The next morning, Gabriel woke up with a slight tingling sensation on his shoulders. Light filtered through the shutters, drawing golden stripes on his skin. He got up, his eyes still half-closed, and stopped in front of the mirror.
On his neck, between his shoulder blades, the marks had changed. The subtle symbols formed a branching pattern, like veins of rippling light, which now shone beneath his skin. They did not burn: they glistened. As if a cold fire flowed beneath his ancestral layers.
A more intense beat. He could see them vibrating. His breathing deepened. He touched his skin cautiously, almost fearfully.
"Clara..." he murmured to himself.
At noon, he joined her under the tree next to the hill. She was waiting for him, composed, a notebook and pen on her knees.
"How are you feeling?" she asked as soon as she saw him.
Gabriel took off his shirt, revealing his scarred back. Clara looked down, then stared at him with a mixture of amazement and respect.
"It's started," she said. "The drawing has awakened."
"What does that mean?" Gabriel asked, uncertain.
Clara helped him sit down. With her finger, she slowly traced the contours of that luminous network.
"They're not just marks. They're maps. Paths. Connectors. The same lines that angels carry in ceremonies that have been repeated for millennia."
She took a breath.
"The sacred texts speak of symbols that are not born, but activated. They are extensions of your true essence. They allow you to tap into powers that do not belong to the human body."
Gabriel's chest tightened. "Will it hurt?"
"Not like you think. It... awakens. It's the same energy that allowed you to stop the fire. Only now you carry it with you, always."
Gabriel closed his eyes. A dull heat rose from his back to his head. The lines glowed even brighter. Clara placed a hand on his arm.
"I know you're scared, your emotions are confused. But there's a way to learn. To understand how to use that fire inside you. We'll do it together."
The boy's lips trembled. "All right. Where do we start?"
Clara smiled slightly. "With a simple exercise. But a profound one."
She opened her notebook and traced a circle with her finger.
"No formulas or prayers are needed. Just silence and presence."
She picked up a small flat stone, placed it on the ground and laid a toucan feather on top of it.
"Close your eyes. Listen. Not to hear, but to become. Feel the beat of the stone, the balance of the feather, the breath of the wind."
Gabriel initially felt ridiculous, but Clara's voice was different: not authoritative, but certain. He obeyed.
At first, he heard only the rustling of the trees, the buzzing of the cicadas. Then something changed. Time expanded. His skin became sensitive, the sounds no longer came from outside, but from within. Every beat, every vibration, joined a larger map.
"Visualise a thread of light," whispered Clara. "It starts with you and connects to everything: the stone, the feather, me, the air."
Gabriel followed her instructions. When he opened his eyes, the feather was rising, swaying in the air as if pushed by an invisible current. He was speechless. The feather fell silently.
"Did you see that?" asked Clara.
"Yes. I even felt it. As if it were part of me."
Clara nodded, serious.
"This is only the beginning. If you lose your balance, you will also lose control. Every power responds to your conscience. And your conscience is who you are when you don't speak.
"I feel empty and full at the same time."
"That's normal. You've started to remember."
— Remember what?
— Who you are. Really.
Gabriel stared at the quivering feather on the ground. Clara watched him intently.
— What you did is not magic or a trick. It is memory. Of the body, of the soul. And I did not learn these exercises here.
Gabriel looked up. She spoke as if she were removing a veil.
"In the Vatican," she said, "they didn't just teach us theology. Some of us, a select few, were trained in secret. They called us Vestals of Silence. We weren't trained to fight, but to recognise. To support.
"Support... what?"
"Beings like you. Humans who, at certain moments, were touched. Bearers of a spark that was not only theirs.
Gabriel's hands were shaking.
— The connection exercises, reading the signs, controlling our breath and time... were part of our training. Not for us, but to serve a greater mission. To recognise those who would bear the weight of forces beyond human control.
— And you... you recognised me.
Clara nodded. "Not right away. Now I do."
"So I'm not the first."
"No. Many have tried. But you could be the last."
Gabriel stared at her with shining eyes. "Why the last?"
Clara was silent for a long time. Then she spoke in a grave voice:
"Because I believe time is running out. A new cycle is beginning. In every age, when the signs returned, battles heralded the possibility of a final war.
She sat down on a rock and pointed to the sky: lenticular clouds overlapped in unnatural shapes.
"Cardinal Raimondo feared it. The texts announced it. They speak of a thousand-year cycle, in which the celestial forces return to intertwine with the destiny of man. When the bearers awaken... it is because the clash is approaching. Perhaps the umpteenth. Perhaps the last.
"The battle between good and evil," whispered Gabriel.
"Not as they imagine it. Not just angels in the heavens or demons in the flames. It will be more subtle, more terrible. A war in the hearts of men, in governments, in minds, in dreams. It began with man and will end with man.
"And me?" asked Gabriel.
"You are a call. A sign. Perhaps the last one sent before the veil breaks. If you fall, if you cannot bear the weight... the time of men could end. And that of angels will begin."
Gabriel shuddered. "But aren't angels good?"
Clara looked at him gently. "Not all of them. And even good can be too much for a fragile world."
Her gaze became serious.
"That's why I'm preparing you. Because the choice will not be whether to fight... but when to stop.
The silence between them grew heavy, like an omen. Gabriel looked down, but the ground disappeared.
A tremor ran through him. The light turned white, blinding.
A flash. Then a clear image: a child in tears amid the ruins of a blackened city. A collapsed building behind him. Smoke. Screams. " " Tongues of fire that seemed to burn the air itself.
Then, a face: his own. Gabriel, older. Empty, black eyes, wide open to the world. He walked among the ruins, and behind him an immense shadow: wing, sword, omen.
A voice without body or time:
"You can't save everyone."
Gabriel fell to his knees, breathless. The real world slowly returned: the leaves, the sounds, the heat. Clara was already beside him, her face tense.
"You saw her, didn't you?"
"Yes," he trembled. "And something spoke to me. And looked at me."
Clara took his hand and helped him up.
That was the first sign.