Two months. That was how long it took for the walls of Bragan?a to stop burning.

  The smell of flesh and gunpowder still lingered in the air when the new emperor, Deodoro Bragan?a, summoned every surviving noble, general, and representative of the races that Kyros once protected.

  The bells rang at dawn.

  For the first time in decades, Sorriso was nothing but ashes. And yet, the people gathered to rebuild something that was more than ruins.

  The torches flickered weakly against cracked columns.

  Emperor Deodoro sat on the throne, his expression tense.

  At his side, cardinals, senators, and generals whispered about finances, supplies, and revenge.

  — We need gold to rebuild the northern fortresses.

  — Without the Tribes of the Seasons, there’s no natural barrier.

  — Some beastmen want to leave the Empire…

  — And the elves are talking about returning east…

  While they argued, Lukas stood beside Adriele, Valquíria, and Luiz — all dressed in ceremonial attire.

  The Emperor cleared his throat.

  — Sir Lukas… Sir Luiz… Lady Valquíria… Lady Adriele… — His voice faltered as his gaze met Lukas’s eyes. — You are the greatest heroes we have left. How can we restore order without Kyros’s leadership?

  For a moment, only the wind outside could be heard.

  Lukas raised his chin. His voice came out cold and steady:

  — By rebuilding what my father dreamed of.

  — And what would that be? — pressed an old senator.

  — A capital where all races are free to dream.

  The entire hall seemed to hold its breath.

  Lukas drew in a long breath and continued:

  — While nobles study maps and count coins, people die on the borders. Children starve. Fairies and elves return to forests reduced to ashes.

  — Then why rebuild Sorriso? — asked a cardinal. — Isn’t Bragan?a enough?

  Adriele spoke firmly:

  — Because Sorriso wasn’t just stone and wood. It was the symbol of everything Kyros fought to build. If we let it be forgotten, we betray every life that fell defending that dream.

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  Valquíria crossed her arms, her tone as sharp as steel:

  — Our father was a despised commoner who became a legend — not because he was born noble, but because he never let another man fall alone.

  The Emperor averted his gaze.

  Luiz gave a dry laugh:

  — And now you’re all afraid of an eighteen-year-old boy because he dares to remind you of the truth none of you want to face.

  Silence.

  Finally, Deodoro took a deep breath.

  — Then Sorriso shall be rebuilt — in honor of the Phantom of Thunder.

  — Not in honor, — Lukas corrected softly. — But as a promise. So that we never again count the dead in piles so high the sun can’t reach the ground.

  When the meetings ended, the four siblings walked to the place where the first memorial had been raised.

  There, at the center of it all, stood a statue of Kyros — sword pointed toward the horizon, cloak fluttering in the wind that never ceased.

  On the stone was engraved a simple phrase:

  “Here fell a common man. And from him rose the dream of a better world.”

  Adriele knelt, brushing her fingers across the words.

  — I wish he could’ve seen us win…

  Lukas stayed silent, staring at the statue.

  The memory of Sorriso burning still burned inside him.

  He thought of everything his father had done.

  — What good was slaying dragons and leading armies if, in the end, I couldn’t save him? — he murmured.

  Luiz placed a hand on his shoulder — without sarcasm, for the first time.

  — If he were here, he’d say you did everything you could. And that it’s not over yet.

  — I don’t believe that. — Lukas turned away. — I… just can’t stop.

  Valquíria gave a tired smile — the kind only survivors can give.

  — Yeah. I know, Lukinhas. You won’t stop.

  That night, Lukas returned to the Copas training grounds.

  The place was empty.

  Only the morning mist and the ground marked by countless duels remained.

  There, Lukas had faced Luiz more than a thousand times.

  And never once had he won.

  After the thousandth match, he stopped counting — not out of shame, but because he understood.

  Luiz Fernandes was a monster.

  A genius of hand-to-hand combat.

  The King of the Copas.

  From him, Lukas learned everything — how to hold the shield, protect the flank, keep his stance low, break an opponent’s rhythm...

  But it was never enough.

  And yet, he kept coming back.

  That dawn, as he donned his training armor, a mocking voice called from behind:

  — Gonna hit the ground again today, Lukinhas?

  It was a Copas lieutenant. Behind him, four soldiers laughed, placing bets.

  But when they saw Lukas’s eyes… they froze.

  It wasn’t anger.

  It wasn’t hatred.

  It was silence — like a blade driven through the chest.

  That silence cut through their laughter like a guillotine.

  — Training with Luiz again? — one of them asked, uneasy.

  Lukas simply walked to the center of the arena, sword in hand.

  And everyone stepped back.

  Something had changed.

  Later, alone, Lukas returned to the memorial.

  He stood before his father’s statue for a long time, saying nothing.

  The wind blew.

  Dust rose.

  And then he whispered:

  — I’m not you, Father… but I will carry this world on my shoulders, even if my bones break first.

  And so, on that gray morning, the first pillar of the new Capital Sorriso was raised.

  It was no longer just a city.

  It was a vow.

  Never again.

  End of Chapter 9