One day, while I was returning from my usual training, I passed by a neighbor's house. The fence had been built by my father, and inside there were some ducks and two geese. Inside that spacious enclosure, they had everything: water to drink, food to eat, a nice green lawn to live on peacefully, without any predators to scare or disturb them. They lived their lives in tranquility, serene, unaware that their owner was raising them for a specific purpose, not because he had a great kindness of heart.

Thinking about it, it was ironic how the fence had been built by my father. I felt like one of the poor ducks locked inside the enclosure, my village. Yet those animals, even though they were destined for a sad or useful end, did not feel the need to fight; they were free to live their lives, but within a well-defined perimeter. They didn’t escape from the place that was their home.

I woke up slowly, aware that I had a not very pleasant dream; a dream that tightened my soul, as if my heart had no room to beat. I was a bit agitated but quickly calmed down. Sometimes, when I have a bad dream, I wake up with my heart in my throat, but then that feeling, for reasons unknown, vanishes in a few seconds, like a gust of cold wind that passes and goes away without leaving a trace.

I tried to get up quietly and noticed that the sun had not yet risen. Since I stopped training, I had begun to have insomnia problems. I struggled to sleep, and when I did manage to sleep, I would wake up too early to have rested adequately. It seemed that all my discomfort revolved around what I soon began to consider a stupid goal. By now, becoming the village chief was like playing the lottery. I couldn’t fool myself into competing against the chosen ones, especially against the one I tried to ignore so as not to get discouraged: Zokin, one of my friends who had become a chosen one.

At first, I was happy for him. We both shared the dream of becoming the village chief. We dreamed of what we could do once we achieved that goal: build a bigger house, fight against each other to become the strongest in the village, and eat to our heart's content with our families. When we dreamed of these things, we were about eight years old. Then, a few years later, when the powers of the Great Star were awakened in Zokin, he could no longer play with me or any other village child. They took him to the camp of the chosen ones, and from there, we all know the story.

We hadn’t promised things like, “if I awaken the powers before you…” because we both firmly believed we would awaken them together, like two real friends would. We were young and naive. I didn’t even know which of the many powers he had awakened. We talked about this a lot. We staged battles, imagining having different powers than each other, and we fought, fantasizing about who might win.

Gradually, as all the children my age with whom I was friends began to help at home or work for their families, I was left alone, and the few friends I had went their own way. Maybe I met them by chance, but I didn’t recognize them, just like that sense of bitterness and shame I felt when I couldn’t understand which of the five boys was Zokin, the childhood friend with whom I had shared so many memories.

“I wonder if he still remembers me,” I thought. In reality, I didn’t want to know the answer. I was afraid.

I don’t know why those memories came back to me at that moment, in the pale morning darkness. Maybe it was because the night before, I had sneaked into the camp of the chosen ones, hoping to find him too. Instead, I found that pseudo-teacher whom “if she doesn’t show up today, I’ll strangle!”

But in the end, I’m sure she will come. Those words she uttered last night, perhaps believing that no one was listening (I feel a bit guilty for having done so), gave me that little extra bit of hope and security I needed because the more time passed, the more I grew, and the more I realized how futile and trivial my goal was. But without a goal, it was worse. I couldn’t sleep well, couldn’t think rationally. I practically couldn’t do anything. I was no longer the Falco I wanted to become. So I decided to cling to that dream and risk everything. What did I have to lose anyway?

I waited impatiently for dawn, immersed in nothingness. I was agitated for some unknown reason, but at least the thoughts had stopped making noise in my head without clashing with each other anymore.

"Have you been waiting long?"

Like a bolt from the blue, a calm voice pierced the silence. I turned immediately, hoping it was her. Yes, it was Malia.

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"You want me to call you teacher, but then you disappear and don’t show up anymore?" I said, trying to make it less obvious that I was happier than ever.

“Did you miss me that much?”

I expected a response like that, and as usual, she answered my questions with other questions.

"I thought you wouldn't come back." I confessed. I couldn’t deny that I was happy to see her again. Even if just for that evening, we shared the same goal, and the fact that she wanted to help me achieve it without asking anything in return had made those weeks of waiting a real nightmare. Yes, it was paradoxical. An element that would help me realize my goal had not made me confident; on the contrary, I began to question my past and future, something the Falco I knew would never have thought to do.

Before responding, she seemed to want to justify herself, but then she stopped and didn’t.

"For this, I must apologize, Falco. You’re right. I shouldn’t have made you wait."

Then she paused. She had more to say, but it was as if she struggled to pronounce an uncomfortable truth.

“The truth is, I forgot…”

How was that possible? Did she care so little about me that she forgot such an important thing? But then I thought again. Even if not much time had passed, in those days, I had unknowingly explored parts of myself that I didn’t know. It certainly wasn’t a positive thing, but it made me realize that maybe, for Malia, those days without answers for me didn’t hold the same value as they did for her.

“That’s certainly not an excuse,” I replied quickly. “You at least need to give me a valid reason for your absence. Even if it doesn’t seem like it… I am mad at you.”

She stopped using that usual tone and became more serious, the same tone she used the night before with her “boyfriend.”

“There is a valid reason, Falco. I assure you.”

“Then explain it to me because I really don’t understand you.”

She approached me cautiously, as if her movements matched the delicacy of the words she would soon speak. She sat behind me, with her back against mine.

"What I meant to say is that I forgot to tell you when and where to meet. But I certainly haven’t forgotten our promise. I truly intended to teach you how to fight at your best against us chosen ones."

It seemed too good to be true. Maybe she was an angel. Possible. Perhaps I had never noticed. Or there was a trick, something that didn’t add up. I couldn’t figure it out; I was confused, as I had been all the days since that fateful promise.

“I want to have the chance to fight on equal terms, or at least try.” Then I stood up. I seemed to be back to my usual self: “As I showed you that day, I can be perseverant, and if I want something, I don’t give up.”

“I hope that’s not your only quality.” she whispered.

“Did you say something?”

“No, no, go on.”

“I was saying that I’m ready,” I said, convinced I had made myself clear.

“You’re not ready for anything, my friend. It’s a lot if you can even take down a tree. Do you even know what Zokin is capable of? After all the time you spent staring at us, you haven’t understood anything?”

I realized immediately that there might have been a misunderstanding. I didn’t mean “I’m ready to fight” but rather that I was ready to start training with her. But wait... Zokin was there? At the camp? How couldn't I recognize him?! Of course he was there!

“Wait, Malia. Is Zokin with you?"

She gave me a dirty look and tried in every way not to listen to me, looking around or doing something else while I spoke. A strange atmosphere was created where I tried to explain the misunderstanding, and she, unwilling to admit she was wrong, kept insisting. Unable to find a solution, I decided to create one. Perhaps a bit drastic, but at least it shut her up.

“What the hell are you doing?!” she shouted after I plunged my fist into her stomach.

“How the hell… dare you…” she kept saying her usual things, and I let her speak. I didn’t hit her out of anger or to hurt her. That was the effect, at least not the cause.

“So? Are you going to start training me or not, teacher?”

Still crouched over, she looked up, smiled, and said, “You’re such a son of a bitch.”