The return trip was calm, almost strangely peaceful. As if the sea, aware of the whirlwind of emotions they both carried with them, was granting them a respite before they had to face the consequences of everything they had discovered—or, rather, everything they had only just begun to understand.

  Priscila and Máximo decided, by mutual agreement and without the need for words, not to talk about the matter until they reached Rome. They knew that what had happened on that island was too complex, too big to resolve on the high seas. They needed time, distance, and, above all, silence. Not a cold or uncomfortable silence, but a shared one, as if the tide were also carrying away their thoughts so that they could breathe a little easier.

  During the two days of their return journey, they surrendered to the calm of the ocean, enjoying the faint sun, the swaying of the waves, and the company of the captain, who, in a deep, measured voice, told them stories of other voyages: some wonderful, others terrifying, all full of that raw magic that the sea has when it becomes the setting for the impossible.

  —Once. — he said as the sky turned red. — I saw a column of light rise from the water, like a shining spear touching the sky. It wasn't fire, it wasn't electricity... it was something else. Something the sea was hiding, something it didn't want to explain to me. That's how the ocean is. It shows you and hides from you, all at the same time.

  Priscila and Máximo listened, fascinated, their faces relaxed and their feet dangling over the rail. That night, they spoke little. They simply laughed at the captain's exaggerations, gazed at the cloudless sky, and listened to the sound of the sails billowing in the wind. For a moment, they seemed like two young people without titles or responsibilities, simply letting themselves be lulled by the world.

  But they both knew that when they touched land, everything would change.

  The last night on the ship arrived without warning. The sky was clear, and the stars were reflected so clearly on the sea that it seemed as if the ship was floating between two skies. The breeze was gentle, and the waves were nothing more than a slight sigh beneath the wooden hull.

  Once in their cabin, as if it were part of a routine written by the previous days, Priscilla and Maximus settled into their respective bunks and each picked up a book. They didn't need to say anything. The silence felt warm and comforting. Reading enveloped them like a blanket, and the faint sound of turning pages was the only noise in the small room.

  —What are you reading this time, my wife? — asked Máximo, without looking up from his book, with an almost imperceptible smile.

  —History. — replied Priscila, in the same soft tone. — I think it's necessary to know about the past if I want to understand the present.

  Maximus nodded without saying anything else. He knew that her thoughts were as heavy as his own. It was curious how they could sink into the same silence and still feel accompanied.

  The candle lighting the room swayed gently with the movement of the boat. And in the midst of that fragile serenity, Priscilla looked up for a moment and watched him. Máximo's forehead was slightly furrowed, his eyes fixed on the lines on the paper, but there was a contained tension in him, as if he were also reading something else, something that was not written.

  —Do you think destiny is something that is already written? — she asked suddenly, without really knowing why.

  Maximo took a few seconds to answer.

  —I think there are things that await us... but I also think we can choose how we get there.

  Priscila nodded, still looking at him.

  —I want to rest my eyes, will you read to me? — she murmured with a tired smile.

  —Of course. — Máximo replied softly, raising his arm in a silent invitation.

  She didn't hesitate. She settled under his arm, letting her head rest on his chest, where she could hear the steady beating of his heart. It was a calm, steady melody that reconnected her to the present. With him. She closed her eyes, letting the warmth of Máximo's body and the soft vibration of his voice envelop her like a blanket.

  He began to read at a leisurely pace, almost whispering the words, in a tone that bordered on tenderness. The content of the book—some story about politics or military strategy—didn't matter much, because Máximo's voice gave it new meaning. Each word became a delicate thread that lulled her, made her feel safe, even amid all the questions that still had no answers.

  Priscila said nothing, just took a deep breath, letting the tension escape from her shoulders, her furrowed brow, her once-trembling hands. For the first time since they had landed on that unknown island, she allowed herself a moment of complete calm. There were no ruins, no secrets, no disturbing visions. There were just the two of them, in a warm room, on a ship cutting through the sea in the direction of home.

  —And when the time came to decide, she chose the most difficult path... not because she was brave, but because she knew that was where the truth would be. — Máximo read.

  Priscila smiled with her eyes closed, feeling that those words spoke to her as well. She didn't know what awaited her in Rome, nor the answers that were still missing, but at that moment, as the murmur of the sea mingled with the voice of the only one who seemed to understand her without needing explanations, she felt that she was not alone.

  Maximus gave her a peace she couldn't put into words. He was one of those presences that didn't need to make noise to be noticed, a constant in the midst of a world that was breaking down and rebuilding itself every day with new questions, new truths. Priscilla didn't want to stop and analyze it too much; she didn't want to put a name to the tranquility she felt when he was near, because as soon as she did, it would become more complicated. And the last thing she needed was to complicate herself with feelings.

