The Man the Mountain Kept (M2K)

The whisper came first.

"Wake up."

Hulio opened his eyes.

He was somewhere unfamiliar. And strange.

"Where... am I?" His voice cracked.

There was no sky. Only massive roots hanging from a ceiling of darkness, weaving into a formless canopy. The ground beneath him was damp and warm—like the chest of a living creature. A greenish glow oozed from moss-covered stone. Hulio tried to sit up. His body felt strange. Stiff. Cold.

But it wasn't pain—it felt more like... the body wasn't fully his.

"What is this place?"

"Is this... the afterlife? No! I must be dreaming," he whispered, trembling.

He pinched his arm. No reaction.

Pulled his hair. Slammed his hand against the earth. Shook his own face.

Nothing changed.

"I'm not dead. This is just a dream… Just a dream!"

He stood up, shaky at first. Then he ran. Anywhere. Everywhere.

As long as it was away from this place.

He ran until breath caught in his throat.

"Oh God… what is that?" he whispered. It was just a forest. But ancient.

He stepped back, trying to avoid snake-like roots that slithered across the path. Moss clung to his soles like wet teeth. Without realizing, Hulio went deeper.

"This is still the world, right?" His footsteps echoed.

He was in a cave. A vast one. Not dark. The walls glowed.

Then—a crack. A branch breaking.

Behind him.

He turned.

A small figure stood in the mist.

At first glance, it looked like a child.

But its eyes glowed green.

Its body was covered in soil and moss. From its pores, the scent of ancient roots seeped into the air.

It did not walk.

It hovered.

"W-Who are you?" Hulio's voice vanished into the silence.

"The one left behind… has been chosen," it said.

Its voice did not pass through air.

It pressed directly into his mind.

Hulio refused to hear it.

"No. I'm human. This isn't the afterlife. I'm alive. I'm not a spirit. I'm real. I'm human!" He stumbled backward, gasping.

"This is just an illusion. A hallucination!"

Hulio didn't believe in superstition. Didn't believe in spirits.

He shut his eyes. Opened them. Shut them again. Opened once more.

Nothing changed.

And the creature remained. Staring. Blinking slowly, as if assessing him.

Then, something stirred in Hulio.

A flicker of courage.

"I'm human. I'm alive. I'm not like you. I'm just… a lost hiker!"

The creature?

"Are you… the Mistkeeper?" The name came to him unbidden.

The being did not reply.

From its hand, light began to form—a living pearl, small, pulsing like a heartbeat.

Hulio clutched his head, trembling.

"NO! I don't want to be part of this world. I'm human!"

And then—memories slammed into him.

He remembered the fall. Plunging into the depths of a wild forest. He remembered the people above.

"Are they looking for me?"

"Is my family searching?"

His mother's gentle eyes flashed in his mind. His father's quiet pride—strong and resolute.

"Mom… Dad… find me. Please, find me. I'm still alive! Send help. Send a helicopter. Call the president! Wasn't Dad a war hero? Use your influence! I'm here! Come get me…!"

Hulio howled. Tears streamed down his face.

The unbreakable Hulio—crying for the first time in his life.

He remembered his grandfather.

His grandfather… didn't care. "He hates me. To him, I'm a burden. Maybe he's even glad I'm gone."

But not his mother.

"She wouldn't give up. No. She's searching. She must be!"

Hulio shivered.

"Mom… I'll go mad here…"

The creature was still there. The glowing orb floated toward him.

It touched his chest.

And the world collapsed—inward.

Hulio saw: roots growing in a blink, soil splitting, the sky shrieking.

A river of red flowing slowly.

Hollow-eyed beings howling in the dark.

This wasn't the world.

It was the breath of something ancient—something that refused to die.

Hulio screamed.

But the scream echoed only within himself.

He tried to resist.

But his body… accepted it.

Slowly.

Unwillingly.

His chest vibrated, and glowing symbols—faint, root-like sigils—began to bloom across his skin.

"What's happening? Am I still human?"

The question remained.

But no answer came.

Only mist.

---

In Brasília…

In a grand house, a couple sat in their living room.

Mrs. Teresa stared at her laptop—filled with unread emails and unanswered messages. Her face was pale. Her hands shook.

"They said he fell. Others said he vanished. But no one really knows," her voice cracked.

Mr. Antonio stood by the window.

"I contacted the embassy. But bureaucracy is slow. And we're running out of funds."

"If they won't help… I'll go myself."

"I'll find a way."

"Hulio's not just anyone. He's strong. He's alive. He's why we're still standing."

Silence.

Then—a notification popped up:

Update: No signs yet. SAR halted night operations due to the storm.

Mrs. Teresa wept silently.

But she opened a new tab—started searching for flights.

She would not wait anymore.

But there were no flights to Bali. Jakarta. Nothing. Everything was full.

---

On Mount Rinjani…

Thick mist rolled in from the valley, swallowing the trail.

The wind howled.

The temperature dropped.

The SAR team unfolded a wet map under their headlamps.

Day four of the search.

No new signs.

Drones grounded.

Radios jammed.

"Last seen near Segara Anak Lake trail. Then veered north," one rescuer said.

"How could he just… vanish?" a volunteer whispered.

The question lingered.

No one dared speak the truth:

Sometimes, the mountain hides what it doesn't want found.

Online, #FindHulio trended globally.

"Four days and no progress?"

"He's not just a hiker—he's a good man!"

"We demand serious action from the Indonesian government!"

"Brazilian embassy, step up!"

Petitions surged.

Global influencers raised their voices.

The media reframed the story—not just a missing person, but a question of responsibility.

On the trail, a volunteer found something among the wet roots.

A shoe.

Just one.

Dirty.

Entwined in a root rising from the ground.

"This… belongs to Hulio," whispered Mr. Rizal, his guide.

---

Announcement from the Main Family Branch…

On the seventh day, as the fog refused to lift and the weather grew cruel, the Moreira family held a press conference.

A well-dressed man stood behind the mic, flanked by lawyers and relatives.

"With heavy hearts, we announce that the search for Hulio Moreira has been temporarily suspended. Extreme weather, hazardous terrain, and technical difficulties have made continued rescue operations impossible."

Reporters shouted questions.

Public outrage surged.

"Does this mean Hulio is presumed dead?"

The man bowed his head.

"Yes. Based on recommendations from the SAR team and local authorities, we declare Hulio as 'missing and presumed deceased.'"

The news spread like wildfire.

The internet exploded with grief and fury.

In Hulio's parents' home, Mrs. Teresa screamed in anguish.

Mr. Antonio gripped her hand tightly.

They refused to accept it.

"He's not dead. I know he's still alive.

I know my son is still alive!"

And deep in the heart of Rinjani,

beneath roots and mist,

a man still breathed.

Still endured.

---