The night seemed heavier than ever. The square, once a center of gatherings and celebrations, had become a stage for silent accusations and desperate gestures. The stranger stood firm, leaning on his staff, while the residents wavered between veneration and hatred.
Dr. Vasconcelos, his slate held high, continued to hammer out phrases that inflamed tempers:
"Don't trust him."
"He is the root of the curse."
"Expel him before it's too late."
The written words carried more power than any sound. With each card thrown, one group of residents advanced against the stranger, while another tried to protect him. The silence made everything more terrifying: mouths open in screams that didn't exist, hands pushing, stones raised and falling without a sound.
Miguel clutched the parchment tightly. The medallion burned against his chest, as if trying to react on its own. Elisa, beside him, scribbled hurriedly on her clipboard:
"If he's lying, why does the medallion react? If he's telling the truth, why does Vasconcelos insist on expelling him?"
Pedro looked from side to side, his forehead covered in sweat. Jorge, still crestfallen from the vision of the forgotten building, leaned on him to keep from falling. His eyes, however, were fixed on the stranger's staff, as if recognizing something the others couldn't.
Vasconcelos noticed the group's hesitation and wasted no time. He wrote on his board in bold letters:
"They're already a farce with this outsider, bringing the virus to our city."
The blow was accurate. The residents turned on Miguel and the others. An elderly woman with disheveled hair grabbed Elisa's arm and tried to snatch the clipboard from her. A man swung a hoe at Pedro, only to be restrained at the last moment by another neighbor who believed the stranger's word.
The square became a silent battlefield. Families split, friends attacked each other with work tools, and the stranger, in the center, remained motionless, watching everything with that enigmatic smile.
It was at the height of the conflict that something even more terrifying happened. One of the children, until then clinging to her mother, broke free and ran toward the dry spring. Her body trembled, as if pulled by invisible strings. When Miguel tried to reach her, the air around her vibrated.
She stopped, rigid, and then collapsed into her mother's arms. Her eyes were empty. There was no brightness, no fear, no recognition. Just a blank space where she had once lived a lifetime.
A silent scream rippled through the crowd. Many fell to their knees. Others began frantically scribbling on paper, trying to record what had happened before the memory faded too.
Vasconcelos seized the opportunity. He wrote in bold letters:
"Look! It's his work!"
And he pointed his finger directly at the stranger.
Miguel, suffocating under the pressure, finally raised the parchment before everyone. The paper felt alive in his hands, the runes pulsing in sync with the medallion. He wrote, in firm letters:
"If he lies, why do the symbols react?"
There was a moment of hesitation. Eyes flickered between Vasconcelos and the stranger. Elisa held up her own clipboard to reinforce:
"Casting him doesn't erase the curse. Perhaps he knows how to overcome it."
But Vasconcelos was quicker. He raised his slate and stamped a cruel sentence that took the breath away from the crowd:
"Either he's the solution... or he's the bait."
Hands trembled. Fear turned to anger. Many began to retreat, others advanced, but the balance had been shattered.
It was then that the stranger broke his passivity. With the charcoal, he wrote calmly on the stone floor:
"You do not understand. The Guardian does not dwell in these houses. Her heart rests in the forest. Only there will there be answers."
And, as if to seal his words, he tapped his staff against the ground. A low, deep sound reverberated through the square—not a whisper, but a deep thud, like the tolling of a distant bell.
The sound echoed inside everyone's heads. Some residents broke into silent weeping. Others fled in panic.
Miguel felt the medallion vibrate so much he almost dropped it. The runes on the parchment glowed, burning his eyes.
Elisa gripped his arm tightly, writing hurriedly:
"He speaks the truth. Or at least he believes what he says."
When the sound died down, nothing remained of the fragile unity that had held the town together. A group of residents surrounded the stranger, vowing to follow him into the forest. Another group, led by Vasconcelos, vowed to drive him out—or destroy him, if necessary.
In the middle, Miguel, Elisa, Pedro, and Jorge were dragged from both sides, each demanding to choose which side they would take.
The sky was beginning to lighten as the square, already stained with blood and silence, emptied. Families returned to their homes, not to rest, but to keep watch over one another.
Dr. Vasconcelos walked away, writing on his slate:
"Whoever follows this man will not return the same."
And he disappeared into the narrow streets, taking part of the crowd with him.
The stranger, meanwhile, waited beneath the dry fountain, his eyes fixed on Miguel. He wrote calmly on a loose stone:
"When the moon rises, we set off for the forest."
Miguel clutched the medallion to his chest. Elisa, pale, stared at the parchment as if it were a mirror of her own doubt. Jorge, still weak, murmured under his breath, "the inevitable exchange..." And Pedro, silent, simply watched, knowing that the next choice could decide not only the fate of the city, but of all of them.
That dawn, it wasn't just memory that was lost. It was also the trust between neighbors, the shared hope, and the certainty that there was only one path.
Now, each had to choose: follow the stranger into the heart of the forest... or listen to Vasconcelos's cold reason.