The air in the meeting room was charged, heavy like before a storm. Dust danced in the sunbeams streaming through the windows, illuminating the tense expressions around the large table. Carlos noticed the gaze of the chiefs – Malik, Mohammed, Jabari – and knew the next words would be hard to swallow.

  "And there is another matter, chiefs," Carlos continued, his hands resting on the table. "You will continue to lead your mocambos, but this will be temporary. During this period, you will work here at the city hall, supervised by Aqua." He paused, letting the words echo. "We need to prove that this new republic is built on efficiency, not just good intentions. Here, merit will be our only currency. There is no room for incompetence."

  He saw jaws tighten, glances quickly exchanged. The anger was visible, but also a deep doubt. Did we trade one leader for a tyrant? they seemed to think. Was Ganga Zala right?

  Carlos then turned to Tassi, who was watching everything with her usual calm.

  "Tassi, we need more food. Much more. Not just for this mocambo, but for the entire republic. Security starts with a full stomach."

  Next, his gaze landed on Guaíra Mirim. The young minister seemed to carry the weight of his new position on his shoulders.

  "And with more people coming here, the concrete apartments won't be enough. Guaíra, you must prioritize building earthen houses, using the adepts of the earth gem. They are fast, cheap, and functional."

  Guaíra Mirim hesitated for a second, his eyes seeking confidence before he raised his chin and thumped his chest in a somewhat clumsy manner.

  "Yes, President! If... if I have the adepts, I can do it!"

  Carlos nodded and addressed Specter.

  "Specter, assign your earth adepts to the Minister of Construction. This is a priority."

  "It will be done," replied Specter, his voice a steady, reliable bass, with no need for extravagant confirmations.

  "And I have a more urgent mission for you," Carlos continued, his voice dropping a tone. "I want you to begin coordinated attacks on the sugar mills in the region. Free all the slaves you can. Tell them they have a place here, but do not force them to come. Freedom includes choice."

  He made a strategic pause, looking at each face before dropping the bombshell.

  "Continue these precision attacks until the new repeating weapons are ready. Then... then we will attack the nearest city. And it will become the first official territory of the Republic of Brazil."

  The shock was palpable. Mohammed opened his mouth to speak, but no sound came out. Jabari recoiled in his chair as if struck. Even the ever-serene Tassi widened her eyes.

  Carlos then stood up, his hands firm on the table, his gaze incendiary.

  "Listen to me well!" his voice echoed in the room, charged with a fierce conviction. "The days of passivity are over! Waiting for the next attack is signing our own death warrant. We have the power, we have justice on our side! As long as the Captaincy of Pernambuco exists, we will be hunted. No..." he corrected, raising a finger, "as long as the colony of Brazil exists, we will be seen as runaway cattle! The time to retaliate is now! We are not just defending a quilombo. We are founding a nation!"

  He took a deep breath; the silence in the room was absolute.

  "Remember," he continued, his voice softer, but no less intense, "you are no longer just leaders of a mocambo of a few thousand. You are the ministers and commanders of a nascent republic. The responsibilities will be immense, the challenges, even greater. But no one will be forced to carry this burden." He swept his gaze across the room. "The door is open. Whoever wishes to follow Ganga Zala in search of a negotiated peace may do so. But those who stay... those who stay will help write the first page of a new history."

  Carlos looked at everyone who was there, but no one decided to leave; everyone stayed.

  ***

  The afternoon sun bathed the main square in a golden light as Carlos climbed onto the platform erected in front of the city hall. Hundreds of faces looked up at him – men and women, children on their parents' shoulders, old people whose eyes had seen too much.

  He took a deep breath, feeling the weight of their gazes.

  "Brothers and sisters!" his voice echoed, strong and clear. "All our lives, they told us what we were. Property. Numbers. Tools. All our lives, they taught us to fear. To run. To hide."

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  He paused, letting the words settle.

  "But today... today we are no longer hidden! We stand tall, on our land, under our sky! And from this day forward, we will no longer be a quilombo. We will be a Republic! The Republic of Brazil!"

  A murmur ran through the crowd, mixing disbelief and hope.

  "What is a republic?" he asked, rhetorically. "It is a place where no man owns another! Where power does not come from a distant king, but from the people! From the sweat on your brow, the strength of your arms, the courage of your heart!"

  He stretched out his hands, as if he could embrace everyone.

  "But this freedom... this freedom will not be given. It will be won! We will no longer wait for their attacks. We will not be content with crumbs of peace! Our brothers still chained in the sugar mills cry out for freedom! And we will answer them!"

  The mood began to heat up. Fists clenched, heads began to nod.

