In the afternoon in Belém, Brazil, heat passes through the city. 

Alice grew up near this place, the river bent around her village like a protective arm, deep in the forests outside of Belém. To her and all the villagers, the land was far more than a home; it held the history and stories of all the generations that had nurtured their lives there. 

Decades earlier, the forest started to thin. Trees fell at the mouths of angry, violent machinery. Even now, Alice can hear the sound of these metal beasts from miles away. The animals that once relied on the forest have been forced to move deeper into the shrinking wilderness.

On the other side of Belém, Carlos lived a very different life from Alice's, navigating busy streets with ease. The city’s veins were tight alleys, crowded markets, and traffic congestion. He wasn't indigenous, but he had heard about the forest that once stretched close to the city he grew up in, about how the air had been clean, how the river used to sparkle. But now, he watches the pollution, heat, and rising water levels change the city of his home.

At a small community meeting, Alice and Carlos met, both drawn there by a similar fear: that if nothing changed, everything they cared about would disappear. Despite coming from different backgrounds, their attention instinctively drew them together. The more they talked, the more they recognized what they had in common. It became clear that staying silent was not an option. 

With an international climate conference coming soon to Belém, they knew it was the perfect chance to be heard. So they agreed to lead a protest, small at first, but loud enough to show that people were watching. That people cared.

When that day arrived, the morning sun in the city of Belém, Brazil, shone like a burning coin, heating the city long before a single soul had stepped out from their home. This is the air that greets the protestors as they march towards the venue of the climate conference. A mass of people spills onto the sidewalks and within the roads, with irritated drivers en route to work honking and shouting at their idealism.

The honks linger over the city just like the humidity, thickening the air with frustration and urgency as the march presses forward.

At the front of the meeting site, journalists congregate in groups, cameras bouncing against their shoulders as they chase for interviews. Delegates rush into buildings, trying to slip past the media frenzy so as not to be called out by any inconvenient questions. 

Nestled within the cacophony of the protest, a group stands quieter and more determined. They are dressed in clothes with paint, feathers, and centuries of history. The indigenous garb reminds all spectators that this was their land first. 

Alice and Carlos stand among this colorful display, ready to be heard. 

The group begins the march as a wave of steady footsteps and strong voices, drawing attention and attracting others to join. Alice walks proudly at the front, Carlos beside her. 

They move from dozens strong into hundreds – people holding hand-painted signs, yelling orders with a rhythm that echoes through the streets of Belém. The sound rises over the traffic, over the noise of the conference, bringing anger, grief, and hope simultaneously. 

At the start, the police form only a loose line ahead of them. But as the crowd grows, they tighten their formation, raising their helmets and shields. The tension thickens like the humidity, pressing down on everyone.

Alice sees Carlos tensing up beside her in response to the mobilized police. 

"It will be fine," She tries to appease him. "The protest is going to succeed, and people will see what has happened in the forest." 

But when the protesters move forward, the police surge. People stumble, the rhythmic voices halt. Someone screams, and tear gas bursts into the air, covering their view in white explosions. The crowd scatters in panic. Pandemonium takes flight.

Alice grabs Carlos' hand, but the force of the rushing people tears them apart. 

“Carlos!” She yells. She sees him stumble and fall to his knees near the front of the line. 

“Carlos, get up!” She pushes forward, trying to reach the man who was standing next to her a few minutes ago. Before she can reach him, a police baton swings down onto his head, one blow followed by another, and another, striking with a sickening thud. At last, he crumples and is swallowed by shouting and smoke.

By the time Alice pushes through the chaos and reaches Carlos, his chest barely moves. She holds him in her arms, and the world dissolves into a blur of violence. Despite the frenzy around her, she sits as if in the eye of a hurricane. Everything has become quiet, calm, yet heavy with foreboding. 

The sounds of the crowd stretch and bend around her, as if the time itself hesitates, unsure whether to move forward or stop. She rocks him back and forth, quietly repeating in the language of her people: “Manhãsé awaikúri ixi, Carlos. Awá aikúri ixi! Indé nairú yandé pupé” I will fix this, Carlos. I will fix this! You will not die in vain.

Carlos' eyes find hers for a moment, just long enough for her to see the terrified refusal in them, the unmistakable unwillingness to leave the world he loves. He can’t speak, his breath too thin for words, until the focus of his eyes disappears entirely. 

Footage spreads after a journalist's livestream captured the moment just as Carlos fell and Alice shook, her hands stained with dust and tears. 

Videos went viral on social media, all declaring how a “Peaceful Protester Was Killed in Belém."

And within minutes, reporters near the event turn their cameras away from the conference and onto the civilian victims of the suppressive force. 

International groups condemn the violence. Commentators demand answers. The police line, once rigid and unstoppable, falters under the weight of the world watching.

As night settles over Belém, people gather at the spot where Carlos had fallen, placing candles to commemorate his heroism, their flames flickering in the warm air. Alice stands among them, unsure of what tomorrow will bring but very clear on the gravity of what had just happened here, what she witnessed. 

She feels the crowd beside her, strong, growing, unwilling to be silent. This isn’t over. Far from it, in fact. In many ways, it is just the beginning.