Medical Report + Handwritten Note
SANTOS MUNICIPAL HOSPITAL – EMERGENCY ROOM
Medical Record: 2026-03847
Patient: SANTOS, Gabriel Henrique
Age: 22 | Sex: M | Date: 01/18/2026
CHIEF COMPLAINT:
"Dissociative episodes, severe insomnia, recurring nightmares."
ANAMNESIS:
Patient presents accompanied by mother (Helena Santos, 51). Reports insomnia for approximately 4 months, with progressive worsening. Intense nightmares; wakes up screaming 3-4x per week. Denies recent identifiable trauma. Denies substance use.
PHYSICAL EXAMINATION:
-Vital Signs: BP 118/76, HR 58bpm (!), Temp 36.2°C
-General State: Good general condition, lucid, oriented.
-Pupils: Isocoric, photoreactive.
-Reflexes: ABNORMALLY FAST (percentile >99)
-Ruler Drop Test: 4.2cm (Normal: 15-20cm)
-Patellar Reflex: Response in 0.08s (Normal: 0.3s)
DIAGNOSTIC HYPOTHESIS:
-Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder (to be investigated)
-Hyperactive reflexes – etiology undetermined
-Parasomnias
PLAN:
-Referral: Psychiatry
-Ordered: MRI (to rule out CNS lesion)
-Follow-up: 15 days
[HANDWRITTEN NOTE – Dr. Paulo Silva]
"Something doesn't add up. His reflexes aren't pathological — they are TRAINED. Like an elite athlete or military personnel. But he denies both. When I asked about the origin of these 'skills,' he looked at me as if calculating whether I could be trusted. Military? Special program? Recommend further investigation if symptoms persist."
...
The scream tore through the night like shattering glass.
"LUNA, FALL BACK!"
Gabriel woke with his own cry still echoing off the bedroom walls, his heart hammering against his ribs as if trying to escape his chest. For a second — an eternal, disorienting second — he didn't know where he was.
It wasn't the command tent. It didn't smell of leather and lamp oil. There was no distant sound of guards on patrol.
It was his childhood bedroom in Santos. Slightly faded wallpaper with blue stripes. An Iron Maiden poster he'd taped up at fifteen and never removed. A shelf of chess trophies that seemed to belong to someone else.
The door burst open.
"Gabriel." His father's voice had that tone. The tone of an executive accustomed to identifying when someone wasn't being entirely honest in a meeting. "This is the fourth time this week. And these aren't normal nightmares. You shout... names. Commands."
Gabriel felt his entire body tense. "What kind of commands?"
Roberto exchanged a look with Helena. "Tactical. 'Flank left.' 'Protect the right flank.' Yesterday you shouted something about 'holding the line until full evacuation.'"
Shit. Gabriel had underestimated how thin the walls were, or how loudly he shouted in his sleep. They weren't nightmares — they were memories. The Battle of the Dark Ravine. The Defense of Obsidian. And tonight, the worst of all: the Battle of the Shattered Bridge, where he had nearly died and where the Soul Bond with Luna had become permanent.
"I..." Gabriel searched for an explanation that didn't sound completely insane. "I've been playing a lot of strategy games. It must be bleeding into my dreams."
The lie was weak, and everyone in the room knew it.
"Gabriel," Helena said softly, but with that maternal firmness that brooked no evasion. "You're sweating through the mattress. When I touched your forehead, it was cold. Truly cold. And your sheets..." she hesitated, searching for words. "They're wet. Not from sweat. It's as if you spilled water. But there's no glass, no bottle."
Gabriel looked at the sheets. She was right. There were damp patches in patterns that made no sense — concentric circles, like ripples in a pond. Mana residue responding to his emotional state while he slept. He had dreamed of the bridge over the river, water rushing beneath ancient stone, the moment Luna had dipped her hands into the current to channel the healing magic that saved him.
The mana had responded to the memory. Even here, where it should be dormant.
[System Alert – Involuntary Activation During Sleep]
[Emotional Control: Critical]
[Exposure Risk: High]
"I'll go to the doctor," Gabriel said quickly, cutting off any argument. "Tomorrow. I promise."
Roberto sighed. "I'll call Dr. Silva. He owes me a favor. He'll fit you in."
"Thanks, Dad."
There was a moment of heavy silence. Helena clearly wanted to say more, do more, but she had learned over the years that Gabriel had emotional walls she couldn't scale without permission.
