recognized the face before him.
— "Kaike?" — he whispered, as if the name were too heavy to speak aloud.
He closed the distance in a sudden impulse, not caring about anything else. He simply held him — as if he needed to be certain this was real, not an illusion shaped by longing or exhaustion. Six years. Six long years since the last time he'd seen him. He gripped Kaike tightly, as if his arms could keep him from disappearing.
Kaike returned the embrace gently, letting Cauã hold him with desperate urgency. He allowed himself to be kept close — perhaps because he needed that silent confirmation too, or because he knew that, for the other, this was more than a reunion: it was a miracle, a relief, an almost impossible reality.
— "But how…?" — Cauã's voice was rough, breaking. He felt the burn of tears at the corners of his eyes, still stunned by the unexpected presence.
Kaike smiled softly.Cauã brought his hands to the other's face, searching for answers in that familiar yet time-worn expression. He was thinner — not alarmingly so, but noticeably. There were deep shadows beneath his eyes, a light beard along his jaw, and his long hair was tied back in a simple braid. Threads of white peeked through the brown, signs of difficult years. Kaike had always been two years older, but now he seemed to have lived far beyond that. As though Belém had exacted too high a price.
— "Why did you…?" — Cauã's question died in his throat, replaced by an uneasy feeling crawling up his spine. Slowly, he stepped back, as if waking from a dream, letting go of Kaike's face with hesitation. — "How did you find me here?"
— "Actually, it was you who found me, Cauã." — Kaike's smile was calm, almost enigmatic, as he reached up to touch the doctor's face, as if to keep their bond intact. Yet the touch sent an unsettling chill through him. It wasn't like before.
Kaike had always carried an energy that was hard to name. There was something ancient in his presence, something beyond ordinary understanding. The gift of sight had never been strange to him — it was part of his essence, a legacy inherited from generations who had lived before the Portuguese arrived, guardians of the land long before the word "Brazil" existed. His ancestors had foreseen what would come: fire, steel, destruction — the great evil that would descend upon the peoples who lived there.
And now he was here. Back. With that same gaze that seemed to pierce through time, seeing things no one else could.
— "You spoke to us. Remember?" — Kaike brushed his hair gently, in a way both tender and disquieting. — "I never thought I'd meet you like this… The truth is, for my greater purpose, I couldn't go back. Back home… Everything was aligned here. This place… is the beginning and the end, Cauã."
Cauã stepped back again, his heartbeat quickening, each word from Kaike unraveling something inside him. The absurdity of it all echoed in a space he couldn't quite reach.
— "You're with that sect? They've brainwashed you, brother…" — he murmured, a cold shiver running down his spine. There was a deep, nameless unease in him, as though he stood before an abyss he could sense but not see.
— "No, Cauã." — Kaike still smiled, calm and pale, radiating a serenity that felt even more frightening. His eyes were not empty like those of the fanatical — on the contrary, they were alive, weighted, ancient. — "I created it. With someone very special. He showed me how to open people's eyes. To teach them to see what I've always seen. The pandemic… was only the beginning. A crack in the fabric of the world. Brazil suffered. The whole world was drowned by the great plague. And now the time has come… for renewal. If we don't destroy, we will be consumed. We must begin again. Here. From dust to dust. And then, rise once more."
— No, Kaike. It's you who are trying to kill Michel. — Cauã was almost out of breath. How could he have imagined that his childhood best friend would be the epicenter of that sect?
Kaike frowned for a few moments, his expression shifting like a shadow.
— That man deceived you, your family… Descendants of slave owners, colonizers, beings as malicious as the oppressor himself — they must be stopped, Cauã. — Kaike spoke more firmly now. — I came because I knew I had to make a difference. Michel's blood and death will bring… the prophecy I dreamed of… I saw it, Cauã:— When the blood of the chosen stains the hot ground of the city,the earth will tremble three times, like a war drum in the chest of the world.— The great serpent will awaken.— Its head lies beneath the Sé, sleeping for centuries.And its body will stir toward the Basilica.— It will tear apart everything rotten,toppling buildings, drowning those who lied with their mouths full.— It will sweep through Brazil like a wild river in flood,carrying away kings, saints, and thieves alike.— And when its hunger is sated,it will lie down again in the bowels of the earth,silent, waiting for the next call.— Then, whoever is still alive will be able to begin again.But it must be done right.Because if they fail again…it will return.
