The shed was in absolute silence. The weight of the decision that had just been made seemed to have exhausted even the air they breathed. Carlos felt the gaze of all the chiefs upon him – Specter, Jabari, Mohammed, Malik – and realized the moment to assume leadership had arrived. With legs still slightly trembling from contained emotion, he stood up, leaning his hands on the rough wooden table.

  "I thank you... I deeply thank you for your trust," he began, his voice slightly choked at first, but firming with each word. "But before you confirm this choice, I need to be clear: if you accept me as your leader, know that I will not be a Ganga. And you will no longer be mocambo chiefs as you were before. I will change everything. The structure, the titles, the way we govern."

  Specter, immobile in his chair, was the first to respond. His voice echoed with a solemnity that cut through any doubt.

  "As long as you lead us to victory, Carlos, I do not care about titles or structures." He leaned his torso forward, his eyes fixed on the new leader. "I am not here to enjoy the wealth of your Mocambo. I am here because I have known the whip and the hot iron. I was a slave. And I swore I would do everything so that no man, woman, or child would have to go through that again. It is for the end of slavery that I fight."

  A chorus of serious assents and gestures of support came from the other chiefs. Mohammed struck his clenched fist against his chest in a silent gesture of loyalty. Jabari, the oldest among them, nodded slowly, his face weathered by the elements showing a confident resignation.

  Carlos felt a warmth of gratitude spread through his chest. These were not men who surrendered easily; their loyalty was earned with actions, not words.

  "I understand... and I am grateful to each of you. You can trust me. I will lead our people to victory!" he promised, with a conviction that was not mere rhetoric. "However, night has fallen, and hasty decisions are as dangerous as inaction. Tomorrow, at sunrise, I want everyone to go to the town hall, in my Mocambo. There, I will announce what our future will be."

  The news of the schism spread like wildfire. Throughout the evening and into the night, an anxious buzz took over all the mocambos. Whispers around campfires, heated discussions at cabin doors, worried glances exchanged between families. The choice was agonizing: to leave with Ganga Zala in search of an uncertain peace, or to stay with Carlos and prepare for a war that seemed inevitable. The night air, normally filled with songs and stories, now carried the silent weight of doubt and fear.

  ***

  The morning light streamed through the tall windows of the town hall's meeting room, illuminating the dust dancing in the air. It was the first time Carlos used the room for its original purpose. Seated at the head of a massive solid wood table, he observed the faces around him. They were all there: his ministers – Aqua, of Economy; Tassi, of Agriculture; Quixotina, of Education; Fernanda, of Labor; and the newly appointed Guaíra Mirim, of Civil Construction. The mocambo chiefs – Specter, Jabari, Mohammed, and Malik – completed the circle of power. Standing by the wall were Nia and Davi, still without formal positions, but whose presence was fundamental.

  "Good morning, everyone," Carlos began, his hands resting on the table. "As you probably already know, Ganga Zala and several other chiefs have decided to leave with their followers. With their departure, I was chosen to lead those who remain. And today, gathered here, we are not just going to discuss changes. We are going to found something new. This..." he made a dramatic pause, looking at each face, "...will no longer be a quilombo. From today, we are a Republic. The Republic of Brazil!"

  The reaction was immediate. Specter raised his hand, a gesture of respectful but firm interruption.

  "With all due respect, President Carlos," he said, emphasizing the new title with a tone bordering on skepticism. "But adopting the same name that Portugal uses for its colony is not an act of independence; it is a direct declaration of war. We will be saying that the entire territory is rightfully ours."

  Tassi added, her tone softer, but her concern equally genuine.

  "And almost no one here identifies with that name, Carlos. 'Brazil' is a word we hear from slave hunters and plantation owners. It is the name of our oppressors."

  Carlos nodded, showing he had considered these points.

  "That is exactly why we need to reclaim this name!" he argued passionately. "We cannot let them define what Brazil is or will be. We have to create a new idea, a banner under which everyone can gather. Whites, Blacks, indigenous, mixed-race... a Brazil for everyone, not just for a few. And yes, Specter, this will mean war. But we will not be caught off guard. And for that, the changes begin now."

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  "Your orders will be carried out, Ganga!" replied Specter, his voice now laden with unquestionable loyalty.