"Try to get some more sleep, dear," she said finally, kissing his forehead. "And if you need to talk... about anything... we're here."
But you aren't, Gabriel thought with a sting of bitterness directed not at them, but at the situation. You can't be. Because the conversation I need to have involves parallel worlds, real magic, and the fact that half my soul is trapped in a different dimension with the woman I love and can never touch again.
"I know, Mom. Thank you."
When they left, Gabriel didn't try to sleep again. There was no point. It was 4:30 AM, and the sun would rise soon. Instead, he got up, changed the wet sheet, and went to the window.
Santos was beginning to wake up. Lights in neighboring houses. The distant sound of a garbage
truck. A completely normal, completely mundane, completely real world.
And he no longer belonged to it.
...
The Santos Municipal Hospital had that characteristic smell of all hospitals — disinfectant, anxiety, and reheated coffee. Gabriel sat in the waiting room beside his mother, flipping through a magazine he wasn't actually reading, while she pretended to crochet but was actually watching him discreetly.
"Gabriel Santos?" the nurse called.
Dr. Paulo Silva was a man in his fifties, graying hair, reading glasses hanging around his neck, and the expression of someone who had seen it all. Or thought he had.
"So, Gabriel," he began after the initial greetings, sitting behind the desk with the medical record open. "Your mother told me about the nightmares. Want to tell me in your own words?"
Gabriel repeated the story he had rehearsed: stress from a new job, difficulty adapting, worry about the future. All technically true, just omitting the context that the "new job" had been "tactical commander in an interdimensional war."
Dr. Silva made notes, nodding occasionally. "Physical symptoms? Besides the insomnia?"
"Sometimes I feel as if..." Gabriel searched for words that wouldn't sound crazy. "As if I'm carrying a weight I can't see. An exhaustion that sleep doesn't fix."
"Hmm. Could be depression. Let's run some tests."
The basic tests were normal. Blood pressure, temperature, heart. It was when they got to the reflexes that things got interesting.
"I'm going to test your reflexes," Dr. Silva said, picking up the rubber hammer. "Relax your leg."
He tapped Gabriel's knee.
The leg reacted instantly. Not the normal, slightly delayed response — it was immediate. Like a muscle trained to respond to a threat without conscious processing.
Dr. Silva frowned. He tested again. Same result.
"Do you play any sports?"
"Used to play volleyball in high school," Gabriel lied.
"Hmm." The doctor clearly didn't fully believe him, but moved on to the next test. He grabbed a ruler. "I'm going to drop this. You try to catch it. It's a reaction time test."
Gabriel knew he should let the ruler fall further than normal. He should fake average reflexes. But when the ruler was released, his body reacted on instinct. His hand clamped shut 4.2 centimeters from the start.
The silence in the room was heavy.
"This..." Dr. Silva checked the measurement three times. "This is the reaction time of an Olympic athlete. Or a fighter pilot."
"Got lucky?" Gabriel offered weakly.
Dr. Silva looked at him over his glasses. "Gabriel, I'll be blunt. You have reflexes that suggest extensive training. Military, perhaps. But you're too young to have served, and Brazil hasn't had mandatory military service in decades. So the question is: where did you develop this?"
Three years fighting for survival in a world where a half-second hesitation means death, Gabriel thought. Training eight hours a day with Kael'thara, one of the greatest combat masters Stellarum has ever seen. Learning that the body is a weapon as much as the mind.
"I practice martial arts," he said. Another technical truth. Just omitting that the "martial arts" involved blades of light and magical combat.
Dr. Silva was clearly unsatisfied but couldn't do much. "I'm referring you to a psychiatrist. And I want an MRI to rule out any neurological lesion that might explain the abnormal reflexes."
"Lesion?"
"Or an extreme natural gift. But I prefer to eliminate medical possibilities first." He wrote the prescriptions and paused, pen suspended over paper. "Gabriel, can I ask an off-the-record question?"
"Go ahead."
"Did you go through something traumatic recently? Something you aren't telling me?"
Gabriel looked at his hands. Hands that had held a sword. That had channeled mana. That had touched Luna for the last time.
"Yes," he said honestly. "But I can't talk about it. Not yet."
Dr. Silva nodded slowly. "Fair enough. But when you're ready... seek professional help. Untreated PTSD only gets worse with time."
Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder. There was a clinical name for what he felt. But no therapist on Earth had the training to deal with the trauma of interdimensional war and the loss of a soulmate across a dimensional barrier.
"Thank you, doctor."
