-You are the spearhead of progress; don't let anyone tell you otherwise,- I hear as I enter a large boardroom. The meeting has already started, but the people in the room ignore my presence and act as if nothing has happened. The secretary points me to an empty chair at the far end of a long table. In the other side, a standing executive speaks while two others sit in silence.

The chair is comfortable, the mahogany table reflects the white ceiling, and the voice is clear despite the murmur rising from the street, thirty stories below. Behind the speaker, massive windows frame the view of the thick smog, the office skyscrapers, and the endless multitudes of Mexico City.

The executive continues:

-You are the tools to build the future, not just of this company but of the great nations it represents. Your mission is clear: establish a base of operations and coordinate the first resource extraction.-

As he speaks, I glance out the window. The streets are barely visible; neither are the markets with their goods. But every single person is there, even if they can't be seen from up here and the city seems made of colours that move by themselves. In the meanwhile, coffee has been served and the clinking of spoons against cups brings me back to these heights.

A suit sits and another stands up and talk to us:

-Matias,- he says, nodding at the man seated beside me - a middle-aged man with a sharp face who meets his gaze.

"You will be, as you already know, our operations director. I'm sure you won't let us down."

The executive looks me in the eye, his salesman's face wearing a half-smile.

- And I have no doubt that, along with our new engineer - Santiago, right? - He doesn't wait for my answer, as if my confirmation were irrelevant. -I know we'll do great things together. Your plane tickets are ready, and the rest of your team awaits you at the destination. Good luck. -

The woman who brought me to the meeting seems to appear from nowhere, her smile guiding us out of the room like trained dogs. The bosses stay at the far end of the room, pretending to stare into infinity.

Out on the street, Matias and I exchange meaningless words for a few minutes before waiting in silence for our taxis.

When I arrive at the hotel, the same empty room I left awaits me. I turn on the TV, but after a few minutes of flipping through channels and finding nothing but garbage, I turn it off. My thoughts wander to the family I don't have but hope to someday. Women aren't strangers to me; I've had a few flings, sure. But a relationship? I haven't had time, plain and simple. I went to university to study. All those years, I worked hard to get to exactly where I am now, to graduate at the top of my class...

If everything goes as planned starting tomorrow, I'll finally be able to buy a house and maybe carve out some time.

It's normal to feel a bit empty, I suppose, with no partner or anyone to tell, for example, that tomorrow I'm heading to Sao Paulo and will spend three months lost in the Amazon.

I've told my parents, though I suppose it's not the same. On the one hand, they're scared I'll be eaten by wild animals, but on the other, they know the money will help. They paid for my studies with hard work, so it seems only fair they benefit too.

It's strange to think that the money they earned selling goods in their shop in the city has transformed, thanks to the engineering school, into the skills the company needs so far away.

I lie on the bed and think about this for a while.

The alarm clock rings early, I drink instant coffee that tastes like shit, grab my backpack, and feel the unfamiliar sensation in my stomach of starting an adventure; for now, I still don't know what to think.

I hail a taxi to the airport. Although I'm on time, the traffic is as dense as usual, and we make very slow progress. Drivers honk their horns, someone has already gotten out of their car and is shouting at the next person, a couple across the way stepped out of their car to see what's happening, and together they make a deafening racket. The funny thing is that it's the same every morning; I guess there are things we never get used to.

-What a terrible way to start the day- I say to the driver. He doesn't respond. I don't know if it's because the music is too loud for him to hear me or if he agrees.

As we remain stuck in traffic a man who looks wise and is dressed in little more than rags walks through the cars. stepping on the asphalt. He's holding a small cooler, and when he's next to the window, he tilts it to show us the sodas that make up his merchandise. I tell him I don't want any through the window, and the driver honks the car horn to make him leave. The wise man hesitates and moves off between the cars.

-So much misery- I catch myself thinking; after all, I've seen it all my life.

The sun has already risen, and people are dealing with the best they can with the logarithms that the day throws at them.

I arrive at the airport, and there's Matias waiting for me, talking on the phone. With one hand, he points to the empty table of a bar. We walk over to the counter and order beers.