  "First: every member of our army, from the newest recruit to the most experienced veteran, will receive a regular salary. Aqua, I charge you with structuring this." The Minister of Economy quickly noted it on a parchment, her face a mask of concentration. "Second, our army will be divided into two corps. Specter, you will be in charge of the entire army. For the Regular Forces Corps, or RFC, we will follow the training manual and tactics I prepared to the letter. I know the potential of these weapons better than anyone. And soon..." he looked at Nia, "...our Minister of Industry will provide us with equipment much more powerful than any flintlock musket.

  "Minister of what?" Nia's voice cut through the air like a gunshot. She stood up, her eyes glittering with indignation. "Since when am I a Minister of anything?"

  "Since now, Nia," replied Carlos, keeping his calm. "We are critically short of specialized labor. You are the most competent person we have to lead our industry. The position is yours."

  "I like to get my hands dirty with grease, to feel the hot metal, to hear the grinding of gears!" she protested, gesturing with frustration. "Not to be locked in an office, dealing with piles of paper and endless bureaucracy! Forget it!"

  Carlos maintained his serene gaze.

  "Alright. Find someone with half your competence, and I will appoint that person to the position. Until then, the responsibility is yours."

  Nia opened her mouth for another retort, but Carlos's air of absolute seriousness made her hesitate. She looked around at the serious faces watching her and remembered the gravity of the moment. With a muffled grumble and a look that promised a later conversation, she sank back into her chair, crossing her arms tightly.

  "As I was saying," Carlos continued, as if the interruption had not occurred, "the other corps will be the Specialized Forces Corps, the SFC. Specter, you will be in charge of its training. No one understands the weapons and tactics of this world better than you."

  "It will be an honor, Ganga!" said Specter, striking his fist against his chest in a characteristic gesture.

  "And no, Specter, I will not be your Ganga," Carlos corrected gently. "In a republic, power emanates from the people. In my world, the people chose their leaders through voting. At the moment, we are at war, and we do not have the luxury of time for elections. Therefore, I will be the President, with full powers, until the situation stabilizes and we can discuss a truly representative government."

  Quixotina, who had been observing everything with academic interest until then, couldn't contain a whisper of disbelief.

  "A world where the people vote for their own king... What an extraordinary... and dangerous concept."

  Carlos observed the expressions around him. There was confusion on some faces, admiration on others, and a hint of hope in almost all.

  I'm not sure what you're all imagining, he thought, but I guarantee the reality will be different. Whether that's good or bad, only time will tell.

  "Davi," Carlos called, addressing the chemistry apprentice. "As soon as we equip a significant portion of the RFC with the new rifles, the demand for chemical products will skyrocket. Therefore, you will be our Minister of the Chemical Industry. Your mission is to ensure we never run out of acid for ammunition production. Focus on training personnel and expanding the factories as needed."

  Davi, surprised by the appointment, straightened his back suddenly. A smile of pride and responsibility illuminated his face.

  "You can count on it, Chief! I mean, President! I will take care of everything!" His excitement diminished slightly. "But... President, it's complicated to teach such complex concepts to people who can barely read and write. We're already having difficulties training the newcomers."

  "I know, Davi. I know perfectly well," Carlos nodded, his voice laden with understanding. "In my world, only people with years of study reached posts like this. But our reality is different. And as soon as the news that we have chosen to fight spreads, we will suffer attacks. The enemy will not give us time to train 'specialized personnel'."

  "But, President..." Davi tried again.

  "Don't worry, we won't sit idly by," Carlos interrupted gently, turning to Quixotina. "Quixotina, accelerate the preparation and administration of the tests. Send the most outstanding candidates directly to the chemical industry. There, they will receive good salaries. Also set aside a good portion of those who pass to become teachers. And for the most notable teachers..." he looked directly at her, "...I will prepare more advanced materials. We need to form high school teachers and, in the future, our own specialists, and we need to do it quickly."

  Carlos took a long sip of water from a ceramic cup, moistening his dry throat before continuing.

  "We also need to diversify our economy. If the iron supply is cut off, we cannot depend solely on the sale of steel. Other products, like sugar, paper, and textiles, may not yield the same profit, but they will provide enough income to maintain our operations. And for that, we will need more hands, more minds."

  Finally, his gaze swept over the faces of the mocambo chiefs – Malik, Mohammed, Specter, and Jabari.

  "Chiefs," he said, with a tone of final urgency, "I need you to spread the word among your people. Anyone who wants to come here, to the heart of the republic, will have work and a place. There is much to be done, and every pair of hands is precious. The time to rebuild, to forge our nation, is now."