The air in the storage shed was heavy and warm, laden with the earthy smell of raw wood and the metallic dust from the ore. Carlos observed the pyrite samples, which glittered with false golden reflections in the faint light entering through the cracks. The rough, cold touch of the rock in his hands was a reminder of the challenge ahead.

  Getting sulfur from pyrite isn't a simple task, he thought, his mind running through the intricate alchemical processes. We have to heat and cool the ore repeatedly to separate the sulfur. And along the way, if too much oxygen gets in, the sulfur bonds with it, forming SO?, an extremely toxic and corrosive gas that burns our lungs and reduces the sulfur yield.

  He sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. That's why the furnace for heating the pyrite has to be made of vitrified ceramic, which is a type of ceramic capable of containing the corrosion and withstanding intense heat. Luckily, the quilombo's potter knows how to make it, but it won't be a quick process. Each piece needs to be molded, dried, and fired with precision. His voice was a tired whisper in the silence of the shed. It would be so much easier if we could just mine sulfur directly... Too bad there isn't somewhere in Brazil to get sulfur easily, no sulfur mines, no volcanoes.

  Abandoning the pyrite on a rough plank, he stood up, his joints cracking. Anyway, I've already asked the quilombo's potter to make the things we need. Now it's just a matter of waiting, especially since we also need Nia to make the iron cauldrons for refining the saltpeter, and we're still waiting for the filters being produced by the quilombo's weavers. A lighter thought crossed his mind, bringing a slight smile to his lips. While I wait, I guess I can do something to lift Quixotina's spirits...

  In the late afternoon, Carlos and Tassi headed to Quixotina's house. The sun was beginning to set, casting long shadows across the quilombo and painting the sky with orange and purple hues. Upon entering, they noticed the house was similar to the others, built from wattle and daub, but more spacious. The sweet, damp smell of packed earth mixed with the aroma of dried herbs hanging from the ceiling. Instead of clay furniture, it had rustic but solid wooden chairs and tables. On the wall, a magnificent steel breastplate with a distinct shape hung, gleaming faintly in the dim light.

  Quixotina was lying in bed, her face marked by a pallor that contrasted with her normally vigorous features. Her eyes, once full of fire, were now heavy and tired. She was slowly bringing a spoonful of warm soup to her mouth.

  And to his surprise, Tia Vera was there too.

  "Aunt Vera? What are you doing here? Are they letting you walk around freely?"

  "Yes, my boy," the elderly woman replied with a calm smile. "Zézinho became very good friends with Dulcinéia and begged for us to see her. The guards let us visit; after all, I don't think an old woman and a child are going to destroy the quilombo, right? Besides, someone had to help Quixotina while she recovers."

  Quixotina looked at Dulcinéia, who was playing on the floor with Zézinho and a straw doll, and an expression of tender gratitude softened her features.

  "I am grateful," she said, her voice a bit hoarse. "My Dulcinéia is so shy... Seeing her play like this fills me with immense happiness. And Aunt Vera has been an angel in my recovery."

  Carlos watched the scene, and a warm feeling of accomplishment blossomed in his chest. It was only after leaving the engenho that Aunt Vera started making friends and smiling more. That's good, so good that I could make a difference.

  Tassi, who was observing Quixotina with the look of someone familiar with that state, approached the bed.

  "How are you feeling?" she asked, her voice unusually soft.

  "I remember perfectly the times my magic was exhausted. I'd wake up with the hunger of a lion and a relentless headache, as if my skull was about to crack... In your case, it was worse. You died, even if only for a short time."

  Quixotina offered a weak smile, a thread of strength amidst the fatigue.

  "I'm better, thank you. The hunger has passed, but the head... well, it still throbs a bit, yes. It's the price we pay for pushing our limits."

  Carlos, seeing the interaction, smiled and couldn't resist teasing:

  "You hardly seem like the same two who were arguing the entire trip."

  The two women rolled their eyes in perfect unison, and seeing their reaction, he continued, his smile widening:

  "I also brought a sweet from my world. I think you'll love it."

