Prologue
There was a time when there existed only a single God.
But when the Crystals of Prohibition were born from the echoes of the past, a rift tore the world apart in an explosion. From it emerged a new power — a being capable of bending the earth to his will, of making crops sprout from nothing, of shaping mountains as if they were clay.
The people, who had never seen the One God with their own eyes, believed: the true God was among them.
They called him the God of Earth. To him they bowed. To him they offered their faith.
And the God of Earth, in his wisdom, chose an heir: a Promised One.
Someone who would carry the gift of his heart, so that when the God fell, he could be reborn in flesh and blood.
But the sky broke with thunder. A lightning bolt tore through the clouds, and from within it emerged another being — swifter than the wind, fiercer than the storm.
The people called him the God of Speed.
And thus the division was born. Some knelt to the Earth. Others, to the Speed.
And like his rival, the God of Speed also chose a Chosen One to carry his blessings and swore: when his downfall came, he would be reborn in a Promised One.
Discord turned into war.
Promised Ones clashed.
Chosen Ones were shattered.
And even the gods themselves rose against each other.
The churches burned, the temples were looted, and heaven and earth trembled with their fury. All… so that only one God would remain.
In the final battle, both destroyed each other.
Where life once pulsed, only the crystals of their hearts remained.
Without their donors, the Chosen Ones lost their gift.
The fights ceased.
The world fell into silence.
The churches, in ruins, found a new path: they united as one people and decided to wait. To pray until the day of return. For the Promised Ones still lived, carrying within their bodies the slumber of the gods.
Centuries dragged on. Kingdoms were born and fell. But the promise was never forgotten.
And in the stones of time, a date was engraved:
June 15, 2026.
The day the gods would return.
The day the Promised Ones would be revealed.
Chapter 1 — The Family Restaurant
The grandmother's hoarse voice still echoed as if she were narrating the past, but it was no longer just a distant legend: she was speaking at the table of a family restaurant, slowly stirring the spoon inside her coffee cup.
"And that's how the gods destroyed each other. And that's how the world waited. June fifteenth, 2026… it's almost here, my boy."
In front of her, Junior, eighteen, held a notepad for orders, but his eyes were glued to his phone.
"Can you shut your trap, you annoying old hag?" he muttered, without looking up.
The grandmother slowly set the cup down and glared coldly at him.
"You really are a useless grandson. I don't know how my daughter put up with you for eighteen years. She should've listened to me… aborted you right at the start. But no, she had to carry this burden."
The air grew heavy. The wall clock echoed the silence with each tick-tock.
Junior looked up, sarcastic.
"And why'd you come dump these crazy stories on me, like I asked for them? It's because you don't have anyone else to bother, huh?"
The old woman's face hardened, the cup trembled in her fingers.
"Boy," she said in a grave voice, "back in my day, you'd already be dead for talking to me like that."
The restaurant door opened, breaking the tension with the jingle of the bell. Marta, Junior's mother, walked in carrying a box of vegetables.
"Mother… watch your words."
She set the box on the counter and sighed deeply.
"This is a family restaurant, not a battlefield."
Junior took advantage of his mother's support, crossing his arms.
"See that? Even she knows."
Marta forced a smile to cover up the tension.
"Hi, son. Everything okay?"
Junior smirked, pointing at his grandmother.
"With her around? I'm never okay. Next time, just leave her with Cátia."
The name alone was enough to make the old woman slam her cane on the floor, as if it were a personal insult.
"Don't you dare compare me to that lazy girl!"
The door opened again and Mia walked in, carrying a shy smile.
"Good afternoon, Mrs. Rosa… good afternoon, Mrs. Marta."
The grandmother, for the first time, softened her expression.
"Good afternoon, dear."
"Hi, Mia, welcome," Marta added.
Mia walked closer to Junior, tucking her hair behind her ear.
"Hi… are you okay?"
Junior swallowed hard.
"Of course I'm fine… like… yeah, I'm fine."
He looked away, pressing his fingers against his leg under the table.
Focus, Junior. It's just a normal conversation.
"You know… I was thinking of inviting you, since I'm already inviting my friends—"
"I ACCEPT!" he shouted before she even finished the sentence.
The whole restaurant shook. A customer at the door turned around and left.
"Wow," Marta clapped her hands, smiling with irony. "That's my son. Already in his popular phase."
"Mom…," Junior muttered, blushing.
The grandmother raised an eyebrow.
"Popular? The only thing he's popular for is embarrassing himself."
Mia chuckled softly, hiding it.
"Okay then… since you already accepted, it'll be on Sunday, June fifteenth. There'll be an activity at my church. See you there."
She waved and left. At the door, she said goodbye:
"Good afternoon, Mrs. Rosa, Mrs. Marta."
"Take care, sweetheart," the grandmother said sweetly.
"Next time, come have lunch with us," Marta added.
The door closed. Junior burst into euphoria, alone:
"I accept… I accept! Finally a date!"
That's when the side door opened and Cátia walked in, disheveled, sunglasses covering her dark circles. She grabbed a glass of water, drank it in one go, and laughed.
"Look at my little bro all excited. Mia? The vice-president's daughter? Good for you, little virgin."
"Cátia!" Junior blushed, choking.
"Shut up, you don't know anything!"
"She knows plenty," the grandmother cut in without looking.
"Cátia, go take a shower and calm down," Marta said, already tired.
But the girl insisted, with a fake smile:
"Mommy, what if I take over the restaurant for Junior while he goes to this 'little date'? Hm?"
"No way. Just so you can spend the cash from the register? Thanks, dear, but no."
"Geez, Mom… already judging me."
"Judging?" the grandmother laughed. "That's already a sentence."
Junior ignored them and asked:
"Mom, can you handle the restaurant while I take a shower?"
"Sure. Go on, take a break."
"May the gods drown you in that shower," the grandmother muttered.
Junior smirked from the doorway.
"Don't worry, grandma… I'll still be alive at your funeral."
He left. The old woman gripped the chair with rage.
Outside, the street buzzed with horns and rushing cars. The restaurant's
neon sign flickered, and next to it rose the family house, with worn walls and poorly painted windows.
June 15th, 2026 was approaching.
To be continued in Part 2