Kaike recited it as if it were the only truth that mattered. His eyes shone with fervor, and Cauã could feel the weight of the prophecy in the air — a weight the other man seemed to believe with every fiber of his being. He had dreamed of the world's end so many times that destruction had become familiar to him. For Kaike, chaos was simply the womb from which new life emerged.
— You really want to kill everyone? — Cauã's disbelief was palpable in his voice.— It's not death. It's renewal. — Kaike let the smile fade from his lips. — What did that man put in your head, huh? He is the evil, Cauã. The colonizer. The rot in the blood. And you're going to side with those who chained and whipped our people?— That's not it! — Cauã protested, his voice breaking under the absurdity. — Why do you create this sick symmetry? I'm not on the side of our enemies… but I won't accept mass slaughter either!
The air felt thin. Anger and confusion pressed on his chest.
— I came because you're my brother. And I think it's time you understood your true destiny. — Kaike sighed, firm, like someone speaking to a hesitant believer. — That man, Michel… he wouldn't understand. He never will. His uncle's hands are stained with the blood of innocents. They're all servants of oppressors. They use blood magic. They speak of purity. They kill our people as if we were pests. Black, Indigenous… they want to erase our nation. Even now. Just as they did centuries ago.
Cauã's eyes widened at the force of the speech.— Kaike, no! — his voice trembled between anger and despair. — You're using our pain as an excuse for your actions. I know what they do, I know how they look at people like us, I feel it every day — you do too. But the answer can't be this. I know we have to fight racism, fight the genocide of our people… but killing everyone won't change it!
He stepped forward, his eyes burning.— And I'm not just talking about Michel… I'm talking about Brazil. You want to drag everything and everyone into the abyss. — His voice rose, his chest heaving. — They already kill us every day. They already discard us, silence us. But the fight isn't throwing ourselves into the pit with them. What you're saying… that's not justice. It's blind vengeance!
Kaike watched him in silence for a few long seconds. His gaze no longer held its shine — only a veil of disappointment and weariness.— You don't understand. I want renewal. That's all. — he murmured, sighing as if burying a hope.
Then he stepped closer, calmly, as if still holding on to a shred of affection despite the abyss between them. He placed a card in the doctor's hand.— When you're ready, meet me here. — His voice was low but firm. — And don't let yourself fall into that Michel's sorcery. What you feel… it's not real, Cauã. He draws everything — luck, spirit, desire. He manipulates feelings, even yours. And he will use you… until there's nothing left of you.
Cauã stood there in the silent corridor, the card still pressed between his fingers. He heard the dry sound of the elevator doors closing — metallic, final — as if sealing more than just an encounter. His breath caught in his chest, heavy. He didn't know if he was sweating from heat or from nerves. It just… hurt. His chest, his head. The world felt slightly out of alignment.
The fluorescent lights flickered with that irritating frequency that had always bothered him. But now he wasn't sure if it was the ceiling… or his own vision wavering. The card trembled in his hand. He didn't know if it was from fear, doubt… or anger.
He slipped his other hand into his pocket, feeling the açaí seed beads he always carried. He gripped them tightly, as if they could anchor his mind to the present, as if Kaike's words couldn't infect him."What I feel… is real. I know it. I know it."
He repeated it to himself like a mantra, eyes fixed on the floor — too clean for a hospital. He was trying to breathe. One. Two. Three. But the anguish still churned inside him.Kaike. The cult. Michel. The cursed prophecy.
He swallowed hard.If this was the beginning of the end… then he would have to choose which side he was on.