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Chapter 3 - Chapter 3 – The Erased Name

Beneath the cold and damp ground, Hulio sat hugging his knees. The humid air clung to his skin like whispers, and giant roots stretched down like fingers, watching.

What day was it? What week?

Time didn't flow straight here. Sometimes he felt he had only just dozed off, then woke to find a beard on his face. Sometimes he opened his eyes and everything he once knew—voices in his head, hunger, fear—felt like a dream too vague to grasp.

And every time he tried to calm his thoughts, the voice returned.

"Do you still think you matter?"

It wasn't the voice of a creature. It was his own thoughts, made manifest. Splitting him from within.

"No one is looking. No one remembers. Up there, you're already buried."

---

Up in the world above, cameras flashed. Microphones lined up. Dozens of journalists filled the front yard of a colonial-era building in downtown Rio de Janeiro—headquarters for official statements from the Moreira family.

In the spotlight stood an old man in a gray suit, holding a silver cane engraved with the family crest. He was Dom Aureliano Moreira—the patriarch of the great family, whose influence still echoed into the nation's cabinet.

His face was stern. His eyes, sharp as blades.

"We, the Moreira family, hereby declare Hulio Moreira legally deceased. No body has been found, no credible proof of survival. In order to preserve our bloodline and the honor of our family name, we are erasing him from the official Moreira lineage."

Camera flashes crackled like lightning.

Next to Dom Aureliano stood a man with a worn, hard face—Captain (Ret.) Antonio Moreira, Hulio's biological father. His eyes were hollow. He stood like the shadow of a once-great soldier who had saved many lives in Brazil's largest military operations.

But today, in front of all the cameras, he couldn't save his own son from being erased from history.

"So all this time... what did they think Hulio was?" he whispered, barely audible even to himself.

---

Meanwhile, deep underground, the echo of those words struck Hulio like a hammer.

He didn't know how he could hear voices from above—but somehow, they reached him. Maybe through rock, through root, or maybe... because the mountain was alive.

"Unacknowledged…"

"Erased from history…"

He sat in the damp earth, breath caught in his throat.

"If I'm already dead up there... then what is this? Hell? Heaven? Or something in between?"

He clutched his chest, where the glowing wound in the shape of a root still burned red. He refused to accept that he was nothing.

I'm still alive," he whispered. "I'm still human."

He fought back against the voices. The ones that told him he was worthless. That he should just die for real. That his life had no meaning.

No.

Hulio made a choice. He would seek the source of those voices. And if it was a creature trying to destroy him, he would fight. If it was the reflection of his former self—he would bury it with his own hands.

---

São Paulo.

Mateo Moreira stared out the window of his sports car. He had just finished an interview with a youth business magazine. Through the glass, Brazil's sky looked clean and blue.

His uncle Julius's words still echoed in his head:

"The Moreira name must remain spotless. We erase the weak ones from our history. Including your brother and his son."

Mateo didn't reply then. But this morning, a message had arrived on his phone. No name. Just an image.

A young man stood at the edge of the jungle, eyes dark, body filthy. But on his chest, a glowing root-shaped wound burned like embers.

Lombok, Indonesia.

Mateo stared at his phone screen. Then picked up the call.

"Send our men there. Now."

"The target?"

"Make sure Hulio does not survive."

But the public knew none of this.

Mateo appeared in the media as a kind, loyal, and noble-hearted young man. He defied his grandfather's orders to stop the search for Hulio. His statement touched many.

Brazilian media hailed him as a hero. His name skyrocketed, celebrated as a future nobleman with both compassion and strength.

Rich women and celebrities from around the world declared their love for him. Mateo basked in it.

He flew to Lombok and held a grand press conference at the base of Mount Rinjani—complete with private helicopters, international SAR teams, and the Moreira family flag waving in the background.

"We will not stop until we find Hulio," Mateo said, his voice full of sympathy before the cameras.

A few days later, a body was found—young, face too damaged to identify, but with a root-shaped wound on the chest.

Mateo wept for the cameras. The body was flown home to Brazil.

The public adored him. He brought "his brother's body" home. He was a hero.

But only Mateo and his men knew—the body wasn't Hulio's.

---

Deep inside Mount Rinjani, Hulio stumbled forward. Here, there was no day or night. No dusk. Time stood still.

Ancient roots crawled across the cavern ceiling and walls. Hot mist hung in the air. In the distance, a sound—like a prehistoric creature's breath—echoed… or perhaps it was only his fractured mind whispering.

But Hulio did not stop. He had made a decision: he would find the source of the voices that kept trying to break him.

His steps brought him into a vast stone chamber, lit by an eerie glow from crystals above.

And there, someone was waiting.

Not a beast. Not a demon.

Himself.

A version of him—older, taller, calmer. The figure's eyes glowed red, like the embers in his own chest.

"What is this...?" Hulio whispered.

The figure didn't answer. He stepped forward, and the wall light revealed more: their faces were identical. But the aura was different. This version was sure of himself. He knew who he was. He knew where he was going.

"You're already dead in the world above, Hulio," the voice echoed. "But here, you can choose to live again… or become part of this mountain."

"Who are you, really?"

"I am you. The version of you that stopped being a coward. The version that stopped begging for recognition. The version that learned—this world won't give you a place. You have to take it."

Hulio trembled.

"Take it how?"

"Take back the name they stole. Take back the life they buried. But first… you must kill me."

Hulio stepped back. But something inside him had begun to burn.

Maybe he had died in the world above.

But here—beneath ancient roots and molten stone—Hulio Moreira was being born again.

And the fire… had just been lit.

---

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