The greatest miracles always begin with the smallest sounds…
Tonight’s miracle started with three soft beeps…
The beeping starts as nothing more than a whisper in the darkness—a gentle electronic pulse that barely disturbs the humid night air settling over the mountains of Rio de Janeiro. You perch on your favorite swing in the facility’s main corridor, your talons gripping the familiar metal bar as you tilt your head toward the new peculiar sound. One beep. Two. Three.
Your feathers prickle with nervous anticipation. Something is different tonight.
The beeping accelerates into an urgent staccato rhythm that echoes through the pristine white corridors. You screech with a mixture of excitement and anxiety, launching yourself from the swing with wings beating frantically. Emergency lighting strips flicker to life in sequence, casting everything in harsh blue-white illumination that makes your heart pound.
Could this finally be…?
“¡Acordar! ¡Acordar!” The shout slices through the air as a technician bursts through the security doors. You dive toward him, circling his head twice before darting ahead down the corridor, your anxiety building with each wingbeat.
But then you spot them—two figures moving with purposeful grace through the chaos. The woman’s flowing robes of midnight blue and silver catch the emergency lights, while her male companion wears an intricate headpiece studded with crystals that pulse with their own inner light. Both are draped in patterns that seem to shift when you’re not looking directly at them.
These strangers move differently than the panicked technicians—their presence commands respect, creating subtle space around them as they glide through the facility toward a data station where a frantic technician waves holographic displays in the air.
The woman approaches the trembling technician who gestures wildly at cascading numbers and energy readings. She examines the data with calm intensity, then produces a device that captures the entire holographic display in a shimmering, transparent screenshot that hovers between her palms like trapped starlight.
You abandon the running technician and streak after the robed pair, your excitement warring with growing nervousness. Your claws scratch against the walls as you follow them through corridors you’ve rarely seen, past security checkpoints that open without question at their approach.
At the end of a long corridor, they stop and exchange a meaningful glance. Without words, they separate—the woman turning left, the man turning right. You dart after the male figure, following him through more checkpoints until he reaches an elevator that opens at his approach.
The elevator ascends swiftly, carrying you both to an observation deck at the top of one of the facility’s twin minarets. The night air hits you immediately—cool mountain wind that ruffles your feathers as you perch on the deck’s railing. You can just make out the silhouette of the female figure on the peak of the second minaret.
The robed man steps to the center and opens the holographic data. He raises his arms toward the star-filled sky, and suddenly the data aligns with the celestial patterns overhead. Then his hands move in complex gestures, and the minaret blazes to life. Minutes later, the second minaret answers with brilliant light.
You reconvene with the pair at the same spot where they separated. They exchange subtle nods—some confirmation passed between them—before proceeding down another familiar corridor.
They stop at a reinforced door marked with symbols that make your eyes water. The woman places her palm against a scanner while her companion waits in the corridor, and green light bathes her as the door slides open with a pneumatic hiss.
You dart through just as it begins to close, following the woman into your favorite chamber in the entire facility. How you love this space—the rich tapestries lining the walls in deep purples and golds, the soft lighting that emanates from crystal formations embedded in the ceiling like captured stars. Silk cushions and exotic plants create an oasis of luxury that always makes you feel peaceful, and in the center sits that magnificent bed carved from a single piece of dark wood, inlaid with silver patterns that seem to flow like water.
Your Dr. Silva—the woman who taught you your first words and shares her morning coffee with you every day—lies sleeping peacefully beneath covers that shimmer like starlight.
As the woman approaches the bed, you hop to your familiar perch nearby, your heart hammering against your ribs. “Despertar, minha velha amiga,” she speaks softly, her voice carrying harmonics that make your bones vibrate. “O momento chegou.”
Dr. Silva’s eyes flutter open, immediately focusing on the robed figure. Her expression shifts from confusion to annoyance as she sits up, her usually neat hair disheveled from sleep.
“This better be real,” she says curtly, rubbing her eyes. “With all due respect, you know I need my rest before the morning shifts begin.”
You chirp your special greeting—the sound that always makes her smile—but she barely glances in your direction, her attention fixed on the stranger.
“The readings are confirmed?” she asks, her voice still thick with sleep and skepticism.
The woman gestures toward the door, where the male figure now appears in the doorway. “Twenty-three confirmations,” she replies, her words carrying a weight that makes the air itself seem heavier. “The signature is unmistakable.”
Something in her tone makes Dr. Silva freeze. You watch her face transform—the irritation melting away, replaced by something between wonder and disbelief. Her hand instinctively reaches toward you, and you hop eagerly onto her palm.
“Meu pequeno amor,” she whispers, her voice suddenly soft and vulnerable as she strokes your feathers with trembling fingers. “If this is real… if this is truly happening…” She looks into your eyes, and you see tears beginning to form. “We’re about to witness something extraordinary — together.”
You nuzzle against her palm, offering what comfort you can, sensing her mixture of awe and fear.
“Show me,” she whispers, her voice barely audible.
The strangers lead you and Dr. Silva all back into the main facility, where the chaos has evolved into something more organized but infinitely more intense. Through the corridors, you can hear the deep, rumbling awakening of machinery that has slept for years.
