It was a busy day, as usual. Antonio walked leisurely while different people passed by, busy with their daily routines. His feet ached from standing all day at the factory. Another shift done, and another scheduled for tomorrow.

  "I can't wait for my holidays," he said aloud, tired of the same job he'd done for years.

  The city was alive, but soon it would get dark.

  It had been five years since he left Angola. The country's economy was bad, and a one-time opportunity had opened for a job abroad. He didn't think much about it—he took his chance without hesitation, no second thought.

  It didn't make him rich, but it kept him fed and allowed him to save some money to help his family back home. He worked hard in Portugal, tried many different jobs, paid his bills, and did some business in his home country. Nothing glorious, but it was a life he could hold together.

  But lately, life had begun to change, to feel... unstable.

  It all started with dreams—or maybe nightmares.

  Every night, strange symbols appeared in his dreams, and sometimes they felt like nightmares. The marks and symbols were carved across a vast sky, glowing with ethereal light in different colors—blue, red, and infinite variations of light someone could imagine.

  "Again with these nightmares." He woke up abruptly, feeling breathless. "Where did I put my phone?"

  He looked around, found his phone on the ground. Still 3 a.m.

  There were times when he'd wake up breathless, his heart beating fast, the feeling still lingering in his chest. At first, he laughed it off—maybe it was his terrible sleep habits, maybe his lack of rest.

  It was the same most nights, and the dreams didn't stop.

  "Why am I going through all this?" Another day, another nightmare. "Maybe I should make an appointment with a doctor," Antonio thought.

  It was tiring and difficult to endure.

  Then came the daytime hallucinations—worse than the dreams.

  "Oh god, why am I seeing these bizarre symbols while I'm awake?" he asked himself. Was he going crazy already?

  Then he could feel a faint warmth and a tingling sensation under his skin, almost all over his body.

  Whispers, low and ancient, just at the edge of hearing, but he still couldn't understand them.

  "Who's there? Just show yourself! Stop torturing me!"

  He'd turn around in the street—maybe someone was speaking to him. But sadly, no one was there.

  He tried to ignore it. Focus on his job. There were times he shouted toward the sky, demanding the voice show itself. People gave him strange looks, wondering if he was drunk or heartbroken.

  He avoided walking on crowded streets. He kept his head down when there was no way to avoid people. Lisbon was a beautiful city, already full of life, which just made it harder to avoid them.

  He thought about sharing this with someone. But he lacked the courage and feared being taken for a crazy person.

  But the dreams grew stronger and clearer every day—a call so ancient that he could hear it more clearly. Still, he tried his best to ignore it.

  Last night, dressed in a hood, he walked down a busy street. Then the illusion returned, and he saw himself standing in a vast jungle under a sky split by fire of infinite colors.

  "Where is this place? It gives me a feeling of home, but this place is different from my hometown."

  He looked around himself and saw the symbols flying toward him. The same symbols wrapped around his arms like tattoos. They pulsed with energy, burning his skin.

  Then he heard the call—not just a sound, but a pull. Like something far away was waiting for him to find it.

  "Maybe I'm losing my mind," he muttered aloud as he walked past a row of shops.

  His vision returned to normal.

  "Maybe I've already lost it," he said as he got home and prepared for a meeting with his old buddies. The last time they'd met was nearly a year ago. Today he'd been on the phone with some of them, and they'd planned a group meeting.

  He wasn't anyone special—no chosen one, no warrior. Just a man trying to make it through a complicated world. And that used to be enough.

  But now, he couldn't shake the feeling that his life, this routine he had clung to, was crumbling. Something was coming, and it wasn't going to wait much longer.

  Antonio finally had his holidays. It had been a while since he'd seen his friends, and tonight was supposed to be a good one: drinks, memories, and laughter.

  "I hope we have a blast. It's been so long since we've all met like this," Antonio thought, smiling to himself.

  Some of the guys were friends from his hometown in Angola, others from Lisbon. All part of the same brotherhood now.

  He strolled through the evening streets until he reached the bar they'd agreed on. A neon sign buzzed overhead.

  He entered. There weren't many people. He walked toward an empty table near the entrance.

