Almeida's consciousness returned to that infinite universe. With a wandering mind that had put a halt to everything it could process, he found himself once again, like a soulless body, staring at the gigantic screen in front of him.
This screen flashed with vibrant colors before reflecting an image, still blackened. It was the silhouette of a man inside the hut where Almeida lived. He seemed to be inspecting something with a strange shape on the table, while tears fell down his chin.
The man moved his hands deftly. He held that strange thing shaped like a long stick, and with a few words, strange letters glowed on the black stick, spreading across its entire surface and giving it a mystical appearance.
"The title of the strongest," the man murmured. He left the stick on the table before looking at the camera. He approached with a slow but firm step; only his black silhouette and his eyes, like two bright bulbs, could be seen.
"Son..." he said in a low voice, the two bright lights that were his eyes growing dimmer. "Some time will pass and I will return. This time will be the last. The boys and I are going to the big city..." He made a contemplative pause.
"Please, don't look at me like that. You are a man, and men don't cry, and..." He stopped again. His words, rather than being directed at the camera, were directed at himself. Tears kept falling from his chin, having rolled down his cheeks.
"..." His mouth made strange noises as if he were having trouble breathing. The two lights on his face went out for a few seconds before turning on again.
"Do you promise me you'll take care of your mother?" he murmured in a slow, deep voice. "After all, now, you are, you have, the title of the strongest."
The man reached a hand into his pocket and pulled out a necklace. Even though his silhouette was pitch black, the necklace shone with a golden color and a red pendant that illuminated the whole room.
The man's hands trembled, the light in his eyes blinked rhythmically, and his breathing could be heard—slow, ragged, yet steady all at once.
It was as if the man were placing all his hope in the necklace, as if his words were the universe to him and at the same time a lie. It was as if he were putting the necklace on the camera, or as if the video were showing a first-person perspective.
"The title of the strongest," he said to himself before bowing his head. The man, whose silhouette showed the appearance of someone who had been through a thousand battles and had forged a distinct character, dropped to one knee. He bowed his head as he sobbed.
At that moment, two small hands completely covered in blackness reached out. The camera moved, pulling back from the first-person view to show a boy hugging his father with such force that his arms should have been torn apart.
The boy cried relentlessly as tears streamed down his face. He murmured something that couldn't quite be seen before the screen shifted to another scene.
On the screen, a familiar table appeared, along with a familiar bowl full of stew. And Alejandra, smiling and clapping. She seemed happy, but her eyes hid an anxiety that was unusual for her.
"It's your 10th birthday, so I've prepared something special for you today..." Alejandra smiled, showing her white teeth. Her hair was messy, and there was some dirt on her face; however, none of this changed her good mood.
"It's something you've been asking for for a long time, although I don't know why. I could have gotten you something else, you know? Mrs. Bett was generous today, and she told me she would buy whatever you wanted as a gift." Alejandra leaned in and tapped the table like a piano with her fingers, playing a distinct melody before opening her mouth.
"Happy birthday... to you..." she started singing in a high-pitched voice, her fingers drumming rhythmically on the table. "I wish you a happy birthday..." She smiled, bringing a hand up to rub her chest.
Almeida, whose first-person perspective the video was showing, looked down at the meat and vegetable stew. The steam rising from the stew hit his face, and his chest could be seen rising and falling from his point of view.
He lowered his head slightly and watched a few drops fall from his face onto his pants. He looked at the dirt floor, his shoes, and stayed like that for a moment before lifting his head again.
"Happy birthday..." Alejandra leaned in to give him a hug. Her body was trembling slightly; her breathing sounded a bit ragged.
"I'm sorry, your father won't be able to make it today, but," Alejandra paused, a strange sound escaping her mouth before she spoke again, "But I am here, like always. Isn't that enough?"
Finally, the screen in front of Almeida lost its color, and the universe he was in began to crumble.
...
He opened his eyes. He was in his bed. He looked up at the thatched roof; a few tree trunks had been laid down as a base, woven with a strange material mesh, and mud mixed with straw was piled on top. If one looked from the outside, there was the straw that repelled the rainy days.
The boy took a couple of breaths before getting out of bed, slowly rolling his head from side to side before fully waking up.
"This is..." The boy stopped mid-thought. "What was I doing?" he asked himself. However, he just smiled quietly. "Mom will be here soon. Maybe I should prepare something."
Almeida stepped out of his hut, headed to where the kitchen was, and without paying it much mind, began stacking firewood inside the clay stove.
"Last time I made some rice, maybe I should do the same," he said to himself, recalling one of those rare days he cooked just because he had nothing else to do.
After stacking the firewood, he returned to his hut to get a few matches, a pot, and some rice along with water from the containers where the food was kept. Finally, he came out with everything ready, placed the pot with the rice and water on the top hole of the clay stove, and started to light the firewood.
Eventually, the fire began to burn, and Almeida sat on the grass not too far away, watching the dancing flame inside the clay stove. Then, he focused his gaze on the bright sun that signaled mid-afternoon.
A peculiar cold wind was blowing, swaying the yellowish grass, and Almeida couldn't help but smile.
"The warm sun is nice when the cold wind hits, that contrast..." He closed his eyes, enjoying the sensation.
"Bbzzrrpp, imagining again? You are definitely broken," a guttural voice sounded inside the boy's mind, but he simply ignored that voice, focusing on the particular sensation.
"It's nice." Almeida simply stayed motionless, sitting on the grass, closing his eyes as time passed.
It wasn't until some time later that something falling on his face woke him up. He quickly shook his head to brush off whatever had fallen as he opened his eyes.
The sun was already about to hide behind the mountains. A peculiar yellowish hue painted the whole world, and there was something else in particular this time.
"Autumn leaves," he murmured, reaching out a hand just as a dry, mustard-colored autumn leaf fell into his palm. Almeida raised his eyebrows and closed his hand, crushing the autumn leaf into a pile of mustard-colored dust.
"It's raining autumn leaves, it's nice," he smiled, showing his white teeth as he watched autumn leaves fall from the sky, like a rain covering the world.
Almeida stood up. His gaze swept his surroundings, passing by the fruitless apple tree, the fence, the perfectly clean clay stove, and the unused pile of firewood next to it. An unusual calm struck him in that moment.
"Almeida!!!"
The boy heard his mother's shout. His stomach growled, and then he knew: it was dinner time.