The dream would not leave him. Even when awake, Gabriel could feel the salty moisture on his skin, smell the smoke, hear Seraphina's broken voice.
That morning, instead of going to school, he left a scribbled note on his desk:
'I'm going to look for something I've lost. Don't worry, I'll be back soon. — G.'
Zaccaria was waiting for him on the path beyond the village, as if he had read his thoughts.
"You saw her, didn't you?" he asked in a grave voice.
Gabriel nodded.
"Was she real?"
"She was. And she could be again."
"You can't leave. I found the ticket and tore it up," said Zaccaria, placing a firm hand on his shoulder.
Gabriel looked at him in surprise.
"Why not? I've seen the island. I know it exists. And Seraphina..."
"I know," the man interrupted him. "But to find it, you must first remember why you separated. And where it all began."
He sat down on a rock covered with lichen and invited Gabriel to do the same. The morning light reflected off the dew-covered leaves, like held-back tears. His voice changed, becoming solemn, as if he were reading from an invisible scroll. And he began to tell the story of the Invisible War:
The heavens were silent. But it was not peace.
Before time had a name, when the world was still a thought in the hands of the Eternal One, the angels sang in harmony. Among them, one shone brighter than all: Luciel, the light-bearer.
But light became pride, and pride became poison.
Luciel looked at the throne of the Most High and thought, "Why not me? Why not reign over heaven and earth?"
With persuasive words, he convinced a host of angels to follow him, promising them a new kingdom. In an eternal instant, loyalty was broken, and Heaven was darkened.
Then the trumpet sounded.
Michael, the archangel clothed in flames and righteousness, gathered the faithful hosts. With a voice like thunder, he proclaimed:
"Who is like God? No one! And no one will take His place!"
The armies moved like a fiery wind. The heavenly swords were not made of iron, but of truth and purity. The battle was not to destroy, but to restore order.
Luciel—now Satan, the divider—lunged at Michael. His wings, black as lies, darkened the skies. The firmament trembled.
The struggle did not appear on earth, but its shadows fell upon it. Men experienced sudden fears, blind kings waged wars. Every human conflict was a reflection of that invisible war.
For days, or perhaps millennia, the conflict raged. Finally, Michael raised his sword and with a single cry cast evil into the underworld, depriving it of its power over the heavens.
"And the dragon was cast out, that old serpent, called the Devil and Satan... to the earth." (Revelation 12:9)
But the war was not over. It had only changed form.
Now it was fought in the hearts.
Between lies and truth.
Between selfishness and love.
Between light and darkness.
And every time a man chooses good, an angel wins again.
Gabriel remained silent. His hands trembled, not out of fear.
"And I... am I still in that war?"
Zaccaria stared at him.
"You are one of the generals. But you chose to forget, so that you could love again."
******
The next day, Gabriel left the village without saying a word. He needed silence, and silence was now urgent. He followed a little-used path beyond the northern slope of the hill, where the trees grew taller and the sky seemed farther away.
After hours of walking, he found it: an ancient stone well, enveloped in roots and moss.
Time seemed suspended. No birdsong. No curious monkeys.
Gabriel bent down. Inside, only dark water.
Then something moved.
A reflection. Not his own. A face like a man's, but corrupted: older, crueller, with black eyes devoid of white. The surface rippled. From the depths emerged a mental hiss, which did not belong to the sound.
"I've waited a long time, little guardian. But now you're awake."
Gabriel backed away, but the voice pursued him inside his mind.
"Closing your eyes won't save you. I've been here since before you were flesh."
Nothing came out of the well. Only shadow. A living shadow, stretching towards him as if searching for his silhouette.
A sudden scream shook him, his own. The sun had set, orange on the horizon. Gabriel turned and ran. He ran to the village without stopping.
Only under the flowering trees of his garden, trembling and sweating, did he dare to whisper:
"It wasn't a dream... Maybe I'm going mad."
He brought his hands to his face.
"What if all these dreams, these visions, these marks on my body are nothing more than my brain's defence against something too big? But those eyes... I didn't imagine them. I felt them inside me."
He took a deep breath. He remembered.
"As a child, I believed that good and evil were fairy tales to put little ones to sleep. But the real fairy tale is to think that they don't exist. Evil is not a monster with horns: it is emptiness. It is the subtle voice that whispers to you in the silence, asking you to doubt, to give up, to hate.
I don't want to become what I fear. But I am no longer who I was.
My skin burns without fire. My hands tremble without cold. And when I stop, I feel time itself receding from me like a wave from the shore.
There is something inside me. Something that remembers battles I have not fought, yet they belong to me.
If I am truly part of this invisible war, I want to know who I am.
And what I must do to not lose myself.
If there is an enemy who knows my name before I even remember it... then it's time to find out who I was.
And what I am destined to become.