  Quixotina visibly perked up at the news. Despite saying her head only hurt a little, the pain was a constant, annoying throb in her temples, and the promise of something sweet was tempting.

  "Really? Thank you so much."

  "Absolutely serious," Carlos assured her.

  In his hands, he produced a large clay pot, sealed with a cloth held by a string. He placed it on the wooden table, grabbed a few spoons, and with a dramatic gesture, removed the lid. From inside the pot, a pale, thick cream emitted a cold, seductive mist, its subtle scent of cinnamon and lemon hanging in the air.

  Everyone gathered around the table, drawn by curiosity. Dulcinéia and Zézinho abandoned their toys on the earthen floor, their small feet making soft noises as they approached.

  "What is that?" asked Quixotina, her eyes reflecting the whitish cream.

  Carlos filled the small wooden bowls he had gotten from the pantry.

  "Ice cream. A frozen wonder from my world. Normally it would be impossible to make something like this so quickly, but with Pedro's help and his ice gem, and the carpenter's son who helped me with his power to make something like a blender – which is a thing that mixes stuff – and a bit more time and experimentation, I managed. There's lemon ice cream, cinnamon, and mangaba, made with milk and sweetened with honey."

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  "Honey!" exclaimed Quixotina, and just hearing the word, her mouth seemed to water.

  Zézinho tugged on Carlos's pants, his eyes wide.

  "Uncle! What is that!?"

  "Ice cream, Zé. You can try it, but you have to eat it before it melts," he said, handing a bowl to each one.

  Quixotina was the first to take a full spoonful into her mouth. Her eyes closed instantly as the cold, creamy, and intense flavor of cinnamon and honey spread across her palate, momentarily numbing the throbbing pain in her skull.

  "This is delicious!" she exclaimed, a burst of genuine pleasure in her voice. "It's been so long since I've tasted such a splendid dessert!"

  Soon, everyone began to try it. The sound of spoons scraping against bowls filled the room.

  "Boy!" said Tia Vera, licking her lips. "You have to give me the recipe for this!"

  "I will, don't worry," Carlos laughed.

  Zézinho, however, ended up eating so fast that he suddenly clutched his head with a sharp cry.

  "Ow! My head hurts!"

  "Ah, I forgot to warn you!" said Carlos, trying to hold back a laugh. "You can't eat it too fast or you'll get a 'brain freeze'!"

  Zézinho, trying to disguise the sharp pain, straightened his back with effort.

  "It doesn't hurt at all, Uncle! This is nothing for me, I'm strong! You can even give me more ice cream!"

  "That's not fair!" Dulcinéia whined, holding her empty bowl. "I want more too!"

  "Calm down, calm down," Carlos soothed, raising his hands. "Yes, you can, there's a bit more for everyone."

  Tassi got up and served herself another portion, commenting in a playful tone that didn't completely hide a hint of jealousy:

  "It's really tasty, huh? But for Quixotina you make a marvelous sweet like this, and I get simple popcorn?"

  "When you almost die and are bedridden, Tassi, I promise: I'll make a whole bucket just for you," he retorted playfully.

  It was then that Dulcinéia's small, frightened voice cut through the air, laden with a tremor that silenced everyone:

  "Mommy almost died? She told me she just tripped..."

  A heavy, awkward silence hung over the room. Carlos felt a knot form in his stomach. Damn, I said too much.

  Quixotina, however, acted with a maternal serenity that instantly calmed the situation. She pulled her daughter close, running her hand through the girl's soft hair.

  "I worried you, didn't I, my love? Forgive me. Mommy encountered a very bad monster, but everything is fine now. I survived thanks to this young man here," she said, nodding towards Carlos. "The same one who brought the ice cream."

  She looked at her daughter affectionately and, lowering her voice even further, whispered:

  "By the way, don't you have something to say to him?"

  Dulcinéia, still clinging to her mother's arm, hid her face for a moment before turning to Carlos. Her large eyes were tearful.

