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This light novel is inspired by the beautiful landscapes and cultures of Bolivia and South Korea. However, the characters, events, and situations portrayed are entirely fictional. Any resemblance to real persons, places, or events is purely coincidental. This content does not intend to represent or reflect the historical, social, or cultural reality of either country. The author disclaims any legal liability arising from the interpretation of these elements.
Content warning:This chapter includes scenes of wildfire and environmental damage that may be sensitive for some readers.
Chapter 93 — The Smoke That Doesn't Warn.
93.1 Where the Air Burns.
Besoró was built upon a discreet hill,
just high enough to save it from floods and allow it to look down upon the jungle from above.
The white houses of adobe and palm formed an imperfect circle around the great Toborochi tree,
which, in its flowering season, was a pink explosion against the Santa Cruz sky.
The fruit trees provided shade, the nearby river sang among the stones,
and life breathed slowly and generously.
The river was still there,
but the jungle had stopped singing and the Toborochi no longer bloomed.
The smoke arrived before the dawn.
Enay opened her eyes with her throat scratching from the inside, as if she had swallowed ash while she slept.
She did not cough.
She didn't want to give her lungs the satisfaction of breaking first.
She sat up slowly; the palm roof and wooden walls were still intact.
But the air was not the same; for days, it had carried the scent of dead wildlands.
She stepped outside barefoot; the earth, once damp and alive, now burned beneath her feet.
It wasn't the sun; it was something else.
The sky was a dense gray, as if a dirty blanket covered the jungle.
In the distance, an orange line pulsed between the trees.
It wasn't a controlled burn.
It was a hungry fire.
"Again..."
She whispered.
Yandé appeared with a bottle of water;
his eyes were red, not from weeping, but from the smoke.
"Drink."
Enay drank without taking her eyes off the horizon.
"Brother... what are we going to do?"
Yandé took a moment to respond.
"The truck left at dawn. The children and the elderly are already on their way to the city."
Enay's chest tightened.
"And us?"
"We stay."
Her brother said, his gaze lost on the horizon.
She squeezed the bottle until the glass creaked.
"Then let's all leave."
She suggested.
Yandé shook his head.
"If we leave... we don't come back."
Enay stood motionless, and suddenly she understood.
"Of course... the land grabbers (avasalladores)."
For months she had heard the rumors.
Burned communities.
People fleeing.
Days later, unknown people would settle in.
Declaring ownership over what the fire forced others to abandon,
erasing more than a hundred generations of history in a single gesture.
When the community members tried to return,
they were met with threats and weapons.
The State didn't ignore them... but it demanded reports, paperwork, and endless legal processes.
And while justice moved slowly, fear moved fast.
It was a cruel crossroads: leaving meant losing the land; staying meant burning with it.
Many left, abandoning traditions to survive in foreign places.
She always thought they were exaggerating.
Until she began to smell smoke every week, and it stopped being a rumor.
Enay didn't know what else to say, so she chose to walk for a moment to help whoever needed it.
***
As she walked near the river, a scream cut through the air.
"By the creek side!"
Enay ran. The smoke grew thicker with every step.
Her eyes burned.
She didn't know if she was tearing up from the smoke or from rage.
Through the blackened branches, she saw it.
Some teenagers were trying to help a sloth.
It was clinging to a scorched trunk as if the tree could still protect it. Its back was open red, blistered.
The skin was peeling away in some spots.
Its claws were dug into the burnt bark, as if it were the only thing it could hold onto.
It breathed slowly, painfully slow.
When Enay drew closer, she noticed the sloth was a mother with two small creatures on her chest.
The babies weren't crying.
They just clung to her. She was protecting them from the fire, not knowing what to do.
That was what broke her the most.
"No... no... no..." She whispered.
She approached, even though the heat burned her legs.
She reached out her hands carefully.
The animal did not try to flee.
It only looked at her.
And in that look, there was something that pierced her: trust.
She lifted it gently.
The heat of its body was different fever and pain.
The teenagers carrying the offspring followed her.
"Enay!"
Yandé appeared behind her.
"The fire is advancing!"
"I'm not leaving her."
She replied through gritted teeth.
Enay ran toward the truck where volunteers worked without rest.
There were monkeys with scorched fur.
Toucans with burnt wings.
An armadillo with a cracked shell.
A dog with bandaged paws.
"We don't have medicine."
Said one of the veterinarians, exhausted.
"We're barely cleaning and covering them."
Enay swallowed hard.
"Do what you can."
When she handed over the sloth, her hands were black with soot.
She stood watching while they settled it in.
She wanted to cry.
But didn't.
She couldn't.