When he left the office, Helena was waiting with an expression that mixed worry and determination.
"Well?"
"He thinks it's stress. Wants me to do some tests."
"Gabriel..." She took his hand. "You know you can talk to me about anything, right? Absolutely anything. No matter how strange or impossible it seems."
For a moment — just a moment — Gabriel considered telling her everything. Laying the whole truth on the table and seeing what happened. Mom, I spent three years in a parallel world fighting a war against beings of pure darkness. I fell in love with the queen of that place. We had to separate to save both realities. And now half of me is dead because she is dimensions away and I'll never be able to touch her again.
But he couldn't. He wouldn't do that to her.
"I know, Mom. And I'll be fine. I just need... a change of scenery. Something different."
"Different how?"
"I was thinking of doing an exchange. Or transferring universities. Starting over in a new place."
Helena studied his face for a long moment. "Running away doesn't solve problems, dear."
"I'm not running," Gabriel said, and it was true. "I'm searching. For something I can't name yet. But I'll know it when I find it."
...
Late that day, Gabriel returned to the park where he had woken up three days ago. He didn't know exactly why — some instinct pulled him there, as if the site held answers.
The park was busier during the day. Mothers with strollers. Children playing. Teenagers cutting class. Everything so pleasantly normal.
Gabriel sat on the same bench, looking at the same tree he used to climb as a child. How many times had he climbed up there, pretending to be an explorer, a pirate, a knight? The irony wasn't lost on him—he eventually became a real knight, just not the way a child imagines.
"Heavy mind for someone so young."
Gabriel turned. An elderly man — perhaps in his early seventies — was sitting on the other end of the bench. Completely white hair, a face marked by the wrinkles of someone who had laughed a lot in life, eyes that sparkled with sharp intelligence.
"Sorry, I didn't mean to intrude," Gabriel said automatically.
"You aren't intruding. Just observing." The old man gestured toward the park. "I've been coming here every day for twenty years. I've learned to read people. And you, young man, are carrying the world on your shoulders."
Gabriel laughed without humor. "Sometimes it feels that way."
"Let me guess. You're thinking of running away. Moving cities, starting over, leaving everything behind."
"How—"
"Because I've been where you are. When my wife died, I wanted to flee every corner of this city that reminded me of her. Sold the house, bought a ticket to Rio, was ready to disappear."
"And what happened?"
"I realized at the last moment that running from memories doesn't work. Because memories aren't in places — they're here." He touched his chest. "And here." He touched his head. "You can go to Mars and you'll still carry them."
Gabriel absorbed the words in silence.
"But," the old man continued, "sometimes a change of place is necessary. Not to run away, but to grow. To become the person who can carry the weight without breaking. Do you understand the difference?"
"I think so."
"So the question isn't 'should I go?' It's 'am I going for the right reasons?'"
Gabriel thought about that. Belém was calling him, yes. But why? To escape Santos and its memories? Or because he instinctively felt that there—near the Amazon, where the mana density was slightly higher — he could rebuild his strength, learn to control his powers again, perhaps find a way to eventually return to Luna?
"For the right reasons," Gabriel said finally. "I think."
The old man smiled. "Then go with my blessing. But don't forget where you came from. Roots matter, even when we grow in a different direction."
They sat in comfortable silence for a few more minutes, watching the park live its normal life. When Gabriel finally stood up to leave, the old man nodded.
"Good luck, young man. And remember — you aren't running from yourself. You're looking to find yourself."
...
Late that night, Gabriel opened his laptop and began to research. Not casually — methodically. The System activated discreetly, helping process the information.
[Analysis: Federal Universities – Northern Region]
[Criterion 1: Environmental mana density – PRIORITY]
[Criterion 2: Distance from large urban centers]
[Criterion 3: Relevant academic programs]
The list narrowed quickly. Manaus had moderate mana density, but it was too big, too busy. Macapá was too small, too remote. But Belém...
[UFPA – Belém, PA]
[Mana Density: 2.3% above terrestrial baseline]
[Proximity: Amazon Rainforest – High natural resonance]
[Population: Moderate – 1.5M]
[Programs: Administration, Engineering, Social Sciences]
[Evaluation: IDEAL]
Gabriel clicked on the UFPA website. Photos of the campus — green, vibrant, alive. Something in the image resonated within him. It wasn't Stellarum. It never would be. But it had... possibility. Potential.
There was something else on the site that caught his eye. A banner about "Enactus UFPA – Transforming Lives Through Social Entrepreneurial Action."
