On the Path of Eternal Strength.

Sebastián crossed the threshold without words.

The ground was no longer soil.

It did not creak.

It did not tremble.

It breathed.

Crystals emerged from the sides as if sprouting from an older plane. They were not reflections. They were presences. Fragments of himself frozen in states he did not remember having lived… but that recognized him.

The sky did not exist.

Only a vertical abyss of broken mirrors, floating like blades that sustained the air. Each one showed distorted versions of himself: a kneeling child… an old man with empty eyes… a faceless creature covered in dried blood.

There was no warning.

Only one step…

And his body felt lighter.

As if the true weight were not physical.

But memory.

—This biome… does not seek to kill me—he whispered.

And the voice bounced.

Not once, but hundreds of times.

But they were not echoes.

They were voices. His voice. From other times. In other forms.

Some screamed.

Others laughed.

One simply cried.

The crack in his abdomen spun violently.

As if it tried to devour the fragments of himself that floated.

But it could not.

Because here, what hurt… could not be swallowed.

Walking was like sliding across solid thoughts.

With each step, a new mirror aligned in front of him.

And none showed his current reflection.

All showed possibilities.

—This is not a test of strength—he said, stopping before a crystal that showed him smiling, surrounded by people he had never known—.

It is a test of intention.

But the crystals did not respond.

They only surrounded him.

As if they waited for him to be the first to speak.

He closed his eyes.

The Qi vibrated beneath his skin.

But not as energy.

As awareness.

The Rift of Mirrors did not require violence.

It demanded something more lethal:

Truth.

And Sebastián, for the first time in a long while… felt fear.

Not of dying.

But of seeing.

Seeing himself.

Completely.

He sat down.

Not like one who surrenders.

But like one who understands that the battle now came from within.

The crystalline floor was neither cold nor warm.

It was neutral.

Perfect for cultivation.

Or for being consumed.

Sebastián crossed his legs.

The crack in his abdomen spun, willing.

Qi began to flow like a translucent spiral mist.

—It is only cultivation—he murmured, closing his eyes.

But the biome did not allow it.

A dull noise.

Like a crystal splintering from within.

And upon opening his eyes, Sebastián was no longer alone.

In front of him, a few steps away, stood a reflection that did not come from the mirror…

but from the crack itself.

It was Sebastián.

But not who he is.

Nor who he was.

It was who he could have been.

The reflection walked barefoot over the crystal without making a sound.

His eyes did not show Qi.

They showed hatred.

Not towards others.

But towards himself.

—Is that what you are going to do here?—the reflection asked, with an identical but empty voice—.

Sit? Breathe?

Sebastián did not reply.

—Always the same…—the figure continued—.

Cultivate. Control. "Find yourself."

As if you didn't know what you really are.

Sebastián rose to his feet.

Without rage.

But without submission.

—I know what I am—he said.

—Do you, really?

The reflection raised a hand.

And the Qi of his body warped.

It did not spin like a technique.

It spread like disease.

—I cultivated too—growled the other Sebastián—.

But I did not become wiser.

Only more dangerous.

The air trembled.

The surrounding crystal walls began to vibrate with images of war.

Sebastián with a bloodied face.

Corpses everywhere.

Trembling hands.

Mouths screaming without voice.

—I am not you—said Sebastián.

—Not… yet—answered the reflection, with a cracked smile—.

But I am here because the possibility exists.

And as long as you do not face it… I will grow. Sebastián did not raise his fists.

He did not activate techniques.

—I am not here to fight you—he said.

—Of course not.

You are here to see yourself.

And then… the reflection attacked.

Not with fists.

But with visions.

Images burst in his mind like shattered mirrors driving into the skin of the soul:

The day he left Virka behind.

The moment he doubted whether to kill Narka.

The exact seconds when he believed the world was not worth saving.

Sebastián's Qi faltered.

Not because power was lacking.

But because that vision… hurt more than any physical wound.

But he did not flee.

Because he had already learned something on his journey:

Cultivation is not always increasing power.

Sometimes it is sitting down, breaking apart… and deciding not to escape.

So instead of counterattacking, Sebastián breathed deeply.

And let his Qi turn inward.

Not as a shield.

But as a root.

The reflection tried to strike again.

But this time… the blow did not land.

Sebastián held it with his gaze.

Not one of judgment.

But of acceptance.

—I know you can exist—he said.

—And does that not frighten you?

—I would be more afraid not to know it.

And then, the reflection… began to fracture.

Not with violence.

But with peace.

As if, by not denying it… it ceased to be needed.