He must be near sixty, although the serious expression and the wrinkles crossing his thin cheeks make him look older.

-The mosquitoes are going to eat us alive- he says before taking a drink. -And the local workers... they're different from us, hard to deal with.-

I don't understand what he means, and he, without waiting for an answer that wasn't coming, pulls out a tablet from his bag and in a few seconds, unfolds a map in front of me.

- I can't tell you much, but I want you to get an idea of where we're going.

He places his finger on the screen, pointing to an undetermined spot in the western part of the Brazilian jungle. -Oil, gold, land- His eyes sparkle an now he lower his tone. - But imagine if it leaks, if that Brazilian congresswoman finds out. Every day of delay would cost us money. And that can't happen-

I nod and take a sip of my beer. And even though my eyes don't shine like his, I know exactly what he's trying to say.

We pass the layover at Sao Paulo airport in one of the bars.

-And our guide? - I ask.

-At the next stop - he replies.

When we board the next plane, I'm already a bit drunk. Almost immediately after takeoff, I fall asleep and have nightmares. I wake up sweating, and Mat?as looks uncomfortable. I'm not sure if I screamed. For the rest of the trip, I stay awake and think about what awaits us when we arrive.

The plane lands in a massive palette of grays, reds, and yellows in the centre of all the greens in the world. Manaus is, after all, a real city; with its people so different, its particular solitudes, its specific inequality, and that tremendous pollution common to any other Latin American city. The difference with other places is that all these things happen at the epicentre of the Amazonian depression.

We pick up our luggage, and at the exit, a middle-aged man with indigenous features, dressed in European clothes, is holding a small sign with our names written on it. He immediately recognizes us, I imagine he must have seen our photos.

He introduces himself as Gael, our local contact. He takes us outside, where a black-tinted SUV is parked in a double row, guarded by a middle-aged, friendly-looking police officer who greets us. Before we leave, I see the guide discreetly passing the officer some bills; the cop waves us goodbye, and I return the greeting through the window, smiling. He seems like a decent guy.

On the outskirts of the city, a luxury hotel welcomes us. Once in my room, I look out the window and gaze at the green tapestry that stretches beyond what my eyes can see. I think about the work ahead of us and how my purpose is to uncover what lies beneath that specific version of infinity.

My reasons seem obvious. It's clear that society needs what we're looking for, and my role is to find what I need. I also know that I'll never accept becoming one of the millions of wise men with coolers walking among the cars of the world, despite all the jungles and all the natives that may exist. Besides, what does it matter who finds the oil? Fifty people were after the same position, and although I'm the one here, it could've been someone else. I feel pretty satisfied with my reasoning and already feel better, so I reward myself by opening the minibar and taking out a beer.

It's nighttime, and I sit on the terrace, looking at two seas that are none: the vast river and the canopy of trees; still, I can only think about the riches that await me.

When I go downstairs for breakfast the next morning, Gael smiles when he sees me.

-The workers are waiting for us with the equipment and the weapons we need- he tells me as I sit, as if it were nothing

I'm caught off guard and only manage to ask,

-Weapons?-

Gael seems surprised by my reaction.

-It's for precaution- he answers. I see that Matias is about to intervene, and for the first time, his tone is that of a boss, not a travel companion.

-The place we're going was a protected zone until recently. But not anymore, and the natives, very likely, still don't know that. That's why we have to be prepared. -I don't respond, but I trust him less.

While I sip the strong Brazilian coffee, I realize two things. The first is that the idea of turning back is becoming more and more unlikely, and the second, and perhaps more important, is that the journey has only just begun.

We leave the hotel and arrive at an industrial complex on the outskirts of Manaus, where a truck and a few SUVs are waiting for us. On one side, a group of men of various ages is talking amongst themselves.

Gael starts speaking to them in a language that's not Portuguese, but Mat?as seems impatient, interrupts, and speaks to them in Spanish:

-Are you ready, you say? Let's go then- he says while waving his hand.

They all understand, and we split between the SUVs. In moments, the convoy starts moving, and we head out onto the highway.