  "Thank you, Uncle..."

  "You're welcome, Dulcinéia," Carlos replied softly. "But I have to thank your mother, who saved me. She really is a true knight."

  He crouched down to the girl's height, took her empty bowl, and said:

  "I'll get more ice cream for you, who was so brave waiting for your mother that day."

  As he stood up, a strong but somewhat weakened hand gently pulled his sleeve. It was Quixotina.

  "Get more for me too?" she asked with a hopeful smile.

  "Of course," he agreed.

  Zézinho, seeing the scene, felt a pang of guilt for his earlier gluttony.

  "Thank you, Uncle..." he murmured, embarrassed. "Get more ice cream for me too?"

  "Sure, Zé," said Carlos, nodding.

  After filling the girls' bowls, he crouched down with the pot next to Zézinho.

  "This is like a thank you for the cashews you used to pick for me, okay?"

  Aunt Vera, who had watched the scene with her heart initially tight from the earlier blunder, felt a wave of relief and pride so strong her cheeks warmed. I didn't even have to tell him, she thought, a wide, toothless smile spreading across her wrinkled face. The boy is learning to feel real gratitude.

  Zézinho, however, felt awkward with the direct praise. To escape that sweet embarrassment, he ran towards his grandmother, took her bowl, and went to Carlos.

  "Get some for my grandma too!" he said, pushing the bowl into the young man's hands.

  Watching all this exchange of family affection and gratitude, Tassi felt a sudden, bitter envy gnawing at her insides. There was no family member who loved her in her family. She had never eaten sweets either; she spent her life making sugar canes grow in the fields, but couldn't even have a drop of guarapa, let alone taste pure sugar. Soon, however, a wave of shame for feeling envy of children hit her. She averted her gaze to the wall, feigning a sudden interest in the irregular texture of the clay, while her mind plunged into a river of bitter thoughts.

  I wish I had grown up in a place like this. In a place where an adult offers you a sweet not as a reward for obeying, but simply to see you happy. My own parents handed me over like a package at the king's palace. The fate of an ugly, strong girl: I wouldn't serve as a concubine, so they threw me into the Mino army. There, I was forced to grow up. To exchange childhood for a sword, caresses for scars.

  Her fist clenched involuntarily at her side, her nails digging into her palm. If I had grown up in a place like this... I would be a different person. Softer. More whole... It's a pity this little happiness is so fragile. It's like a flower blooming in the middle of a battlefield. There are so many who want to trample it, to destroy this place... Perhaps it was good that I grew up the way I did. Because this hardness I acquired, this coldness of a survivor, is what allows me to protect this flower. Even if I'm not on the front lines of the quilombo's army, I can defend it in other ways. I can forge the weapons that will guard them. I can ensure these children have more days like this.

  Tassi wasn't the only one lost in her thoughts. While savoring the last spoonful of ice cream, Quixotina also let herself be carried away by memories. This dessert reminds me of my time as a noblewoman... So many sweets I could eat. One of the few good things about that life. Perhaps it was the only good thing about that life, that and my uncle... I miss him so much. You, who taught me to hold a sword as much as you taught me to hold a pen to write. You who saw me as the person I was, not the lady they wanted me to be. What would you say if you saw me now? A fugitive, a runaway, living in a quilombo...

  Her gaze lowered to Dulcinéia, who was licking her bowl with happy concentration, completely absorbed in that moment of sweetness. "...But with your beloved grand-niece in my arms. You would adore her. You would think her the most perfect and courageous of knights. I wish so much you could see her." A stubborn tear, that had nothing to do with her headache, threatened to fall. She quickly wiped it away with the back of her hand, disguising the gesture with a final spoonful of the now more liquid ice cream.

  Soon after, the bowls were washed, goodbyes were said with hugs and promises of new visits, and everyone left, returning to their lives. That small, precious moment of collective happiness, perfumed with cinnamon and honey, had come to an end, leaving behind only an echo of smiles in the quiet air of the house.