And when it fell to the ground, turned into crystal dust, Sebastián sat once more.

To cultivate.

To spin.

To remember.

Because Qi is not only drawn from the world.

Sometimes it is drawn from oneself.

And in the Rift of Mirrors… the whole world was made of him.

Sebastián remained silent.

Meditation was not calm.

It was passage.

And he… was still crossing.

He felt a new pressure.

Not in the chest.

Not in the back.

But in that part of the soul that has no form, yet aches when something important approaches.

He opened his eyes slowly.

In front of him, there was no violent reflection.

No broken vision.

No blood.

It was him.

Older. Taller. Firmer.

But with a gaze so tranquil… it was frightening.

This Sebastián did not smile.

Nor cry.

He only observed.

As if he already knew all the answers,

but chose not to give them.

—And you?—asked the present Sebastián.

The future version did not speak.

He only walked in a circle around him, as if measuring the space, as if each step said:

"Here is where you will fall. Here is where you resisted. Here is where you were reborn."

—Are you me?—asked Sebastián.

—Not yet—the figure finally replied—. But you may be.

—Then what are you?

—A possible end.

—A wise one?

—Or an irreversible one.

Sebastián clenched his fists.

Not out of rage, but from tension.

—What do you know that I don't?

The older Sebastián stopped.

He pointed at the chest of his younger version.

—That no strength is worth anything… if you don't know why you are using it.

—I do know.

—Do you, really?

And what will you do when there are no more enemies?

When no one watches you?

When not even you believe what you say?

The Qi around the older figure did not feel like technique.

It felt… old.

Like a will refined through loss, doubt, and obsession.

—What costs you the most—said the wise reflection— is not moving forward.

It is stopping without feeling weak.

—What you fear most is not dying.

It is that everything you have done serves for nothing.

Sebastián did not answer.

Because he could not.

Because… he was right.

And then, the older figure did something unexpected.

He extended his hand.

And in his palm, a fragment of shadow spun.

Small.

Black.

Silent.

—This does not yet exist—he said—. But it already beats within you.

—What is it?

—Your purest impulse… still without form.

Sebastián took a step back.

Not out of fear.

Out of respect.

And the figure disappeared.

Not as illusion.

But as a possibility choosing not to manifest yet.

But the fragment of shadow…

remained spinning in the air for a few seconds.

And then merged with the crack in his abdomen.

Without pain.

Without violence.

Only as something that had always been there…

and now awakened.

Sebastián closed his eyes.

Not to avoid it.

But to listen.

And deep in his mind, a voice—still without language—whispered an idea:

"If you do not decide who you are… I will."

It was no threat.

Nor prophecy.

It was… unfinished destiny.

Sebastián inhaled.

Exhaled.

And for the first time, he did not try to control Qi.

He only let it move.

As if meditation were no longer an exercise…

but a confession.

Because the Dao… is not always found by walking.

Sometimes it manifests when one dares to stop.

And listen to what lies behind silence.

And Sebastián listened.

Not to silence…

but to what began to crawl inside him from the moment he dared to be still. A faint crack rose from the fissure in his abdomen.

It was not physical.

It was hardened memory.

And the crack did not spin like a technique, but like… a door.

The environment, until now crystalline and bright, began to darken.

The reflective structures did not break.

They warped.

They did not show the body.

They showed scenes.

A figure sitting, hunched over. A faceless woman crying silently before a closed door.

A plate of cold food, abandoned on a table.

A dark corner where a small child spoke to himself, scratching the wall with his fingers because he did not know what else to do.

A cruel laugh.

A familiar voice.

A broken promise.

Each reflection was not an exact image.

It was an emotional distortion of something that had happened, but that time had buried under soil.

And now, it was being unearthed.

Sebastián did not step back.

He had nowhere to.

The Rift of Mirrors did not advance toward him.

He was part of it.

And therefore, everything that appeared also came from him.

A larger mirror lit up before him.

It showed a scene he knew, but hated:

himself, as a child, fleeing through a deserted street, barefoot, tearful, throat raw from screaming too much.

—Why are you showing me this now?—he whispered.

The mirror did not answer.

But the image began to move.

It was no longer just a memory:

it was a continuation.

In the scene, the child did not stop. He ran and ran, but the street had no end.

Until, finally, he fell.

Not from exhaustion.

But because someone identical to him—taller, stronger, colder—had intercepted him.

And looked at him with disdain.

—It is you who fed me—whispered that figure, inside the reflection.

The child did not respond.

—You cried. You doubted.

And I grew.

The image went dark all at once.

But it did not vanish.

It sealed itself inside Sebastián's chest.

