Morning arrived like a heavy burden. The sun barely pierced the dense clouds that shrouded the city, and a strange chill persisted even in the early summer. For many residents, the nightmarish night still burned in their minds, as if silence had found a new way to haunt even rest.
Miguel and Elisa had no choice but to rally the townspeople. The elderly man's disappearance the night before had shaken everyone, but there was also an urgency to establish some kind of organization. If the town didn't find a common path, it would succumb more quickly to despair.
In the central square, papers, notebooks, and even boards ripped from doors served as communication tools. The ground was covered in scribbles; the walls were scratched with charcoal and improvised paint. The silence had become so absolute that, paradoxically, the city was covered in words.
Elisa erected a makeshift board, hastily written in chalk:
"We need order. We need to work together."
The residents gathered around her and Miguel. But it soon became clear that "together" wasn't such a simple path.
On the right side of the square, posters appeared with firm, direct writing:
"It's a disease. Science can cure it."
At the head of this group was Dr. Vasconcelos, a tall man with graying hair, known for treating the entire city in normal times. His gaze conveyed conviction: for him, everything had a rational explanation. "Virus, infection, maybe even some kind of collective poisoning," he wrote on a poster held high.
On the other side, more chaotic scribbles appeared on the walls and papers:
"It's a curse. It's punishment. The Guardian has awakened."
Elders, religious people, and even young people, impressed by the ancient stories, reinforced the idea that the city was paying a forgotten price. One elderly woman even scribbled, with trembling hands: "The founders made a pact. Now it's our turn to pay."
The square seemed a silent arena. There were no shouts, but eyes exchanged insults, and each raised leaf was like a sword.
Miguel tried to intervene, writing in large letters for all to see:
"We don't know what's happening. We don't have to choose now. We need to survive."
Some nodded, but soon others began waving papers at him, demanding a position. For many, neutrality was cowardice.
While Elisa tried to reorganize the groups, a young man named Raul, known as a troublemaker in the city, began writing provocative messages. He approached Vasconcelos's group, copied excerpts from their posters, and then distorted them, spreading rumors. Soon, sheets appeared with phrases like:
"The doctor said only the weak will die; we don't need to save everyone."
The outrage spread among the poorest, who already viewed the doctor with suspicion. Vasconcelos, furious, tried to explain in new posters that he had never said such a thing, but the seed of intrigue had already been planted.
On the other side, a textile merchant began distributing pamphlets scrawled with religious phrases and strange symbols. "Follow me and we will pray together, we will drive away the Guardian," he said. Many knelt with him, but others accused him of manipulating the city to gain power over the weakest.
In less than an hour, the square that was supposed to unite the population had become a mosaic of distrust.
The trigger was ignited when one of the young men in the doctor's group tried to snatch a piece of paper from an elderly woman's hands on which she had written "It's a curse." She resisted, and within seconds others joined in. There were no screams, but there were shoves, slaps, and even stones thrown. All in silence.
The loudest sound was the rolling of stones on the ground.
Miguel rushed to break it up, pushing bodies and raising his arms. Elisa banged an iron bar on the ground to attract attention. When they finally managed to stop it, blood was already running down a young man's face and tears were in the elderly woman's eyes.
On the floor, a crumpled piece of paper bore a phrase no one admitted to having written:
"The city will be divided before it is destroyed."
Elisa read the phrase and felt a chill. Who had written it? A warning or just a provocation?
As if the tension weren't enough, a new group appeared in the square. They were residents with frightened eyes, carrying charcoal-stained sheets of paper. Their messages were short and desperate:
"I can't remember my son's name."
"My house feels like a stranger's."
"Yesterday, I forgot how to write my own name."
The impact was immediate. The science group tried to write down the cases, as if they were clinical symptoms. The curse group fell to their knees in silence, as if witnessing the confirmation of the worst omen.
Miguel watched in shock. He still didn't fully believe it was possible, but something inside him began to waver. What if silence didn't just want to steal voices? What if it wanted to erase memories, identities, everything that made someone human?
While everyone was arguing, Miguel noticed something strange about the papers scattered on the floor. The letters seemed to be trembling, rearranging themselves as if trying to form new sentences. He blinked several times, thinking it was exhaustion, but Elisa noticed it too.
She touched one of the sheets with her fingers, and the letters moved, rearranging themselves before her eyes until they formed a clear sentence:
"Time is running out."
Some residents saw it and recoiled in fright, as if they had witnessed witchcraft. Others fell to their knees, certain it was the Guardian herself communicating.
Dr. Vasconcelos tried to tear the paper away, but other hands grabbed hold of it. The page tore in half, and the letters continued to move within the fragments, as if they were alive.
Chaos grew. Factions formed, fragile alliances were made and broken in minutes. Miguel realized that the city was threatened not only by the curse, but also by internal division. If they didn't find a way to unite everyone, they might end up destroying themselves before the silence completed its work.
He closed his eyes for a moment and thought of the previous night, of the disturbing dreams of children and old people. Now, with the oblivions creeping in, it seemed as if each stage of the curse brought a new wound to the heart of the city.
Elisa, beside him, wrote in large letters on the makeshift board:
"United, we might have a chance. Divided, we're already dead."
Some nodded. Others ignored it.
And so, amidst torn papers, hateful looks, and words that took on a life of their own, the city grew increasingly fragmented.
Miguel knew that, from now on, every decision would cost more.