The square remained filled with a silence heavier than before. The stranger still stood, motionless, as the last silent murmurs faded into disordered gestures. The parchment he had given Miguel burned in his hands, pulsing in tune with the medallion. Elisa remained close, her eyes alert, as if sensing that the mere act of breathing could shatter the fragile equilibrium of the crowd.
Doctor Vasconcelos, firm in his posture, tapped his cane against the stone floor, demanding attention. With quick movements, he raised his clipboard and wrote in broad strokes:
"He is the bringer of ruin. If we accept him, there will be no one left to tell the story of this city."
Some residents nodded, gesturing nervously in support of the doctor. Others, however, kept their eyes fixed on the stranger, fascinated by the fact that, unlike everyone else, he seemed to bring answers—even if shrouded in mystery.
Pedro, his hands trembling, tugged on Jorge's arm, who was still staggering after the crisis he'd suffered in the forgotten building. The boy looked around, confused, as if he'd just woken from a long dream.
"Who... who are you?" he murmured in a low, hoarse voice, drawing looks of astonishment.
It was impossible. No sound should have been heard. But everyone heard it. Jorge's voice wasn't loud, but it carried across the square like thunder. The absolute silence that had gripped the city was shattered by collective disbelief.
Jorge, pale, clapped his hand to his mouth in terror. Elisa ran to him, holding him by the shoulders, while Miguel clutched the medallion even tighter to his chest. The object vibrated so violently that it seemed to want to break free from his hands.
The stranger raised an eyebrow, a half-smile playing on his lips. With the charcoal, he wrote calmly on his makeshift tablet:
"The voices are not lost. They are being kept."
The phrase spread through the crowd like a flame through dry straw. Kept? Where? By whom? Every face reflected the same confused terror.
Dr. Vasconcelos reacted immediately, scribbling angrily:
"Lies! He's manipulating you. This man shouldn't stay here."
Tensions flared. Some residents advanced toward the stranger, pushing, gesturing, trying to rip off his cloak. Others, on the contrary, interceded, defending him as if he were their only hope. The square became a whirlwind of arms, clipboards raising desperate words, notes falling to the ground with unfinished sentences.
Miguel stood amidst the chaos, trying to impose order, but the feeling was that the city had lost its last thread of control.
It was then that a silent scream pierced the air. A mother, kneeling on the ground, pointed desperately at the empty space beside her. Her young daughter, who seconds before had been clinging to her skirt, had disappeared.
The chaos took on a new dimension. People began running through the square, pointing to the dark streets. Elisa, shaken, quickly wrote to Miguel:
"We have to find her before she disappears forever."
Pedro, determined despite his fear, ran toward the nearby forest, while some men scattered through the city streets. The stranger, however, didn't move. He simply leaned more firmly on his staff and wrote silently to Miguel:
"If the child returns, it won't be the same."
The words chilled Miguel's blood. He wanted to ignore them, but the weight of the truth seemed to echo within him.
Minutes later, a group returned, leading the girl by the hand. But something was wrong. Her once-lively eyes were dull, and her face expressionless. When her mother hugged her, sobbing voicelessly, the child didn't hug back. She just stared at Miguel and murmured—almost inaudibly:
"I... I don't remember... my name."
The heart of the city stopped in that instant. Forgetfulness had taken a crueler form than anyone could have imagined: ripping away a child's identity.
Dr. Vasconcelos took advantage of the commotion and held up his slate:
"This is the beginning of the end. Drive out the stranger before we are all erased."
Tempers were completely divided. Some residents, furious, advanced on the man in the dark cloak, while others surrounded him in defense. The air was so charged it seemed about to split in two.
Miguel, Elisa, Pedro, and Jorge found themselves caught in the middle of this silent battle, knowing that any choice they made could cost them not only the people's trust, but perhaps their very chance of surviving the curse.
The medallion burned brighter than ever, and Miguel felt as if, with each stroke of the object, another memory was being ripped from the city.
That night, not only had a child lost their name. The Silent City itself was beginning to forget who it was.