  "Looks like I'm the first one here. As usual," Antonio muttered with a chuckle. "Those guys will never change."

  A few minutes later, someone walked in—tall, broad-shouldered, a presence that filled the room without a word.

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  Arnold, a black man standing 1.92 meters tall, was built like a bear. One of Antonio's oldest and most trusted friends.

  "Yo! Arnold! It's been a while. How've you been, man?" Antonio called out, grinning and waving at him.

  Arnold waved back. "Hi, brother. Same old way—work and more work," Arnold replied, dragging a chair over. "But things are going well for me lately." Arnold sat in a chair next to Antonio.

  Antonio took a sip of his beer before replying with sarcasm. "Nice to know you're still alive and doing so well. Thanks for asking how I am."

  It had been around two months since they'd last talked.

  Arnold chuckled. "Come on, bro. I can already tell you're not doing great. I was just about to ask how you've been doing." He was worried—Antonio had been different these last three months.

  "Tsk. Took you long enough to ask."

  Arnold put an arm around Antonio. "You know, with work, it's hard to come and see you. Seriously though, what's been going on?"

  Antonio stayed silent for a while. Hesitation took over him. Then, slowly, he opened up.

  "Lately, I've been having these dreams. Or maybe nightmares. They keep showing me weird glowing marks... and the worst part? I think I'm starting to feel them when I'm awake. Like real-life illusions."

  He told Arnold everything—about the dreams, the strange sensations, the way it was starting to affect him.

  Arnold listened carefully, not interrupting.

  "Damn. That's... intense. But maybe it's just burnout, man. You've been working nonstop for years. Maybe your brain's just telling you to slow down." He advised him to take a break. "Go home. See your family. Relax. You'll feel better."

  Antonio exhaled, feeling a small knot inside him loosen.

  "Thanks, man. I feel a bit better just talking about it with someone I trust. And you didn't even laugh at me."

  That made both of them burst out laughing. Arnold, the "big bear," had been the class clown back in elementary school, always teasing everyone. Looking at him now, you couldn't imagine him being a class clown.

  Soon after, the rest of the boys arrived: Miguel, José, and Arthur.

  "There you are!" Arnold called out, waving them over.

  The group filled the table with noise, stories, and laughter. They talked about old times, shared drinks, and caught up on their lives.

  Miguel and José were both married now. Arthur was engaged and planning a wedding for the following year.

  José cracked jokes about his married life, and everyone laughed. They were having an excellent time. Antonio laughed along, but he felt something else stirring in his chest.

  As the night wore on, Antonio stood and raised his glass.

  "Alright, boys, it's getting late. I don't want anyone's wife calling me, yelling about why her man isn't home yet," he joked, making the others laugh again.

  They said their goodbyes, exchanged hugs and handshakes, and promised to meet again—hopefully before Arthur's wedding.

  Antonio walked home through the quiet night streets. The laughter was still in his ears, but it faded quickly.

  His thoughts drifted again.

  He was happy for his friends, but something was missing in him. Watching them talk about love, family, and plans... it reminded him of everything he didn't have or couldn't get.

  "I guess I was never lucky in love," he muttered to himself.

  A silence settled over him.

  "Let's forget the negative thoughts. Just get home. Get some sleep."

  He turned the corner, unaware that this night—this ordinary, bittersweet night—would be the last one he'd ever spend with his buddies.

  The planned time for his trip finally came, and Antonio decided to return to Angola for the first time in years.

  He got up in the morning with the same routine, though he'd incorporated meditation since the last meeting with the boys. Arnold had told him he should try it.

  "Today, I should go shopping. I need to get some good gifts for everyone."

  He went on a shopping spree and bought things he thought would make everyone happy.

  After everything, it was finally time to go to the airport.

  "Goodbye, Portugal. Here I come, Angola." He was feeling better after all that had happened in the last few months.

  After hours in the air, the plane arrived.

  The moment he stepped off the plane, the air hit him—warm, rich, and familiar.

