There are stories we inherit. And there are stories we choose.

This one begins with a name- Nazario- and a question that echoes across decades: How do you hold onto light when the world is burning?

He was twenty-five. The 1960s were a fever dream of conflict and conscience, a nation tearing itself apart while young people tried to build something better from the rubble. He didn't have answers. But he had something rarer: faith that didn't flinch, creativity that didn't hide, and the quiet courage to keep walking through the fire.

He never met his grandchildren. But he left them something more lasting than memories.

He left a blueprint.