Four lanes leave the city, the black asphalt of Interstate 319 opposed to the colours of the food stalls on both sides of the road, lining the edge of the Amazon forest. In each small shop, families of all types are crammed into the space they've been given, between the ditch and the jungle. You can barely see anyone buying.

Hours pass, it's hot, and I fall asleep. Gael sees me waking up through the front mirror and says something in a language I don't understand.

-Excuse me? I ask.

-It means good afternoon in Arawak, my parents' language.- Hearing him speak, I realize he's one of those people who naturally exude respect.

-Does your family live here?

-They brought my grandparents from the north to work in rubber. But the whites killed them, many years ago- He answers.

Mat?as is also sitting in front and turns his head. It seems he's about to say something but thinks better of it and lets it pass. Gael continues talking.

My father was an important man in our tribe, someone who could read the stars and advise the people. But he ended up marrying a Spanish woman!- He laughs, the old trickster.- It was a scandal at the time, believe me. But eventually they got a small piece of land, just enough to make a living. -

He places emphasis on the word 'land' in a way I haven't heard before.

-And do you still have the plot?- I dare to ask.

-No, I drank it all. The crops, the harvest, and even the little pigs they had, damn it.

-Well, I'm sorry to hear that- I manage to say, feeling a little embarrassed.

-I stopped drinking twenty-two years ago, kid, don't worry. I don't remember the drunken nights, but I remember the land and what my parents taught me, may they rest in peace. -

It's dark now, and we stop in a town. I'm told we're going to spend the night there. The roadside hotel welcomes us all, and after a few beers, cultural differences start losing their meaning.

In the small bar surrounded by jungle, we talk in a mix of Amazonian languages, Portuguese, and Spanish. Reggaeton plays on a bluetooth speaker, and liquor bottles pass from hand to hand. When I go to bed, the others continue the party.

The next morning, my companions are scattered around the hotel grounds, and the scene almost looks like that of a shipwreck. I see Gael trying to wake up one of the younger ones, who's peacefully sleeping on the ground next to a small palm tree.

-These young ones are hopeless. Every generation is the same mess- I hear him say as he helps him get up.

It's another day, and the ranks have been re-established; I think to myself as Mat?as rallies the workers. We obey, and in a few minutes, the convoy is back on the move.

Days pass monotonously. We stop to eat, to feed the vehicles, and sleep in one of the motels we find along the way. Tupana, Boa Esperan?a, and Base Coronado are the names of the small towns we encounter; the tinted windows of our vehicles obscure everything we see, leaving me with confused memories.

We are now approaching a small city, and the landscape changes. The intense green starts falling behind us, and the jungle gives way to large spaces where cows graze under a sky with no clouds. In other fields, burned trees serve as supports for painted signs where the words 'vende-se' are repeated along with various phone numbers. It's night again, and we stop to make camp.

-L?brea- Gael responds, -From now on, there's no more road, and the dirt tracks begin.

-The forest is so vast- I say, astonished.

The last town before the jungle surprises me by how much it resembles many towns in rural Mexico; except for the language, everything else is almost identical. I realize it doesn't matter whether it's Brazil, Mexico, or probably any other place in the world. In the end, advertising and the creation of the unnecessary come from the United States, the architecture is a cheap version of what the Europeans left behind, and the products filling the homes are made in China. A Bible verse comes to mind, '...and they made us in their image and likeness.' I guess the only thing left to do is give in. What can you do?

The next day, we stop shortly after leaving. Gael gathers the group of workers who are accompanying us around a huge stump in a jungle clearing, just outside the town. With his usual tone, Mat?as gives us a small speech.

-From today, we'll travel discreetly, using forest tracks and avoiding the villages to keep our destination hidden. Soon we'll arrive at our concession: Vale do Javari. Focus on the work, the pay, and think about the future of your families. The company will take care of the rest. -

Some of the workers protest, knowing that the place is a protected reserve and fearing poachers. But everyone needs the money, and we're halfway there, so they keep quiet and get in the vehicles.