  "Yes, we will attack! We will attack not out of hatred, but for justice! Not to destroy, but to liberate! Every mill that falls, every chain that breaks, will be a step towards the Brazil we deserve! A Brazil where a black, white, or indigenous child can grow up without knowing the sound of a whip! Where the fruit of a man's labor belongs to himself!"

  His eyes shone with an intense light.

  "The road will be long. There will be sacrifices. There will be losses. But I ask you: what is worth more? A life of fear and submission? Or a struggle, however hard, for a free future?"

  The answer came not in words, but in a roar that rose from the crowd. A primal cry of long-suppressed freedom.

  "I do not promise an easy life!" Carlos shouted over the clamor. "I promise a dignified life! I promise that our children will inherit not the scars of our slavery, but the land of our freedom! And that no one, no one, will ever again call a human being a slave!"

  The square erupted in applause, shouts, and tears. Carlos remained on the platform, watching that sea of faces transformed by hope. The seed had been planted. Now, it was up to everyone to water it with sweat, with courage, and, if necessary, with blood. The Republic of Brazil was born there, not in a treaty or a document, but in the heart of its people.

  ***

  The next morning brought a tangible climate of division to the quilombo. The air, once unified, now carried the muffled sound of anxious voices and the dragging of belongings being packed. Ganga Zala and his followers moved like a disturbed hive, gathering their possessions under a sky that seemed grayer than usual.

  Maria watched the scene with her arms crossed, her face a mask of worry. Her own belongings were already packed and being carried by a subordinate, but one crucial detail was missing.

  Where has that boy gone off to? I said we would leave at dawn...

  Her gaze swept over the moving group, searching in vain for her son's face among the hundreds preparing to depart. A chill down her spine warned her - she knew her son's stubbornness.

  Seeing that they still had time before the definitive departure - Ganga Zala had decided they would only set out after breakfast - Maria decided to look for him. Her steps were quick and determined as she walked the familiar path to their old hut.

  "Empty," she noted, peering through the door gap. Her heart raced. Did he...?

  A growing unease led her to the works of the Prosperity Road. And there, in the middle of the steepest stretch, among dozens of sweaty, grimy men, she saw him. Daniel, muscles straining, was digging into the red earth with a fierce determination.

  "Daniel!" her voice cut through the air like a knife. "What are you doing here? It's time to go!"

  The boy wiped the sweat from his brow with his forearm, leaving a trail of dirt on his face. His eyes, when they met hers, no longer held the softness of before.

  "I already said I'm not going, Mother. Now let me work." The voice was rough, but laden with a conviction that alarmed her.

  He went back to digging, deliberately ignoring her. Maria didn't move; her feet seemed rooted to the ground.

  "What are you saying?" her voice rose, mixing disbelief and despair. "You heard Carlos's speech yesterday! Soon this place will become a battlefield! Do you want to lose your arm again too? The Popess might not even support us anymore after that! There might be no turning back!"

  Daniel threw the shovel to the ground violently, the metal clanging against the stones.

  "No!" his voice was a roar. "With Zala, we were the battlefield! Now, we will take the war to them!"

  The other workers - all men from Maria's own mocambo - stopped their work, forming a silent circle around the argument. The tension was palpable.

  Now truly angered, Maria took a step forward.

  "You don't understand anything!" she shouted, her eyes welling up. "They're just pretty words! You, more than anyone, should know it's not that simple! Do you want to end up dead, like your father?"

  The mention of his father was a low blow, and both knew it. Daniel paled, then flushed with anger.

  "My father died a hero!" he shouted, his voice breaking. "He died protecting me, saving you! He fought for our freedom... the same freedom you're throwing away to live on crumbs from the Portuguese Crown! What's the difference between that and slavery?"

  "Don't compare this to slavery!" Maria's voice came out as a wounded whisper. "You don't know, you haven't felt what real slavery is like! I fought too! When I became chief, I fought to protect your life, not suicidal ideals!"

  She took a deep breath, trying to control the trembling in her hands.

  "Fine," she said, her voice now tired and resigned. "You are an adult. Make your choices. But know that I will always be your mother. And our door... wherever we are... will always be open for you."

  Daniel opened his mouth to retort, but the words died in his throat. He saw the tears she stubbornly held back, the genuine pain in her gaze. Instead of the venom boiling on his tongue, he simply turned and picked up the shovel again.

  The shovels against the earth became the only sound. A drop trickled down Daniel's face and fell into the red earth at his feet - it was impossible to tell if it was sweat or a tear. Maria watched for a moment longer, her heart heavy as stone, before turning and walking back towards her new, and uncertain, future.