I woke up with my back drenched in sweat.
Yet the night was cool, and the jungle outside was silent. For days, dreams had been more than just images: they were omens.
I had stopped wondering if I was ill. The scars on my skin, the voice from the well, time slipping by without touching me... everything spoke of an origin I did not remember, but which continued to call me.
I got dressed in silence, grabbed the notebook Clara had given me two years earlier, and went outside.
I found them in the small greenhouse behind the school. Clara was arranging dried herbs, while Zaccaria sat in the shade, staring at a plant that he didn't seem to really be looking at.
'It's time,' I said.
Zaccaria raised his head. His eyes had an indescribable light.
— Right. Time waits for no one, lad. And neither do those who are looking for you.
Clara nodded.
— You need to know everything.
I sat down on the wooden floor. The air smelled of eucalyptus and wood smoke.
Zaccaria cleared his throat and began:
In a time before time, when the heavens were still in balance, God entrusted Michael with a secret mission: to guard the Book of Pure Light, an ancient seal containing the names of faithful souls and the true language of angels, the language that gave shape to reality.
Michael, the most incorruptible, was chosen because 'in him there is no trace of doubt or desire'. The other archangels — Raphael, Uriel, even Gabriel — had inclinations towards mercy or justice. Only Michael was pure obedience.
Lucifer did not begin the rebellion openly. He sought the Book. He knew that with it he could rewrite the will of heaven. He searched for it in the remote places of creation, questioned the stars, disturbed the primordial waters. Eventually, he discovered who was guarding it.
He then presented himself to Michael with the same light that enveloped him.
"Brother, God has deceived us. He has made us slaves to His glory. You, who are the greatest among us, deserve to reign. With me, we can rewrite the laws."
Michael looked at him. His face did not change.
"Who is like God?" he said. The words were fire, and Lucifer was unmasked.
From that moment, as I told you, the first heavenly war broke out. It was not only against Lucifer, but also against Samyaza and the fallen Watchers, as recounted in the Book of Enoch. The rebellious angels taught men magic, metallurgy, and dark spells.
Michael, with his flaming sword, chained the disobedient spirits and cast them into the desert of Dudael, "where the echo does not return". There, according to some apocryphal texts, Lucifer was confined until the Day of Judgement.
'There was a time when angels walked among men,' continued Zachariah, 'but no one dared look them in the eye. Michael was not the most beautiful or the most loved. He was the purest. And purity, Gabriel, is frightening.
Once he appeared before a king corrupted by fear and magic. The king challenged him:
"If you are an angel, stop time. If you are a servant of the Eternal One, show yourself in your glory."
Michael stripped himself of his human appearance. The palace burned at the touch of his gaze. The k l king went mad when he saw him. And when Michael spoke, only the stones understood him.
"And what did he say?" I asked.
He said: 'Goodness does not need to demonstrate its strength. But when it does, it is to remind us that it exists.
Clara rose slowly. She opened a drawer and took out a glazed ceramic bowl, blue like the sky before the rain.
"It's time to start with the oldest element," she said. "Water. The memory of the world."
She placed it on the table and filled it with rainwater collected in the jungle, clear and shimmering. She motioned for me to come closer.
"You must not move your hands. Do not think you can control it. Water only allows itself to be touched by those who allow themselves to be touched by it."
I sat down. The air became dense, as if the space itself were waiting for a signal.
Zaccaria bowed his head beside me.
"Those who are children of light do not command: they tune in. The water knows who you are. But you must remember this."
I closed my eyes. I tried not to force it. Just to feel. To imagine myself as a drop. The sea. A storm. Fog. A river hidden beneath the earth.
Time expanded. Then it happened.
A subtle vortex began to form in the bowl. Slow, deep, precise. I wasn't seeing it, but feeling it.
When I opened my eyes, the water was rising in a spiral without touching the edge. Clara didn't speak. But her face was full of wonder.
Then the vortex dissolved into a sweet sound.
Zaccaria smiled slightly.
'Water has memory. And you touched yours.
A sharp thud at the door. Then a voice:
"I know you're in there!"
Clara started. Zaccaria stiffened. I felt my heart race. It was my Isabelle.
I opened the door before she knocked again. Isabelle stood there, sweaty, breathless, her eyes shining with anger.
— You've been exchanging strange glances for days, disappearing, speaking in code. I'm not stupid, Gabriel.
She took a step forward, clenching her fists.
"I was there that day at the cliff. I saw you. I know it wasn't an accident."
"Isabelle, I..."
"No! Don't talk! Just tell me this: why don't you want me with you?"
Her voice broke. Tears fell hard, silently. Tears of anger, not weakness.
Clara gently drew her closer. She handed her a handkerchief, then hugged her without saying a word.
"Listen to me," I said, searching for the right words. "It's not that I don't want you. It's just that... I don't know what's going on myself."
"I know," she whispered. "But I don't want to be left behind anymore. Just promise me that if you ever get lost, I'll be there to find you."
That sentence paralysed me. It was true.
Zaccaria watched us in silence, but a shadow of concern crossed his eyes.
"You've just broken a balance," he said. "But perhaps it was meant to be."