Gael knows the jungle well, and with the help of digital maps, we make our way through the various mixtures of oranges and ambers that form the dirt roads, which the off-road vehicles now pass with difficulty. At night, the vehicles stop, the workers sleep under the open sky, and the boss in a tent. Almost daily, we cross dry riverbeds, and Gael repeats the same thing:

-In my sixty years of life, I've never seen such a terrible drought. Everything is going to hell, kid.-

Although slow, our progress is unstoppable. The chainsaws sit waiting, oiled in their boxes, and we seem like soldiers eager to reach the front. We are an army ready for war.

But after a few days of red dust and endless roads, a sickness of the spirit seems to have settled among us. Some have a fever, others ache with the thought of not returning, and almost all of us doubt whether the objective, wherever it is, is still worth it.

But we keep going, and day by day we enter a new world where only the essential things exist. We eat, shit, and at night we make a fire to warm up and scare away the beasts. We've returned to a basic level that existed before us, and in the eyes of others I've started to see a wild, primitive core.

But day by day, the truck carrying our precious diesel and supplies becomes lighter, and we realize that our mission is on the brink of failure.

Finally, on the afternoon of the twelfth day, we find the dirt road we were looking for; the light ochre colour tells us it's been recently excavated.

Gael slams on the brakes, looks at his GPS, and shouts at us:

-This is it, we've finally arrived.-

The convoy stops, and as everyone gets out we all have the feeling of being the discoverers of something, my companions fire shots in the air and for first time hug each other expressing their joy and relief. We return to the vehicles with a shared idea: start the work.

As we go deeper into the newly discovered road, the jungle changes. The sounds become sharper, the road more narrow, and the trees so tall that looking up, you can barely see a slice of sky. After a few hours, the convoy halts abruptly; we've reached the end of the road.

-What's going on? - Mat?as asks. Gael and I get out to find a barrier of thick undergrowth that cuts the dirt road off abruptly.

- The first settlement should be right here - says Gael.

His gaze moves from the GPS screen to the green wall blocking the path.

I see Mat?as dialling on the satellite phone when a voice calls to us. One of the workers has gone ahead and opened a path through the vines and the thicket blocking our view. Machetes are handed out, and a few people clear the path while the rest of us follow.

After a few meters, we begin to see the first signs of civilization in the form of empty drums and plastic debris; further along, we find a large area where the little light that filters through the canopy of trees allows us to distinguish two tents and wooden boxes, hidden beneath the moss and fallen leaves.

The sound of our footsteps on the dry leaves sends a shiver down my spine as we walk beneath the green canopy. The colours around us are very intense, and it takes me a moment to realize that the heartbeats I hear are not my own but the pulsing sap within the veins of the trees surrounding us.

The machetes continue to work, revealing the objects left behind by those who came before us: a table, chairs, and boxes with the company logo. It's curious how objects become the ties that return us to human reality.

The machetes are laid aside, and the machinery comes to life. The chainsaws roar as they cut through the vines and the underbrush of a forest that shudders. By the end of the day, the camp is free from the thick green moss and overgrowth that covered it; our initial impressions of the morning seem like something belonging to children, and the men with me do not forgive that first moment of cowardice.

Most try to recover their pride as they have been taught and work tirelessly from morning to night, obeying the boss. Mat?as directs operations with a firm hand, and while a few workers remain at the camp expanding the perimeter, another group cuts our way through the jungle to the potential deposits. Once there, I do my job, drilling the ground and extracting samples, which I then examine.

We don't have to wait long; the results of the first analyses show what the company already suspected: the land where we are will make them even richer.

Mat?as is euphoric, and under the promise of bonuses and contract extensions, my companions no longer complain. A particular El Dorado shines in each pair of eyes.

After two weeks, we have the first map of the area; I am the tool that marks on the map the locations for future refineries and the next sites we will drill. Ultimately, I am responsible for the success of the mission. There are days when it is unavoidable to feel guilty for all the destruction, for the industry that my reports will bring. Sometimes we cross paths with natives who avoid us, and it is then when I see it more clearly: given the choice, I prefer this side of the coin, even with my blackened hands.

Now that we now know for sure that the area is rich in oil, it's time to find out if there's gold. And I know that the places where we are most likely to find it are the rivers, so I organize an expedition to explore a new area the following day.