  It wasn't that she rejected the idea of love out of pain or insecurity, or because she felt unworthy because of her appearance or social role. She simply never considered it essential. She had learned to live without expecting romantic affection, without longing for an “us.” She had more important things to think about: a legacy to uphold, a story to unravel, a life to build with more questions than answers. But even so, there was something about those shared silences with Máximo, about his way of being without invading, of looking without judging, that made her body give in. As if every fiber of her being said “it's okay” without her mind having to authorize it.

  Those moments overwhelmed her. They made her collapse onto the mattress as if she were letting go of the weight of a world that always demanded her full attention. In Máximo's arms, the world could wait.

  He noticed. Of course he did. He could read Priscila's subtle gestures better than anyone else. He knew when her breathing was heavier than usual, when her gaze avoided speaking, when her shoulders were about to give up. And he didn't need to say anything. He just raised his hand and began to stroke her head, slowly, with rhythmic, almost hypnotic movements. Not always with the intention of calming her down. Sometimes just because. Because he liked the contact, because he had realized that, with it, he could speak to her in a language that others didn't even know existed.

  A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

  Priscila closed her eyes, letting herself be carried away by that caress. She said nothing. She thought nothing. For a moment, she was just a girl being touched tenderly, not an heiress or a researcher or a survivor of ancient secrets.

  And that... that was worth more than any confession of love.

  The arrival in Rome was silent, shrouded in the soft mist of dawn. The port was still waking up, and the creaking of wood under the captain's footsteps marked the beginning of the disembarkation. It was around seven in the morning when Maximus and Priscilla touched dry land again, the cool sea breeze blowing their hair back, as if saying goodbye. They both disembarked with their backpacks half closed, their scrolls safely stored away, and their thoughts still wandering around that hidden island that had left them with more questions than answers.

  They said goodbye to the captain with a firm and sincere handshake. He, with a wise look that seemed to know more than he was saying, watched them for a moment before speaking.

  —Remember what I told you: the sea holds secrets, but it also responds to those who know how to search. If there is any news, I will look for you.

  —Thank you for everything, captain. We'll let you know if we find anything. — said Máximo.

  —And take care of yourself. — added Priscila, with a slight smile, somewhat more serene, although the fatigue was noticeable in her eyes.

  Without wasting any time, they walked quickly to their respective homes. They had an hour before classes started, and although their bodies craved rest, routine awaited them with arms crossed. At 8:30, dressed in clean tunics and their hair still damp from a quick bath, they were already on their way to the school building.

  The streets of Rome bustled with their usual life, but at school, eyes were fixed on them from the moment they walked through the doors. The murmur spread like a stream of water through the hallways. Students whispered as they passed by, some with curiosity, others with poorly concealed judgment. It was inevitable. A princess and a young nobleman, alone for days, far from protocol and watchful eyes, was not well regarded by most, no matter how respectful they had been.

  —Did you hear they came back together this morning?

  —They say they spent the night on an island...

  —And no one was supervising them?

  —That's not allowed...

  Priscila listened to them, although she pretended not to. She walked with her chin up, her face serene. She knew what they were thinking, but she refused to let that define her day. Máximo, for his part, kept his expression relaxed and his hands crossed behind his back. They were already used to judgments, and the only thing that mattered to them now was what they had discovered.

  They entered their first class as if everything were normal. They sat in their usual seats, opened their notebooks, and took out their pens. No one else knew what they knew. No one else had seen that hidden civilization or heard Nokala's words.

  And as the teacher began to speak, Priscila slowly took notes, but her mind was elsewhere. She kept thinking about the words that had left her trembling. About the eyes of the inhabitants who looked at them as if they knew their destiny. And, for the first time in a long time, she didn't know if she wanted to know all the answers.

  Maximo returned home with his body exhausted but his mind racing, as if he were still on that island, seeing the stone faces of the inhabitants who had bid them farewell without saying a word. As he walked through the door, the familiar scent of home enveloped him, and for a moment he felt relief.

  —My son, how was your trip? — his mother asked from the living room, getting up as soon as she saw him appear with his bag slung over his shoulder and heavy footsteps.

  —Confusing, Mother... I don't know how Priscila feels now...” —he replied, walking toward her as if he needed the warmth of her arms more than ever.

  His mother hugged him tenderly, stroking his back with the same gentleness she had when he was a child.

  —Are you okay, son? — she asked, looking into his eyes.

  Máximo didn't answer right away. He remained silent for a few seconds, his chin resting on his mother's shoulder. Finally, he murmured:

  —As long as Priscila is okay...

  She smiled slightly, with that quiet wisdom that only a mother possesses. She knew what that meant. No more words were needed.

  —Go get some rest. — she said sweetly. — Tomorrow we have to look at clothes for Priscila's birthday. And you need your energy.

