He went to the oldest tree in the region, the one he used to visit during his most important rituals. The ancestral samaúma tree. He carried tobacco, a few flowers, and a small bottle of cachaça with him. Carefully, he placed everything at the foot of the tree, offering the Curupira what he had promised in his most desperate moment. He ran his hand along the rough bark, whispering a quiet prayer, like someone confessing something too intimate to ever be spoken aloud.
It had been more than half a year since everything happened, yet gratitude still pulsed vividly inside him. Michel accompanied him in respectful silence, eyes turned toward the forest, fully present and willing. Even before returning to visit his family, Cauã had wanted to come there first — he wanted to give thanks. And he would do it every year for the rest of his life. He would always return to that centuries-old tree to offer his prayers, not only for his own survival, but for Michel's as well.
He rose calmly.
His body was much better now. His hand, though it had not fully regained its mobility, allowed him to drive, cook, write, and care for the garden. He would continue physical therapy until the end of the year, and afterward maintain light exercises while respecting his limits. It was still a process.
But he was alive.
— Do I need to do something? — Michel asked uncertainly, watching Cauã step back from the tree with reverence.
— No, this is enough. — Cauã smiled, taking his hand.
They were dressed almost identically: sturdy pants, thick-soled boots, and long-sleeved shirts to protect themselves from the brush. Michel, overly cautious as always, had covered himself with a generous layer of insect repellent — and for good reason. He did not attract only spirits: the mosquitoes seemed to have developed a particular taste for him. He had discovered that the hard way, waking up swollen from head to toe after the first night on the boat.
Cauã let out a soft laugh remembering the scene, and Michel rolled his eyes.
— Stop laughing... It's not funny. I'm still itching internally just thinking about it.
— But you survived. — Cauã replied with a peaceful smile. — And now you know: nature demands respect... and a lot of bug spray.
Michel smiled back, defeated, and the two continued along the trail hand in hand, wrapped in the welcoming silence of the forest.
They followed the path back toward the town, the vibrant green of the forest surrounding them like an ancient mantle. The distance was short, but the trail carried memories, silences that spoke louder than words ever could. The scent of damp earth, crushed leaves beneath their boots, and the whisper of wind through the branches brought a comforting sense of return — not only to home, but to themselves.
Cauã could sense the visagens lurking among the trees, ancient forest spirits observing them with respectful curiosity. Michel seemed to attract them as well — his aura vibrated with something he still did not fully understand, but he no longer felt threatened.
The Curupira had touched him.
And that kind of contact changed something forever.
Michel walked quietly, his gaze distant. He still thought about the house, about the night he had almost lost him. About his mother's presence surrounding him, protecting him, saving him. The energy and scent of eucalyptus had revealed her presence within the manor. He had visited her grave after everything collapsed, after confronting his own uncle and exposing the truths that needed to be spoken — even though Bernardo was still free.
But not for long.
He knew that.
And he would do everything possible to honor his parents' memory.
To rebuild his story with his own hands now.
Now, he walked beside Cauã, on his way to meet his in-laws — a gesture that seemed simple, yet carried the full weight of a new beginning. He was anxious. He wanted them to like him, to see who he truly was beneath everything else. Not only because he loved Cauã, but because he genuinely wanted to become part of that world.
The world that had shaped that man.
The land, the roots, the community that had taught him the value of care and listening.
He knew it was not merely a visit.
It was a rite of passage.
Another step along the road they were building together.
He pressed a soft kiss to Cauã's cheek, and Cauã smiled tenderly, squeezing his hand.
Side by side, they continued forward, their steps firm against the living earth, their hearts intertwined in each other's rhythm. The future was uncertain, as it had always been.
But it belonged to them.
Together, they walked toward the unpredictable.
But together.
Always together.