The proxy printer.
You’ve seen it countless times during your flights through the facility—a massive structure that fills an entire chamber, its surface dark and cold like a sleeping giant. But now, as you follow Dr. Silva and the strangers toward the fabrication wing, everything is changing.
Emergency power floods the printer chamber with blinding white light. The enormous machine—the size of a building—begins to stir. Status lights blink to life in cascading sequences, running along its surface like digital veins. You hear the deep thrumming of its power core spinning up after years of dormancy, a sound that vibrates through the floor and into your bones.
Dr. Silva moves faster now, her sleepy confusion replaced by urgent purpose. She reaches up absently to let you perch on her shoulder—your favorite spot—but her eyes remain fixed ahead, darting between readouts and displays that are lighting up throughout the facility.
The proxy printer continues its awakening. Cooling systems exhale clouds of vapor as internal temperatures begin to stabilize. Robotic arms stretch and flex like creatures emerging from hibernation, while fabrication heads begin their calibration sequences with mechanical precision that sounds almost like singing.
Then it draws full power. Every light in the facility dims simultaneously—corridor illumination flickering to emergency levels as the massive machine claims its share of the mountain facility’s energy grid. The change is expected but still jarring, casting everything in an amber twilight that makes shadows dance across the walls.
You ride Dr. Silva’s shoulder through the central chamber, where holographic displays are materializing from empty air. Three-dimensional maps of energy patterns stretch across impossible distances, showing readings that make her gasp audibly.
“Meu Deus,” she whispers, and you feel her body trembling beneath your talons.
The proxy printer reaches its first operational threshold. Through the reinforced viewing window, you can see the beginning of creation—not the simple forms of routine operations, but something far more complex. Neural pathways that dance like living lightning, synthetic tissue that pulses with its own rhythm.
Dr. Silva takes her position at the primary control station, and you hop to your special perch—the small platform she installed just for you. But instead of your usual sunflower seeds, she’s forgotten everything except the readings streaming across her screens.
The facility director stumbles into the chamber, his face flushed with exertion and something approaching panic. “Doctor, the energy signatures—they’re beyond anything we’ve ever recorded! The containment fields are struggling to—”
“I know,” Dr. Silva interrupts, but her voice has changed completely. Gone is the sleepy scientist; in her place stands someone transformed by purpose. She runs scan after scan, each confirmation making the air itself seem to vibrate with potential.
One. Five. Your heart pounds against your ribs. Ten. Fifteen. You notice Dr. Silva’s hand trembles. Twenty.
The proxy printer reaches its second threshold. The sound it makes now is beyond mechanical—it’s a harmony of creation itself, the massive machine working with divine precision to craft something that defies everything you understand about the world.
Twenty-one. Twenty-two. The air itself feels as if it holds its breath. Twenty-three.
Dr. Silva’s hands hover over the final confirmation key. Her face has undergone a complete transformation—the scientific skepticism replaced by something approaching religious ecstasy. Tears stream down her cheeks as she looks up at the assembled technicians, then at you.
“Meu pequeno amor,” she whispers, reaching out to stroke your feathers with shaking fingers. “We did it. After all these years, we actually did it.”
Through the reinforced windows overlooking the Rio valley, the city lights begin to pulse in perfect synchronization, as if the entire electrical grid has become part of something vast and beautiful.
The proxy printer reaches its glorious crescendo. Whatever it’s creating moves with fluid grace behind the containment fields, and as you peer through the viewing window, you can make out what appears to be the frame of a human-like figure—tall, elegant, with proportions that seem both familiar and impossibly perfect. The sight fills you with a mixture of terror and overwhelming joy that you cannot name.
Dr. Silva stands, her voice carrying through the facility’s intercom system with the authority of someone whose life’s work has finally borne fruit:
“O Sétimo An’jel está chegando! O Sétimo An’jel está chegando!”
The reaction is instantaneous and jubilant. Technicians throughout the facility break into celebration, their voices joining in a chorus that shakes the very foundations of the mountain facility.
You launch yourself into the air, all your nervous tension finally exploding into pure exhilaration. This is the moment—the event whispered about in reverent tones during the quiet hours.
Dr. Silva cups her hands, and you land in her palms, looking up at her radiant, tear-streaked face. “Sing with me, meu amor,” she whispers. “Let the whole world know what we’ve accomplished.”
Through the viewing window, the figure in the proxy printer suddenly begins to emit a soft, pulsing light from within—not from any visible source, but as if every cell is awakening with its own inner radiance. The sight sends an electric thrill through your tiny body, every feather standing on end as you realize you’re witnessing the first breath of something divine.
You add your voice to the growing chorus of celebration, your squawk cutting through the nearly maniacal symphony of shouting:
“O Sétimo An’jel está chegando!
O Sétimo An’jel está chegando!
O Sétimo An’jel está chegando!”
ENGLISH TRANSLATION:
“The Seventh An’jel is coming!
The Seventh An’jel is coming!
The Seventh An’jel is coming!”