My name is Kauã.
I was born in an era when dinosaurs still roam the earth… and humans should not exist. And yet, we do. Scattered, hidden, surviving.
I grew up in a tribe that lives within the territory of Orotí — an albino serpent nearly fifty meters long. To them, she is our guardian.
To me… she is the creature that killed my parents.
I was 17 years old when it happened. My father, an experienced hunter. My mother, a gatherer and expert in the region's plants. They went to collect fruit together.
They never returned.
According to the tribe, it was the guardian's will.
According to me… it was neglect. We are like ants to her. Too small to matter.
After their deaths, everything changed.
I was avoided.
Called a sinner.
The shaman decided I should live near Orotí's cave as a form of "redemption." He said her presence would purify my parents' sin.
Since then, I have lived in a hut near the cave entrance.
But something is strange.
Since their death, Orotí has not been seen outside. She remains inside the cave at all times. Silent. Invisible.
In our tribe, every adolescent who turns 18 undergoes the Awakening ritual. They receive the meat of a specific animal and, by consuming it, inherit its traits — strength, speed, endurance… depending on the creature.
Until then, no adolescent may hunt. They cannot eat meat. Not even insects.
We are forced to survive only on plants.
My ritual is dangerously close.
And I do not have an animal.
Without it, I do not awaken.
Without awakening, I remain weak.
Food has always been the greatest challenge. Especially after I was isolated. If it weren't for my father's teachings — combat, strategy, endurance — and my mother's — edible plants, fruits, medicinal herbs — I would already be dead.
They prepared me to survive.
Without even knowing it.
What has kept me standing is not hope.
It is anger.
Anger at the tribe that turned its back on me.
Resentment toward the creature they call guardian.
I have been dreaming more and more about Orotí's death.
In some dreams, she kills me.
In others, I kill her.
If the tribe knew this, I would be condemned for blasphemy.
But with each passing day, I see more clearly.
The rules that govern us are not sacred.
They are fear.
And I am beginning to wonder…
If our guardian truly protects us.
That dream again.
The ritual.
The blood.
Orotí before me.
Sometimes she killed me. Sometimes I killed her. I no longer know where the dream ends and obsession begins. Lately, I think about it every day.
Revenge.
It seems impossible to defeat Orotí, a creature who has become legend among the tribe. But it is what keeps me standing. If I do not have a goal, I will collapse.
I took a deep breath and stood up.
The day needed to begin.
Kauã walked around the mountain, searching for anything that could serve as food. His stomach ached. It had been days since he had found anything there. Whatever had existed, he had already eaten.
Still, he kept searching.
Roots. Forgotten fruit. Even tree bark, if necessary.
Nothing.
With few options left, he decided to climb the mountain. He could not go beyond that territory. Without awakening, crossing certain boundaries was practically a death sentence.
He began to climb carefully, avoiding the entrance to Orotí's lair. Strangely, the place had been silent for days. Since his parents' death, no one had seen the creature.
That did not mean she had left.
On the way up, he found a small plant wedged between the rocks.
Broad green leaves, thin stem with small seeds. His mother had taught him to recognize it. It was edible and even helped fight certain illnesses.
His father taught him to fight, to observe tracks, to understand animal behavior. His mother taught him about plants, fruits, and what to avoid.
He learned quickly.
Now he survives because of it.
Reaching the plant was not easy. The stone was damp, and one mistake would mean a fall. He held tight, pulled carefully, and managed to uproot it without slipping.
When he returned to his hut, he let out a sigh.
Today he had found food.
Something that had seemed impossible for days.
He sat at the entrance, chewing slowly, staring at the mountain.
He was tired. Hungry. Alone.
But still standing.
Hatred is not beautiful. It is not light.
But it is what keeps me moving.
One day, I will awaken.
Kauã left before sunrise.
The sky was still painted in dark blue when he left the hut, his stomach empty and his mind restless. Only a few days remained before his Awakening — the ritual that would define his destiny — and he knew he could not rely on the tribe. Not after what had happened to his parents.
If he survived, it would depend solely on himself.
He climbed the mountain with steady steps, though his body still showed signs of accumulated hunger. The cold morning wind cut against his skin, but he ignored the discomfort. He needed food.
After some time searching, he found more plants, about thirty centimeters tall, hidden between rock crevices. Small green miracles amid the raw stone. He gathered them carefully, storing them like treasures.
On the way down, however, something shifted inside him.
The idea came like a dangerous whisper.
It had been months since Orotí had been seen. The absence of the supposed god-protector was already spreading unease among the elders. Some murmured that it was an omen. Others feared the tribe had been abandoned.
Or worse.
Driven by curiosity — or recklessness — Kauã decided to approach the cave.
Each step toward the lair felt heavier than the last. Sweat ran down his forehead, not from effort but from nerves. His heart pounded like a war drum, too loud, too fast.
About twenty meters from the entrance, he stopped.
There was a dark stain on the rocks.
Blood.
He moved closer, alert to any sound. It could have been from prey dragged inside… but then he remembered the shaman's words:
"Orotí does not bring prey into the cave. She cannot stand the smell of dead flesh."
A chill ran down his spine.
If it was not prey… then what?
The farther he moved, the more stains appeared along the path, splattered across the rocks, forming an irregular trail. Some already dry. Others still dark.
The cave entrance remained still.
Too silent.
No sound of deep breathing. No echo of scales scraping against stone. No sign of life.
The silence was worse than any roar.
Kauã felt instinct scream inside him.
Go back.
He swallowed hard. If Orotí was inside, wounded… or weakened… this could be an opportunity.
Or a death sentence.
He was not ready. Not yet.
He stepped back slowly, not turning his back on the cave until he was at a safe distance. Only then did he allow himself to breathe normally. Only then did he realize his hands were trembling.
On the way back, trying to push away the thoughts tormenting him, he heard voices.
Laughter.
Mockery.
Rounding a group of trees, he found several adolescents from the tribe forming a circle. In the center, a teenage girl lay on the ground, trying to shield herself as she received shoves and kicks.
She looked about his age.
Curly red hair spread across her dirt-stained face. Intense green eyes, filled with contained fury. She was small for her age — smaller than the other adolescents — and visibly more fragile.
"Daughter of the cursed one!" one of the boys shouted.
Another shoved her again.
Kauã stopped.
For a moment, he only watched.
He knew what it was like to be a target. He knew what it was like to carry the weight of whispers. Since his parents' death, he too had been avoided by the other adolescents in the tribe.
The girl did not cry.
She only stared back.
And there was something in her eyes that reminded him of himself.
The same silent hatred.
The same unspoken promise that one day all of this would end.
Kauã took a step forward.
And the drum began beating in his chest once more.