  It carried a scent he hadn't felt in a long time: dry earth, familiar buildings. A strange mixture of memories stirred in him all at once. The noises, the presence, the pace—it was all so different from Lisbon. And yet, it felt like slipping into his old skin.

  "Home," he whispered, not realizing he'd said it aloud.

  His cousin Joaquim was waiting outside the airport, leaning on a dusty pickup truck with two crates of bananas in the back. He'd come a long way to wait for him.

  "Still skinny," Joaquim laughed, pulling him into a tight hug. "Portugal didn't feed you well?" Joaquim could see how thin he was.

  Antonio smiled. "No one makes funge like Aunt Celeste."

  "Hahaha, you're right. She's still the best cook in the family," Joaquim said. He'd driven since morning to wait for him. They needed to get going so they could reach home earlier—it was a five-hour drive.

  "Come, let's go. Everyone will be happy to see your face."

  They drove out of Luanda, the city blurring into long roads and sun-bleached trees. After hours, they were out of Luanda and into the countryside. It was a bumpy ride, but Antonio didn't mind.

  He kept the window down, let the warm air roll in, and watched the country unfold again through adult eyes. They were going to his grandfather's village, where the whole family was.

  He spent the next few days reconnecting with family. Aunt Celeste still made the best mufete, and the younger cousins had all grown taller. The neighborhood had changed, but some things stayed the same: the men still played cards in the shade, kids still chased chickens through dusty streets, and music poured out of every little corner bar.

  One evening, he met up with old friends near the village square. They sat on plastic chairs outside a shop, passing a cold beer between them, telling stories that had grown bigger and more ridiculous over the years.

  "Remember when you tried to impress Lucia by climbing the mango tree and fell?" Marcos roared, slapping his knee.

  "She still doesn't look you in the eye," added Paulo.

  Antonio laughed until his stomach hurt. It was the kind of night he hadn't had in years—easy, loud, full of the sort of joy that didn't need to be explained.

  And yet...

  Even in laughter, the weight remained. The dreams hadn't stopped. And now, the feeling was stronger than ever.

  One afternoon, after visiting an old family friend in a nearby village, it hit him again.

  A jolt deep in his chest. A silent call. Like something ancient had just woken up and recognized him.

  He froze mid-step on the dirt path. His heartbeat thudded in his ears.

  There. It's close.

  He didn't understand why, but he knew he had to follow.

  "Joaquim, we aren't far from home. You can go first. I want some time alone to take a walk."

  Antonio told his cousin he'd walk a bit before heading back, needing fresh air. But as he moved, it wasn't just wandering. His steps felt guided—not by thought, but by instinct.

  He crossed a dry field, passed some scattered trees, and followed a narrow track leading to a low hill wrapped in wild grass and vines.

  Hidden behind twisted roots, he found an old stone tunnel carved into the hillside.

  Time and nature had almost claimed it. Vines clung to its entrance, moss covered the stones, and the earth around it felt undisturbed. Sacred, even.

  But something inside called him.

  He stepped closer.

  The air shifted. Cooler. Heavy with dust and the scent of something long buried. He hesitated only a moment before going inside.

  The dim light faded quickly. Inside, the silence was thick—not peaceful, but watchful. Like the tunnel itself was holding its breath.

  His footsteps echoed off the walls. As his eyes adjusted, he noticed carvings along the stones: spirals, runes, and marks that shimmered faintly, as if they had once known fire.

  They looked... familiar.

  "How can they be real? Am I dreaming or hallucinating like before? I thought I was getting better?"

  His dreams. These were the marks from his dreams.

  He stepped closer. The air vibrated. A low hum rose in his ears.

  What is this place?

  Without thinking, he reached out and placed his hand on one of the symbols.

  The moment his skin touched the stone, the world erupted.

  A blinding flash.

  A sound like thunder crashing beneath water.

  The walls seemed to shake—or maybe it was just him. His knees lost strength. His breath caught in his chest. Something was moving through him—not physical, but real.

  He tried to scream, but there was no sound. Just light. Pressure. A storm within.

  And then, nothing.

  Silence fell like a blanket.

  Antonio collapsed, unconscious, as the faint glowing marks across the wall pulsed once... and then faded into stillness.