Night falls, and we are exhausted. In the interplay of light between the shadows of the fire and the moon, each of us sews up our wounds and prepares for the journey that lies ahead. We drink in silence; I know most of us think about the same stuff because there are universal things that don't depend on the skin colour or the way we see the world.

The next morning, we head out to one of the rivers near the camp. The day is clear, the sound of birds fills the air, and we are accompanied by the noise of animals fleeing as we approach. Two of my companions and I carry the equipment we need in backpacks while a third clears the way through the jungle with a sharp machete.

Some rays of sunlight filter through the thick vegetation, briefly reflecting on the skin and eyes of the natives who watch us. Day by day, their presence has become more palpable, and now they show themselves deliberately. Although they have been peaceful so far, fear compels us to carry weapons in case of an attack.

The rainy season is approaching, and when we reach the riverbed, we are taken aback by the force of the water. Still, we set up the equipment and begin to filter. The river quickly shows us its riches: the circular motion of the pan makes the tiny gold particles shine.

We've seen enough, and I urge my companions to reach the shore. I follow their steps, but the current pushes me and I fall into the water, hitting my head on a rock; I lose consciousness for a moment. I see them offer their hands, but I can't react, and the current drags me away.

When I come to, I'm already being swept downriver, the rocks battering my body, and the noise is deafening. I try to swim toward the shore, but my strength fails, and the current pulls me under, and it's then that I hear the abyss I am approaching.

At that moment, I understand that my efforts are futile. I stop struggling and prepare for whatever comes. In an instant, the rocks disappear, and for a second, I see a horizon of jungle. Then the waterfall pulls me in, and I just see water.

I close my eyes and wait for the rocks, but I sink into a pool. I open my eyes and swim with everything I have toward the light shining above.

When I surface, I find myself at the bottom of a rocky canyon covered in vegetation. The river here becomes a small estuary, with calm, crystal-clear water.

I crawl out of the pool as best I can, leaving the waterfall behind, and walk along the river. The water reaches my knees, the current gentle, and the water clear.

A few meters ahead, there's an island, a patch of land bathed on both sides by the river. Trees and brightly coloured plants cover it, serving as a backdrop for the great ceiba tree that breaks through the sky at its centre. In the shade of this venerable tree, a puma lies resting, seemingly contemplating the peaceful flow of the river while rays of sunlight reflected in the mist create an image of unusual beauty. Orchids, anthuriums, and belladonnas whirl in color, and as I approach, I see dozens of hummingbirds dancing around them while the sound of birds fills the air.

The vision pulls me in, and I step onto the sandstone surrounding it.

I've just taken a few steps when I feel something stir nearby. A shadow, which had been resting under the palms, takes the form of a naked woman who looks me in the eye. She seems of advanced age but also very young at the same time. Her skin is dark copper, her hair black, and her eyes turquoise like the river. Tattoos of animals, constellations, and dreams decorate her skin from the roots of her hair to the tips of her toes, telling a story I don't understand.

She extends her hands in an invitation, and we join our fingers. She rests her face on my chest, and I smell the green, the life, and the affirmation of a lived present in her wild hair. We lie down on the moss, and I am reborn; I look into her eyes and see, she embraces me, and for the first time, I breathe. She is the Mother, and I am the Son.

And in what may be the only moment of clarity in my insignificant existence, the truth overwhelms me. With that faith only accessible to real prophets, I know that if there was ever a beginning, it was here, in this place. It is on this small island, lost in the heart of the Amazon, where the differences between birth and death were written, where the primordial seed and the sprout of life first broke the earth, and where the laws that define the chaotic forces hidden beneath all order were traced.

And in the shadow of the revelation, we fell asleep. I am awakened by voices, 'they're looking for me,' I think. From the ground, I see the three companions with whom I had planned to cross the riverbank earlier that morning. I see that they carry rifles across their backs, and a knot tightens in my stomach.

By the time the mythical being and I stand up, the invaders' boots are already on the island. They look at us in astonishment, but they say nothing, unsure of what to do. Without a word, the woman takes a few steps and extends her arms; the first one succumbs to her.