Gabriel clicked. Read about the projects: sustainable agriculture, access to clean water, microcredit for riverside communities. People using practical skills to make a real, tangible, measurable difference.
Something stirred in his chest. Purpose. Not the epic purpose of saving worlds from Shadows — but a human purpose, achievable, real.
[System: Mission Updated]
[Primary Objective: Establish in Belém]
[Secondary Objective: Integrate into a community with purpose]
[Tertiary Objective: Rebuild strength for eventual return]
"Belém," Gabriel whispered to the screen. "Alright. Let's try."
He filled out the transfer forms. Researched apartments for rent. Calculated a budget. All very practical, very terrestrial, very normal.
But when he closed his laptop at two in the morning, he felt something he hadn't felt in months: hope.
...
Breakfast the next day had the weight of a special occasion, even though it was just a regular Saturday. Gabriel had asked the family to gather — he needed to tell them his decision.
Sofia was the first to appear, still in pajamas, messy hair, glasses crooked. At sixteen, she was in that phase where she seemed to grow five centimeters a week and still hadn't developed the coordination to handle the new height.
"Is this like a serious family meeting?" she asked, pouring cereal. "Because we only have those when someone is pregnant or dying, and you can't be pregnant."
"Sofia," Helena scolded, but she was smiling.
"What? I'm right."
Roberto walked in, already dressed despite it being Saturday — too much of an executive to fully relax. "Alright, Gabriel. You asked for a meeting. We're here."
Gabriel took a deep breath. "I've decided to transfer. To UFPA. In Belém."
Silence.
"Belém?" Roberto repeated. "In Pará?"
"Yes."
"That's..." Roberto grabbed his phone, apparently looking for a map. "That's three thousand kilometers from here."
"I know."
"Why?" Helena asked, her voice carefully neutral. "Why so far?"
Gabriel chose his words with care. "Because I need a complete change. Not a neighboring city, not another neighborhood. I need a place where no one knows me, where I have no history, where I can start from zero."
"You're running away," Roberto said. Not an accusation — an observation.
"No. I'm searching."
"Searching for what?"
"I don't know yet. But I'll know it when I find it."
Sofia had stopped eating and was watching him with that uncomfortable intensity. "You've changed," she said simply.
"How so?"
"I don't know how to explain it. But you're different. You move differently. Speak differently. As if..." she searched for words, "...as if you've seen things we don't see. Or been places we haven't been."
The silence that followed was so thick it could be cut.
"Sofia is right," Helena said softly. "You came back different from that trip four months ago."
What trip? Gabriel thought, confused. He hadn't traveled four months ago. Four months ago he was still in Stellarum, commanding the Obsidian campaign, planning his wedding with Luna...
Oh.
They had filled the hole. His three-year absence was impossible to explain, so reality (or the return ritual, or something) had created a false memory. A "backpacking trip through South America" probably. Something plausible enough to explain the changes.
"That trip changed my perspective," Gabriel said, grabbing the thread reality had provided. "It made me see that I want more from life. That I want to make a real difference."
"And you can't do that here?" Roberto asked. Not confrontational — genuinely curious.
"I could. But Santos is... comfortable. Familiar. Easy. And easy doesn't challenge me. Belém will force me to grow."
Helena and Roberto exchanged that look couples develop after decades together — entire conversations in milliseconds of eye contact.
"When do you want to go?" Helena asked finally.
"The semester starts in two weeks. I need to go soon to find a place, get organized."
"Two weeks." Roberto rubbed his face. "That's... fast."
"I know. Sorry. But if I don't go now, I'll be stuck in indecision for months."
More silence.
"Alright," Helena said. Roberto looked at her, surprised, but she continued. "If that's what you need, we support you. But with conditions."
"Conditions?"
"One: you visit us at least twice a semester. Two: you keep in touch — weekly calls, minimum. Three:" her voice grew softer, "you promise that if you need help, any kind of help, you'll ask. You won't try to be a lone hero."
Too late for that, Gabriel thought. But he said: "I promise."
"Then you have our blessing." Helena stood up, went to him, and held his face in both hands. "Be happy, dear. Or at least, find peace."
Gabriel felt a lump in his throat. "I'll try."
Sofia said nothing, only continued watching with those piercing eyes that saw too much.
...
The next few days were a whirlwind of activity. Gabriel sold most of his possessions — discovering that when you've lived for three years with only what fits in a soldier's pack, material attachment diminishes drastically. He bought a bus ticket (cheaper than a plane, and forty hours of travel would give him time to process).