Enay remembered the teachings of her father, the community leader.
"In moments of crisis, one must be brave."
93.2 Avasalladores(Land Grabbers)
The fire was contained by late afternoon.
The creek was smoking, but no longer burning.
They believed the worst had passed.
For the first time in hours, someone said.
"We made it..."
It didn't sound like victory.
It sounded like a truce.
More volunteers arrived as the sun began to set.
Some with jugs of water, others with wet cloths covering their faces.
It was normal; for days, people had been coming to help.
But these men didn't wear vests.
They carried no identification.
They didn't ask about the wounded.
They asked how many families remained and how many houses were still standing.
That caught Enay's attention.
She analyzed every question and remembered the warning.
"The (Avasalladores) don't arrive with weapons first; they arrive asking questions."
She forced herself to breathe deeply.
"Calm down, Enay. Not everyone who asks is coming to take your land."
However, her eyes began to follow their every move.
"We come from beyond the woods."
One said, pointing north.
"It's worse over there. We thought you had already lost everything here."
Questions raced through Enay's mind.
"If they come from a place more affected..., what are they looking for here?"
Suspicion squeezed her chest, but without proof, it was only intuition.
***
Yandé and her father explained the situation to them, thanking them for coming to help.
In the middle of the talk, one of them walked away.
Enay followed him with her eyes,
toward the area they believed was already safe.
"Where is he going?"
Damián, Enay's boyfriend, murmured.
Both followed the man from a distance.
He crouched down.
A spark ignited the shadow.
Burning paper fell onto roots that hadn't finished cooling.
"HEY!" Enay shouted.
The man saw them, terrified, and started to run.
Damián was faster; he grabbed him firmly so he couldn't escape.
Enay tried to put out the fire, but the wind made it grow.
While Yandé and the others ran with buckets,
the men who arrived without identification escaped through the smoke.
The man Damián captured broke free and ran, but he didn't get more than a few steps.
Three people tackled him.
"The other "Avasalladores" escaped!"
Someone shouted.
And it was as if the word had been waiting to come out.
They took the man to the center of town.
"Where do you come from?"
Yandé demanded.
Silence.
"Who sent you?"
The man looked up; he didn't seem scared.
"You have no authority over me. I'll be released soon."
He didn't speak like someone expecting help.
He spoke like someone who knows that help is already coming.
That confidence was worse than a threat.
Someone wanted to hit him.
Chief Pedro stopped him with a gesture.
"We don't do that here."
They tied him to a tree, under watch. The community murmured.
"That's why the fire doesn't stop. They're waiting for us to leave."
They called the police for help.
The response was cold: impossible that night; the fire was the priority and the road was blocked.
They were left alone with the smoke,
a tied man, and a truth that was no longer a rumor.
93.3 We Have to Call Zayra
The next day, the elders were gathered. Chief Pedro listened in silence.
On the outside, he was firm; inside, the weight was beginning to bend him.
Supplies were running out, and on top of that, they were holding a man.
A community member asked.
"What will we do with the land grabber?"
An elder added.
"We don't have enough supplies, and the fires in the surrounding areas are worse."
Chief Pedro put his hand to his mouth, trying to find solutions.
Enay listened from the edge.
The jungle had always been an intense green.
Now it was orange and black.
"Dad. Talk to Zayra."
She finally said.
Her father looked up.
His shoulders, usually firm, were slumped.
The council fell silent.
Her father looked at her seriously and spoke.
"I spoke with her mother; they aren't safe there either.
Siraya has already raised her prayer to Ñande-Yara... let's hope heaven hears us."
Enay took a step forward.
"Dad, you know Zayra is the only one who can tell us what to do with that man."
Her voice didn't tremble, but she was trembling inside.
"I don't want to bother her."
Her father commented in a worried tone.
The woods creaked with a crash.
The fire sputtered again and the smoke grew heavier.
Enay felt fear wash over her: fear of the wind, of the insufficient water,
of a dawn with nothing left standing.
But her fear transformed into rage.
"If we don't tell her now... tomorrow might be too late."
Her father looked at her. Enay responded as a leader, not as a daughter; the land does not wait.
He picked up the phone and wrote without hesitation.
The message left no room for doubt.
This time he wasn't asking for advice.
He was asking for help.
Enay walked out of the communal hall and looked toward the horizon.
The horizon pulsed red.
Every spark seemed to count lost seconds.
For the first time, she understood that the enemy wasn't just the fire... it was time.
She placed her hand on her chest for a moment.
The smoke didn't hurt as much as the idea of losing everything.
She clenched her fist.
She wasn't going to break.
Because if she fell, the hill fell with her.