But another looks at the scene, and in his eyes, the shadow of jealousy quickly gives way to an act of violence; with a brusque gesture, he separates the couple, breaking the embrace and shattering the spell.

"You're beautiful," he says in Portuguese. I sense what is about to happen and take a few steps towards them until one of them confronts me ; at first I struggle with him, but a punch knocks me to the ground, and I fall into the wet earth. The pressure of a knee on my back prevents me from rising; I can do nothing but watch.

Meanwhile, the other two have grabbed the woman. She doesn't understand what's happening, but when they touch her waist, she resists. They try to force her, but she fights back, and that's when they beat her until she falls.

But the soul of the jungle touches the ground as a woman, and in an astonishing transmutation, she rises as a jaguar.

And before the eyes of those of us present, the sacred vision faces its enemies. The first aggressor falls dead instantly with his throat torn apart. The second runs toward the river, but in one leap, the feline lands on him, and the screams of pain rise over the sacred valley. My attacker flees, and the pressure holding me to the ground disappears; I see him run through the river to the shore, but before he can reach the forest, the beast is already by his side.

The prey does not surrender, and the rifle no longer hangs from his back but is now held in his hands. The feline prepares to attack, but the man is quick, and the weapon is already on his shoulder, his finger on the trigger. I hear the echo of the shot, see the smoke rise from the barrel, and watch the animal tremble in mid-leap as the bullet strikes it. Despite this, the force of the push causes it to fall onto the attacker. Without mercy, it tears his chest, face, neck... The mortal bleeds out and screams as I kneel before the terrible scene. The million birds inhabiting the ceiba, frightened by what has happened, flutter everywhere, not knowing where to go.

Moments pass until I regain my senses. Looking around, I can see only three lifeless bodies, a calm river running red, and a mythical figure with flames in its eyes watching me as it walks toward me over the shallow waters.

When it reaches my side, it sniffs me, and the stench of blood and fury hits my senses. It looks me in the eyes, spares my life, and thus shows me its divinity. The grand animal walks slowly toward its primordial island and curls up in the moss, ready to die.

I remain kneeling, unable to move. But the inevitable happens, and the instinct for survival overcomes the horror. My body aches, and my mind cannot process what has occurred, but still, I rise to my feet and begin to walk. I cross to the shore, and as I look at the ground, I can't tell if the blood is coming from my wounded feet or if it belongs to those who lie in the river. I make my way through the jungle as best I can, pricked by plants and scratched by brambles, but step by step, I search for civilization and my people. As I move forward, I feel the eyes of the natives watching me silently through the low palm leaves; I don't ask for help, but they don't offer it either.

After hours of tough progress, I begin to see the advantages of lying on the ground and letting the mist that covers everything take me. But when I doubt whether I can take another step, a metallic murmur pulls me back to the world, and soon the sound of chainsaws leads me to the camp. Gael sees me approach and comes to meet me, and by the look on his face, he might as well be seeing an apparition.

"What happened to you?" he asks. "We sent a group to look for you?"

"They're all dead," I interrupt. "She's dead too." That's all I manage to say with the strength I have left. Several people take me to one of the tents, someone treats my wounds. I sleep.

During my dreams, the goddess speaks to me, and when I wake, the pains in my body are gone. With the memories of the previous day pulsing in my mind, I rise from the bed and go out for a walk.

I feel no confusion, only absolute clarity. I try to analyse what happened and find an explanation, but reason brings me back again and again to the same conclusion. The one that makes me realize that if a mortal is capable of seeing Dod, the only task that becomes worthy, the only rational act left, is the absolute worship of the deity.

Mat?as and Gael are on guard when they see me come out of the tent. They ask about what happened, and I tell them everything. Obviously, no one believes my story, but they haven't called me crazy yet; I imagine they doubt what happened and don't know what to believe. They ask me to guide them to the place I spoke of, and I agree to take them.

Not long after leaving, we reach the place where the current dragged me, and after following the river's course, we find the waterfall. We descend along a side path to the estuary where I understood the purpose of human life.

