Carlos's office, after the ceremony, felt more intimate yet still solemn. The afternoon light now streamed through the windows, illuminating columns of dust dancing over the solid wood desk. The smells were familiar: wax, old paper, and a faint trace of dried sweat that still clung to Carlos's clothes beneath his ceremonial uniform. Seated with him in simple leather chairs was Whisper.

  She was there for a special reason. As part of the Republic's intelligence team, her work could not be public knowledge. No stage, no speech to the crowd could celebrate her actions in the shadows. But Carlos, insistent, wanted to show his recognition somehow, even if in private.

  He also handed her the Medal of Freedom. The bronze disk, identical to the others, seemed simple in the palm of her hand, but its weight was symbolic. Whisper was embarrassed, her calloused fingers closing around the green ribbon. A blush rose to her soot-stained cheeks, which not even a quick wash at the barracks had been able to remove completely.

  It feels so… official, she thought, a pang of discomfort mixed with a warm wave of satisfaction. I'm not used to receiving things. Just completing missions.

  "You also get a promotion," said Carlos, breaking the silence. "You'll be a sergeant. But, as we don't have many Darkness or Assassin adepts to form a specialized platoon, you won't lead a field team, at least not for now." He paused, a slight smile on his lips. "However, I have a special prize for you. Something more… practical."

  Whisper looked up, shyness giving way to sharp curiosity. The medal was already more than she expected.

  "I'd be very grateful just for the promotion," she replied, her voice a little softer than her usual professional tone. "But now I get a prize too? What is it?"

  "This!" Carlos opened a desk drawer and took out a small, smooth wooden box. Inside, on a dark velvet cloth, lay ten cartridges of common appearance, but with a subtle difference: the lead projectile at the tip had a dull, almost black sheen, and tiny runes were visible at the base of the brass casing. He picked one up and handed it to Whisper.

  "These bullets are special. They were a very expensive order from the Popess. The core has a powder of the Darkness gem encapsulated. They allow you, if you shoot and hit a shadow—not a person, but the patch of darkness itself—you can, within a few seconds, choose to 'appear' in it. It's like a short-distance teleport, but using the projectile as an anchor."

  Whisper took the cartridge with reverence, her eyes tracing the runes. Her mind, trained to assess tactical advantages, was already working.

  This is incredible! An instant escape, a surprise repositioning… or even a silent infiltration if I hit a shadow inside a locked room. Genuine emotion lit up her face for a moment. However, deep down, a slight disappointment hit her. She secretly wanted a weapon made especially for her, something unique like the sniper rifle she already carried. But she suppressed the thought immediately. I can't complain. I already got this sniper and the lens with the Vision gem. This here is a gift of immeasurable value.

  "It's fantastic, Chief," she said, her voice restrained but full of meaning. "It will completely change my options in the field."

  "I'm glad you like it," replied Carlos, putting the box with the other nine cartridges away and handing it to her. "Use it wisely. And since you're here, I'd like to ask you a technical question, if you don't mind."

  "Of course."

  "During the investigation into Albuquerque's weapons and talking with others, I noticed something. Why did Assassin adepts, in the past, almost exclusively use the Assassin gem? The Darkness gem, from what I understand, has similar concealment effects, but seems much more versatile and powerful. Why the preference for the simpler one?"

  Whisper, still examining the special cartridge, settled down and organized her thoughts. It was a good question.

  "The answer is simple, actually. Pure adepts of the Darkness gem are extremely rare. They almost don't exist. Those who master Darkness are always dual adepts—and the first domain, the prerequisite, is almost always the Assassin gem."

  How interesting! Carlos's thought raced, connecting dots. It's a pattern! The same happens with the Alteration gem the Popess uses. It's like skill trees, with basic and advanced branches. Could it be that the Darkness gem is also only found geologically near veins of the Assassin gem? A fascinating correlation…

  Whisper continued, carefully putting the cartridge away in an inner pocket of her vest.

  "Which means stable magical weapons made with the Darkness gem are very, very rare to capture. And, unlike now, in the past we never had the money or influence to simply… buy them." She paused, a corner of her mouth lifting amid the seriousness. "In the past, we also never imagined we could order custom weapons. It was steal what was there or nothing."

  Carlos coughed lightly, a dry sound in the quiet office air.

  "Well, to be fair, 'asking' isn't quite the right term yet. We buy what the merchants offer, usually the cheapest or what's left over. However, bullets are small, have a simple function… with a lot of insistence and gold, we managed to convince the Popess and her Magic Artisan to make this experimental batch for us. But the price per unit is prohibitive." He sighed, the weariness of management showing for a moment. "If we had our own Magic Artisan, under our command…"

  Whisper's face became thoughtful. She looked at Specter, who remained silent, observing, and then back at Carlos.