  —I have to get her a gift. — he said as he pulled away. —Something special. — Something that will do her good.

  —Then listen carefully, son... The best gift isn't always the most expensive one. Sometimes it's the one that responds to a need of the soul. — And after a brief pause, she added. —You know her soul, don't you?

  Maximo looked down, thoughtful, and nodded slowly.

  —Yes... I know her more than she thinks I do.

  He went up to his room with that idea still in his head. He opened his trunk, took out some old papers, and looked at a small wooden box that held memories of his childhood years with Priscilla. He knew that just any gift wouldn't be enough. He wanted to give her something that would anchor her. Something that would tell her, without words, that she wasn't alone with all the questions that tormented her.

  Because after all, he too had felt that invisible fire in the eyes of the inhabitants. That silent message that they were both walking toward something irremediable. And if Priscila was going to face it, she would not do so alone.

  That afternoon, the palace gardens were filled with quiet footsteps and soft voices. Priscilla walked arm in arm with her grandmother, Queen Edesia, among the rose bushes that were beginning to close as the sun set. The air smelled of lavender and wet earth, and the sky painted a warm sunset, as if it too were preparing to celebrate what was to come at dawn.

  —I find it hard to believe... — said the queen in a low voice, turning the pages of the logbook Priscilla had given her. —A hidden people. A prophecy. And a name that no one repeats.

  —I know. It all sounds like a cursed puzzle. — replied Priscilla, somewhat tired but with her mind still racing. And every piece I find makes me more afraid to put it in place.

  The queen looked at her with that mixture of pride and concern that only grandmothers who have seen a lot in life can have.

  —And yet you keep going. Not out of ambition, but because you feel it is necessary. That, my dear Priscilla, is what distinguishes a leader from a ruler.

  They stopped in front of an ancient fountain, and both gazed at their reflections rippling in the water. Priscilla thought about everything she had seen, everything she didn't understand, Nokala's half-spoken words, the eyes of those islanders who seemed to know more about her destiny than she did herself.

  —Were you ever afraid of what you were going to find? — Priscilla asked.

  —Always. — the queen replied firmly. — But I learned that sometimes answers are not meant to give you peace, but direction. Knowing them does not calm the heart... but it does light the way.

  They returned to the palace shortly after, when the breeze began to turn cold. Dinner was quiet, lit by scented candles that filled the queen's small dining room. They served hot soup, freshly baked bread, sweet fruits, and a little spiced wine. Priscilla ate slowly, letting each flavor bring her some calm after the turbulent days.

  —You should rest. — said the queen as they drank tea to end the evening. — Tomorrow a new phase begins. And not just because it's your birthday.

  Priscila nodded with a slight smile, feeling the weight on her eyelids and shoulders.

  —Tomorrow I start writing the story from another place. — she said, more to herself than to her grandmother.

  The queen kissed her on the forehead before letting her go.

  —And you will do well, as you do everything with your heart.

  Moonlight streamed through the high windows of Priscilla's room, illuminating the papers scattered across her desk, the floor, and even the rug next to her bed. Maps of the island, drawings of the symbols she had found, half-finished translations, and notes that only raised more questions. And yet, Priscilla felt she was close to something... something important.

  But at that moment, the door opened carefully, and Coral, Priscilla's faithful servant and almost like an older sister, entered. Her braided hair was now loose, and her face reflected a tiredness that she had clearly decided to ignore in order to take care of her mistress.

  —Miss, please go to sleep. — she said in a calm but firm voice.

  —You go to sleep, Coral. — Priscilla replied, without taking her eyes off a page where she had circled a word.

  —You know I can't do that until you go to sleep. — said the other, crossing her arms with one eyebrow raised.

  Priscila sighed and put down her pencil with a certain resignation, but not without a smile. Coral approached her, placed a hand on her shoulder, warm and silent, and with that single gesture managed to pull her out of the vortex of thoughts that had absorbed her.

  —I'm sorry... thank you for disconnecting me. — said Priscilla, turning her neck slightly, sore from leaning over the papers for so long.

  —Go to sleep. — repeated Coral, almost in the tone of a scolding mother.

  The two looked at each other and laughed, sharing the complicity they had woven over the years. Priscila gathered up some papers, quickly sorted them, and left the rest on the desk. Coral had already uncovered the bed and was moving the work chair away, while the princess approached and let herself fall onto the mattress as if the weight of the world were on her shoulders.

  Coral tucked her in without saying a word, and just as she was about to turn off the lights, Priscilla said quietly:

  —Do you think I can handle all this, Coral?

  The maid paused and looked at her tenderly from the doorway.

  —I don't doubt it for a second.

  She turned off the light.

  @estrellaswrite follow on ig!!