Looking at the river through the eyes of today, everything seems different, and for the last time, I allow myself to doubt what happened. But everything becomes clear when we reach the bodies that are still there. The forest animals have already bitten them, and they are disfigured, but the marks of the attacks are still obvious; their throats are torn, and their bodies shredded, the wounds so deep that the white bone shines through the split skin.

Gael bends over one of the corpses.

"I've seen wild animal attacks, but this... never. Nothing so brutal. And you say the jaguar was killed?" I nod and point to the island in the middle of the river. But when we reach it, there is nothing. What happened yesterday doesn't exist today, and this is nothing but a river island like any other.

We return to the camp in silence, each of the men speaking to themselves except for me, who is thinking about the girl's embrace. The presence of the natives is now omnipresent, and we feel watched at all times.

A relentless rain has settled over our camp, and we are forced to make a fire under a tarp. The rest of the team is in a state of hallucination; they hold their weapons in their laps and turn their heads at the slightest noise, they won't admit it, but they are afraid.

Everyone goes to sleep except Gael and me. The fire has no flames left, and only the embers reflect on his face.

"Are you alright?" I ask him. He turns his head and looks at me but doesn't say anything.

As I leave, he mutters words in a language I don't understand.

I lie down on the bed while hearing the rain, the images of what I lived fixed in my head. It's not long before a deep, muffled sound from outside puts me on alert.

When I leave my tent, I find a scene I can't comprehend.

Hundreds of torches form a ring of fire surrounding the camp, each light moving to the rhythm of drums emanating from deep within the jungle. Mat?as and the rest stand in the centre of the camp, forming an inner circle as they stare hypnotized at the flames that surround us.

I run toward my companions with the intention of helping them, but when I approach, I find lost gazes and inert bodies. I shout at them, but what I say gets lost in the rhythmic sound that fills everything, I grab their arms and push them, but they don't react; I want them to wake up, but their minds are elsewhere.

The circle of fire flickers, and from the darkness of the jungle, Gael arrives. But that is no longer his name; now he wears the ceremonial garb of a shaman, and the tattoos on his chest are visible. As he walks, he speaks to the fire and to the jungle, speaking to us all in a language never heard before, a tongue created for this moment of vengeance against human rationality and the desecration of the sacred.

Little by little, the drumbeats grow deeper and increase in pace. At the same time, the torch flames grow brighter, and the dancers' movements multiply, reaching a crescendo that shakes the very foundation of the cathedral of the forest. Meanwhile, I remain still, and though fear suffocates me and urges me to leave, the magnetism of what is about to happen keeps me there.

Suddenly, the drumming stops completely. The circle of fire opens, the sacrifice is about to begin. The wounded deity emerges from the darkness and enters the circle; the fire from the torches illuminates the bestial being it has become, and its sight makes the air so dense that I can barely breathe. The woman is all heartbeat and all death; she is the opposite of the island of life I once knew, the ruthless side of nature made flesh.

She slowly approaches the circle formed by my companions and one by one, she slashes their throats with the claws of her beastly hands. Yet, in her infinite compassion, the mortals are allowed one last second of consciousness. They see the fury of the deity, and before dying, they all scream.

Their voices pull me from the horror I am witnessing, and I run with the intention of breaking the outer circle to reach the jungle.

When I approach the natives carrying the torches, a passage opens, and they let me go, turning their heads without stopping their gaze through their masks, and everything feeds the idea that this is nothing but a ballet rehearsed a thousand times.

When I move away a few meters, the darkness envelops me, and I realize that I can't continue. The beats of my heart blend with the still-close drums, and my mind shatters into a thousand pieces.

When I return to the circle of fire, I am at peace, and my thoughts are ordered. I know exactly what I must do. The jungle's inhabitants are waiting for me, of course, they already knew what I was going to do. The horror returns to the thick forest, it's just vengeance satisfied. The natives undress me and hang amulets around me, they clothe me until I become one of them. And as I become another, the emptiness abandons me, the circle of doubt is completed, and my role in this work is revealed to me. They pass me a torch, and we kneel to worship the sacred jaguar."