Tierras Salvajes - En

On the floor, where the creature had been, lay the withered, peaceful body of Mateo Montalvo. Ten years dead, but finally, mercifully, just bones and dust.

Elías’s hand trembled. The truth was a cold stone in his gut. He had crossed all that savage land not for hope, but for an ending. He needed to see the body. He needed to bury the guilt.

With a final, silent implosion, it collapsed inward, folding into a point of absolute darkness no larger than a grain of sand, which then winked out of existence. The cabin shuddered. The breathing walls went still. En Tierras Salvajes

It lunged. Elías didn’t move. He thrust the obsidian shard forward. It was not a blade, but it didn’t need to be. It was a mirror.

Elías raised the revolver. “You are not my brother.” On the floor, where the creature had been,

“Mateo,” he whispered, his voice swallowed by the oppressive air. “Mateo, where are you?”

The creature froze. For the first time, something like fear flickered in its borrowed eyes. The truth was a cold stone in his gut

Elías didn’t shoot. A bullet was a gift of noise in a land that feasted on silence. Instead, he opened his satchel and pulled out the one thing the university had allowed him to keep: a small, lead-lined box. Inside was a shard of obsidian, jagged and blacker than the canyon’s sand. It was a heart-stone, taken from the temple of a forgotten god deep in the southern jungles. The priests called it the Stone of Naming .