Before Sunset. Chapter 2. The Flames of Destiny

That Tuesday in November, San Jacinto dawned with a stifling heat that seemed to hang stagnant in the streets. Nico had risen earlier than usual to review for his math exam. Before he left, Marta handed him a small piece of guava paste—a treat she had been saving like a treasure.

“You’re going to shine today, Nico,” she said, adjusting the worn collar of his shirt. “Don’t let the heat dull your mind.”

Nico kissed her on the cheek, noticing that his mother looked especially tired. The strain of washing mountains of other people’s laundry under the sun was draining the color from her face, though it couldn’t dim the light in her eyes. That was the final image he etched into his memory before heading to school: his mother smiling from the washbasin, her hands submerged in white suds, waving goodbye.

The school day dragged on, heavy with the oppressive heat. In the library, Nico was focused, sitting beside Lucía. She was explaining a passage from Don Quijote to him, while Nico worked on a complex math problem in the margin of an old newspaper.

“Do you think the windmills were actually giants to him, Nico?” Lucía asked, watching as he took in every word from the book. “For someone hungry for justice, Lucía, any obstacle is a giant,” Nico replied without looking up. “My father says that reality is simply what one chooses to face.”

Suddenly, the afternoon silence was shattered by the sound of church bells. It wasn’t the measured tolling for Mass, but a frantic, desperate peal—the alarm for a fire. Nico felt an electric jolt at the base of his neck. He glanced out the window and saw a column of thick, voracious black smoke rising from the outskirts of town—from his own neighborhood.

“It’s toward my house, Lucía!” Nico shouted, feeling the cardboard of his shoes stick to his skin from a sudden burst of sweat.

Without asking permission, Nico took off running. His legs, accustomed to long walks, became engines driven by anguish. He ignored the teacher’s shouts and the taunts of Ramiro, who watched him pass from the hallway. Nico saw only the smoke, which grew ever blacker, ever more real.

When Nico reached the edge of his street, the world had turned orange. His home—that structure built of wood and faith, which Dante had raised nail by nail—was now a giant torch. The dry afternoon wind fed the flames with methodical cruelty.

“Mama! Mama!” Nico’s cry was lost in the crackle of burning timber.

He saw neighbors with buckets of water—a futile struggle against a monster with a thousand tongues of fire. He saw Dante come running from the mill, still covered in sugarcane dust. His father didn’t stop to think; seeing that Marta wasn’t outside, Dante let out a roar of pure agony and plunged into the structure, which was already beginning to collapse.

“Papa, no!” Nico tried to follow, but strong arms held him back. It was the town apothecary. “Let me go! They’re inside!”

Seconds later, a section of the roof caved in with a thunderous crash of embers and ash. Time stood still for Nico. The air smelled of burnt wood, of singed clothing... of his life vanishing. Dante emerged from the ruins, wreathed in flames, dragging Marta’s limp body. He collapsed to the ground, clutching her, even as his own skin blistered in the residual heat.

The transition was a blur of red lights and distorted cries. Nico found himself sitting in a hallway with white-tiled floors that smelled of chlorine and death. His hands were blackened with soot—he had tried to touch his father as he was being loaded into the ambulance.

Don Alberto, Lucía’s father, arrived at the hospital shortly after. Seeing the boy alone, covered in grime, his school shirt burnt at the edges and his shoes falling apart, he felt a jolt in his heart unlike anything he had ever known. The arrogance of the wealthy man evaporated in the face of Nico’s raw, exposed grief.

“Nico... son,” Don Alberto said, placing a trembling hand on the boy’s shoulder. “The doctor says... your mother... she didn’t suffer. She succumbed to the smoke before the fire could reach her.”

Nico did not cry. Not yet. The shock was too profound. He stared down at his feet. The cardboard of his shoes had come away completely, revealing his dirty, trembling toes. “My mom told me that today was going to be a bright day,” Nico whispered. “But she didn’t tell me it would be like this.”

Don Alberto knelt down, unconcerned that his silk suit might be stained by the ash clinging to Nico. “Your father is alive, Nico. He’s in critical condition—he has burns over much of his body and his lungs are damaged—but he’s fighting.” He has fallen into a deep sleep in order to heal.

That night, Nico did not return to his wooden porch. Don Alberto and his wife, Doña Sofía,took him to their mansion at the top of the town. Lucía was waiting at the door, hereyes swollen from so much crying.

“Come, Nico,” said Lucía—taking him by the hand—. We’ve prepared a room for you.

Lucía’s house was a palace of marble and brilliant lights. There was food in abundance,linen sheets, and absolute silence. But for Nico, every luxury felt like a stab wound. He sat at the walnut table, facing a bowl of soup that smelled heavenly, yet he couldn’t bring himself to eat.

—Nico, you need to eat —Doña Sofía said gently.

Nico looked at the silver spoon. Then he looked at Don Alberto. —This soup is delicious, sir—Nico said, his voice sounding as if it came from very far away—. But my mom used to say that the flavor of food doesn’t come from the salt, but from the person who serves it with love.

I feel like if I eat it, I’ll forget her.

Don Alberto bowed his head.

The next day, they took Nico to see Dante. His father was wrapped in white bandages, hooked up to machines that emitted monotonous beeps. He no longer looked like the giant who hauled heavy loads at the quarry; he looked like a mummy made of pain.

Nico leaned close to his ear.—Papa, it’s me, Nico. I’ve finished my homework. Lucía lent me her book. Don Alberto is

taking care of me... they’re good people, Papa. I had some meat today, but it tasted like ash because you weren’t there to give me the biggest piece.

The machines didn’t respond. Dante didn’t move. But Nico sat on the clinic floor, crossed his legs, and began to tell his father everything he had learned in class that day. He spoke to him about the planets, the history of kings, and how right angles hold houses together.