He went to the bookstore, bought guides on the Amazon, the history of Pará, local culture. He wanted to arrive informed, not as an ignorant tourist.
The night before he left, Sofia knocked on his bedroom door.
"Come in."
She entered, closed the door behind her, and sat on the bed with the solemnity of an adult in a teenager's body. "I need to say something, and you need to listen without interrupting."
"Okay..."
"You're lying. Not about Belém — that's true. But about why. About what happened during those four months 'backpacking.' About what changed."
Gabriel opened his mouth to protest.
"Don't interrupt. You promised." Sofia adjusted her glasses. "I don't know what happened. I don't know where you really were. But I know it wasn't backpacking in cheap hostels. I know because you move like a fighter. Because your reflexes are impossible. Because sometimes, when you think no one is looking, you touch objects as if you're feeling something that isn't there. As if you're... searching for energy? Magic? I don't know."
Gabriel went completely still.
"And I know because you talk in your sleep. Not Portuguese. A language I don't recognize. And names that don't exist. Luna. Kael'thara. Stellarum."
The silence was absolute.
"I won't tell Mom and Dad," Sofia continued. "Because they wouldn't understand. But I..." she hesitated. "I read a lot of fiction. Fantasy, sci-fi. And I know that reality is stranger than fiction sometimes. So whatever happened... I believe it was real. To you."
"Sofia—"
"You don't need to explain. Not now. Maybe never. But I wanted you to know: you aren't alone. And if you ever need to tell someone... I'll listen. Without judging."
Gabriel felt tears prick his eyes. "How did you get so wise?"
"Superior genes," she joked, but there was moisture in her eyes too. "And excessive reading."
He hugged her. "Thanks, Sofi. Truly."
"Bring me a souvenir from Belém?"
"I promise."
When she left, Gabriel sat alone in the semi-empty room. Sofia was sixteen and had deduced more in weeks than most would in years. It was both terrifying and comforting.
[System: Family Analysis Complete]
[Father: Pragmatic support – Low risk of discovery]
[Mother: Emotional support – Medium risk of discovery]
[Sister: HIGH risk of discovery – But potential ally]
"She's too smart for her own good," Gabriel whispered.
[System: Family trait. You are as well.]
Gabriel laughed. "Touché."
...
The Santos bus station at five in the morning had a liminal atmosphere — neither night nor day, neither here nor there. The bus to Belém would leave in twenty minutes.
The whole family came to say goodbye. Even Roberto, who had an important meeting at nine, was there, tired but present.
"Don't forget to call when you arrive," Helena said for the third time, adjusting Gabriel's shirt collar even though it didn't need adjusting.
"I won't forget, Mom."
"And eat right. The Amazon has different food, but it's nutritious."
"I'll eat."
"And if someone offers you drugs—"
"Mom, I'm twenty-two."
"You're still my son."
Roberto shook Gabriel's hand, then pulled him into a hug. "Proud of you, son. Making a tough decision, commitment to personal growth... it's mature. Just don't forget: it's okay to fail. You can always come home."
"Thanks, Dad."
Sofia was last. She hugged him tight, then whispered in his ear: "Find what you're looking for. And when you find it, hold on tight."
Gabriel nodded, not trusting his own voice.
He boarded the bus and found a window seat. The family waved from outside. He waved back, trying to memorize the scene — because even though he knew he'd return to visit, he knew this was the end of a chapter.
The bus began to move.
Santos was left behind.
Gabriel leaned his head against the window, watching the city of his childhood gradually disappear. He took the keychain from his pocket — the only physical piece of Stellarum he had — and gripped it tightly.
[System: Journey started]
[Destination: Belém, PA]
[Estimated Duration: 40 hours]
[Status: New chapter beginning]
"Luna," Gabriel whispered, too low for any passenger to hear, "I don't know if you can hear me. But I'm doing this. I'm moving, growing, preparing. For the day I can return. Wait for me?"
The keychain warmed slightly in the palm of his hand.
It wasn't an answer. Probably a coincidence. But Gabriel chose to believe it was a sign.
He closed his eyes. For the first time in months, he slept without nightmares. Only dreams of a wide river, green forest, and possibilities waiting to be discovered.
Through the window, Brazil unfolded — mile after mile of land, potential, and future.
And Gabriel, for the first time since returning, felt something he hadn't been able to feel in Santos:
Hope.