  "Hmm… perhaps that problem will have a solution soon, Chief."

  Carlos raised his head, interested.

  "How so?"

  "My brother and I… we were from an engenho that was right on the route to White Sand. The lord there, a vain man, bought weapons and enchanted jewelry directly from the main Magic Artisan of the city. I saw him a few times, an old and grumpy man who arrived in a closed carriage. I don't know if he's still alive or if he's still there…" she shrugged, but her eyes were certain. "…but it's very likely. Artisans of that level are treasures that the powerful hide and protect."

  Carlos's eyes shone like the gems on his desk. The fatigue vanished, replaced by the sharp focus of a new opportunity.

  "But that's excellent! If we can bring a Magic Artisan like that here…" he began to gesture, ideas flowing. "…he could not only make magical bullets for elite units, but he could start training our own apprentices! We could standardize simpler enchantments, understand the principles… who knows, even adapt the steam engines to help with repetitive processes! Mass production, even of low-grade items, would multiply our strength!"

  "I'm glad I provided useful information, Chief," said Whisper, a rare genuine smile touching her lips. She stood up, the medal softly clinking against a button on her vest. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I have an appointment. A reunion with some surviving comrades from the last battle. I promised a drink to a few."

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  "Of course, Sergeant Whisper. And congratulations again," said Carlos, rising for a respectful nod. He paused, as if pondering something, before continuing, his tone becoming a bit more serious. "But, before you go, there's another matter I need to address. I read your reports on Nzambi, about that dagger of his… and I must confess I'm more than interested. The way he obtained something of that level, the effects described… it's something I've never seen. Since you've already established a certain… contact with him, could you extend an invitation? Ask him to come here and talk with me."

  He raised his hands in a placating gesture, seeing the slight alert in Whisper's eyes.

  "I don't want to be a dictator who wrenches secrets out by force, Whisper. I want it to be a conversation. But explain to him—" and here Carlos's voice grew firmer, charged with a genuine urgency "—that what he knows, what that dagger represents… could be the key to decisions that will shape the Republic's future. Everyone's security may depend on understanding what we have on our hands."

  And it's not even an exaggeration to say that, Carlos's thought was a stab of anxiety. That purple gem… it has the same aura as the devil's artifacts, and maybe it has to do with how I arrived in this world. Except the effect seems to be the opposite: instead of bringing, it makes things disappear. Items, body parts… does it simply erase them, or does it send them somewhere? To my world, perhaps? And if that's the case… would the inverse logic work? Could it be used to summon things from there?

  A wave of dizzying possibilities flooded his mind, so fast it almost made him lightheaded. An organic chemistry book, a modern military tactics manual, a neuroscience treatise for the Popess to study… what I can teach her about the human body and mind is already at the limit of what I remember. But if I can summon more books…

  He suppressed the daydream, focusing on the person in front of him. Whisper was absorbing the information, her face a professional mask, but he could see the gears turning behind those attentive eyes.

  "I understand, Chief," she replied, her voice neutral and efficient. "I will extend the invitation. I'll try to approach him in a more… natural way, and explain the situation."

  She's still thinking like a spy, assessing the target, the approach. Carlos realized, a mix of admiration and concern. Before she could leave and start planning an emotional infiltration operation, he intervened, his voice more direct.

  "Thank you, Whisper. But you no longer need to… keep watching him, so to speak. You've already fulfilled that part. After a few days of rest—" he emphasized the word, looking at the dark circles under her eyes "—you will be assigned to the preparation phase for the attack on Albuquerque's engenho. Intelligence on his defenses will be crucial. Nzambi is an important matter, but it's my matter now. Your next mission is on the battlefield."

  He saw the slight relaxation in her shoulders, almost imperceptible. She was a soldier, an agent. Clear missions were her territory. The ambiguity of surveilling an ally, even for a good cause, was one less burden.

  "Perfectly clear, Chief. I will make the invitation and pass the responsibility to you. See you later."

  With a final nod, she turned and, as was her custom, seemed to dissolve into the nearest shadow, leaving the room not through the door, but through the darkness between two bookshelves.

  "Apparently, all Assassin and Darkness adepts have a chronic allergy to leaving rooms through the door."

  Carlos then called his secretary.

  "Marina, please ask Matilda to come to my office, if she's available."

  Marina appeared at the door, gave a brief answer, and left.

  "Immediately, Chief."

