Malachi - Pt br

The kingdom of Barton awoke each day shrouded in a light mist, as if the sky itself were afraid to reveal its secrets completely.

In the humblest lands, where clay was still the ground and the wind carried the scent of harvest, lived Lia—a peasant woman with a curious gaze and hands marked by labor, but with a strange, constant feeling that something… greater was calling her.

And high atop the gray stone castle, surrounded by flags and protocols, lived Prince Malachi, heir to the Barton royal family. Educated to rule, trained not to hesitate—but restless inside, as if his destiny could not be contained within the palace walls.

The strange thing was: they were both dreaming.

Every night, without ever having met, Lia saw a young man with distant eyes in a hall lit by golden candles. And Malachi saw a girl with hands dirty with soil, laughing in the wind in a field he had never set foot in.

And even without names, without clear faces… they both missed each other when they woke up.

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That morning, Lia was walking among the crops when she stopped, gazing at the horizon.

"I swear I've seen this place before," he murmured, frowning.

In the castle, Malachi slammed the strategy book shut with a force too light to be anger, but strong enough to catch the attention of his advisor, Milo, who was standing beside him.

"Your Highness seems distracted," Milo remarked.

Malachi hesitated for a moment.

"Tell me... is it possible to miss someone you've never met?"

Milo frowned.

"That would be pure imagination, my prince."

But Malachi didn't answer. Because, deep down, he knew it wasn't just his imagination.

And somewhere between the field and the castle… something was beginning to approach.