  It didn't take long. About fifteen minutes later, the door opened and the chief editor of the "Jabuticaba Journal" appeared. Matilda had swapped the raw linen tunic for a simple but well-cut dress of a mossy green that matched her eyes, which at the moment were green, but Carlos could have sworn at their last meeting they had been a different color. Her hair was tied in a practical bun, but a few rebellious strands fell over her forehead. She carried her leather satchel and a notebook.

  "You called for me, Chief? You wish to see me?"

  "Yes, Matilda. Please, sit here," Carlos indicated the chair Whisper had occupied. "I just want to ask a few quick questions, check on progress."

  Matilda nodded, sitting with a naturally elegant posture, even in the simple chair. She placed the satchel on her lap and opened the notebook, her agile fingers quickly finding the right page. She seemed to have expected the question.

  "How is the newspaper progressing? Is the first edition taking shape?"

  "It's going very well, Chief," she replied, her voice clear and professional. "Thanks to the events of the last battle, we have our main headline guaranteed: 'Resistance at the Stream: Anonymous Heroes and the Strategic Turnaround.' I'm working on the accounts based on the testimonies of Sergeant Pedro, Sergeant Tainá, and others. It's a powerful story."

  "Excellent."

  "I also reserved space for administrative news: the new hires at the paper mill and the print shop, obviously; the competition for positions at the newspaper itself for auxiliary reporters; and the public works announcements."

  Carlos made an affirmative gesture. It was exactly the scope he imagined.

  "Perfect. Add two more things: this afternoon the main cistern will become operational, bringing piped water to the first blocks of Founders Street, several shops, and two factories. We have already started excavation for two more smaller cisterns. Put that in the 'Republic's Progress' section. And…" he hesitated for a second, choosing his words. "…I have one more question, of a more personal and technical nature, if you'll allow me."

  "I'm at your disposal."

  "Your magical gem, the Painting one. Can you show me how it works? The tool you use, perhaps?"

  Matilda didn't answer immediately. Her green eyes studied Carlos for a split second, assessing his genuine curiosity. Then, without ceremony, she took a long, thin object from an inner pocket of her dress. It wasn't an artist's brush, but something resembling a thick fountain pen, made of polished dark wood. In the grip, embedded, was a gem the size of a fingernail, glowing with an opaque, iridescent light, like an oil slick under the sun.

  He analyzed the brush well and also Matilda's eyes. Wow, her eyes were really emerald-colored? I don't remember that…

  "This is the 'brush'," she said simply.

  With a smooth movement, she touched the wooden tip of the tool to the surface of one of her silver earrings. There was no flash of light, no sound. But before Carlos's eyes, the earring changed. The silver metal instantly acquired a deep rose gold hue, and the small blue stone embedded in it transformed into a vibrant, shimmering emerald green. The change was complete and flawless.

  "I need to redo this process every day, on every object I want to keep this appearance," explained Matilda, in an almost apologetic tone. "Otherwise, in twenty-four hours, the magical 'paint' dissipates and the object returns to its original color and texture. The mana consumption is low. It's a daily habit, like brushing your teeth."

  How interesting! Carlos thought, fascinated. The change is instant and drastic. More precise than any paint. This could revolutionize signage, labeling, forgery-proof identification of official documents… or even camouflage for equipment!

  "It's a fascinating ability, Matilda. And do all magical tools have this… duration limitation?" he asked, trying not to sound too hopeful.

  She shook her head, a stray lock of hair swaying.

  "Yes. My gem, in particular, is considered… well, frivolous. A curiosity of rich, idle nobles." Her lips curved into a bitter expression. "That's why there's never been much research or development into its practical uses. The focus has always been on gems that kill, freeze, burn, or protect on the battlefield. Anything beyond that is seen as superfluous, so perhaps there is some method to change color permanently, but it hasn't been discovered yet."

  Carlos sighed, a long sound laden with frustration. He looked at the pen-brush in her hands, seeing not a frivolity but neglected potential.

  "If I had a Magic Artisan under my command… the questions I would ask, the tests we would run… it wouldn't be like this." He shook his head, dispelling the daydream. "Anyway, thank you for the demonstration and the honesty, Matilda. Perhaps one day your 'frivolity' will become one of the Republic's greatest assets. You may go, and continue the excellent work on the newspaper."

  "Thank you, Chief. You'll have the proofs of the front page tomorrow morning."

  With another precise nod, Matilda stood up, put away her magical tool, and left the office, her silent footsteps on the carpet the only sounds until the door closed softly.

  Carlos was left alone, silence falling over the room again, now charged with new possibilities, new problems, and the constant weight of a future that needed to be built, word by word, bullet by bullet, and perhaps, one day, magic by magic.