Not as a wound.

As a core.

Sebastián brought his hand to his heart.

And there he felt something new.

Not pain.

Nor sorrow.

But a presence.

Small.

Latent.

Like a dark seed that had not yet sprouted.

But that was alive.

And the environment… knew it.

Because the crystalline structures began to adapt to him.

Their edges ceased to be straight.

Their reflections ceased to be external.

Now, they showed Sebastián's real body…

…but with a darker hue.

The shadows under his eyes.

The scars more visible.

The aura denser.

As if the biome itself had said:

"We have already seen what you could become.

Now… we will show you how you could break."

Sebastián did not close his eyes.

He did not flee.

He only spoke one word.

—Show me.

And the crack spun again.

Not to attack.

But to reveal.

First came a sound.

A wet crack, like flesh tearing shamelessly.

Then… smell. Acid. Ancient. As if guilt had a scent.

And afterward, it emerged.

From the crystalline floor, a black substance began to ooze.

Not like liquid. Like an infection that did not ask permission.

It pulsed. It throbbed. It crawled forward, as if Sebastián's soul were vomiting what he had never dared to pronounce.

It was thick, with filaments that rose and then slowly fell, leaving behind a trail of dark slime that did not touch… but stained.

And in the middle of its grotesque growth, the eyes.

Not formed. Not round. Only pressure zones that opened and closed like eyelids without structure.

A dozen, two dozen. Staring without focus. Staring as if they knew more about him… than he did.

Sebastián did not move.

Because he knew—through Qi, through Dao, through everything that was now part of him—that it was not a creation of the environment.

It came from within.

Not an enemy.

Something worse.

A threshold.

But just when the substance began to take humanoid form, as if trying to copy his silhouette through distortion… it stopped.

And collapsed.

Not into smoke.

Into emptiness.

As if it had never been there… except as a sign.

What came next was more brutal in its simplicity.

A step.

And the dry sound of another body touching the ground.

In front of him… appeared another version of himself.

Taller. Slimmer. With skin covered in scars, but not from battle.

They were marks that did not hurt in the flesh. They hurt in the story.

The eyes… were not eyes.

They were fissures. As if the inside of his skull had been hollowed out from within.

His breathing was normal. His movements… almost elegant.

—So this is where you began to seek answers—said the figure, with his voice. With his tone.

But without his intent.

Sebastián did not answer.

Because he understood.

That was not him.

And it had no relation to what had emerged before.

It was something else. A representation. A possibility of the biome.

A form borrowed from the place… not from within.

—Why do you appear now?—asked Sebastián, without fear.

The figure tilted its head, like a thoughtful raven.

—Because now you can look at me without confusing me with your monsters.

Silence did not fall.

It spread like mist. And within it… the echo of a single thought:

And if this could also be me?

The Rift of Mirrors did not show what one wanted.

It showed what was missing.

And what was missing… was beginning to speak.

—I am not your shadow—said the figure—. I am what would remain… if you stopped fighting for your soul.

—I am not afraid of you—said Sebastián.

—I know. But I… am hungry.

And he smiled.

Not as an enemy.

As a reflection hungry for meaning. Sebastián did not step back.

He did not need to.

Because in that figure… there was something all too familiar.

It was not a future version.

Not a twisted aberration born of extremes.

It was him… without direction.

Without love.

Without Virka.

Without Narka.

Without Draila.

Without meaning.

Only strength.

The figure drew closer, slowly.

Not with threat, but with certainty.

As if every step reaffirmed something Sebastián had not yet finished denying.

—You still don't know who you are. You only know what you have survived.

Sebastián frowned, but said nothing.

He knew it was pointless to argue.

That version of him did not debate.

It described.

—You fight for a perfect body, for techniques of your own, for a Dao you still don't fully understand…—the reflection stopped right in front of him, mere centimeters away—. But if tomorrow I took all that from you… who would you be?

—I would still be me—said Sebastián, without hesitation.

—The one who trains not to forget? Or the one who trains not to remember?

The phrase pierced deeper than he expected.

The figure did not move, yet its presence seemed to grow with every silence.

—You are me without answers.

I… am you when you grow tired of asking.

Sebastián lowered his gaze for a moment. Not from weakness.

But because, in that instant, he knew he could not lie to himself.

—I do not reject you out of fear.

I reject you because I still have hope—said Sebastián, lifting his gaze firmly.

The reflection nodded.

No smile.

No irony.

Only acceptance.

—Then keep walking—he whispered—.

But remember… every choice you don't make, feeds me.

And he turned on himself, beginning to fade.

First the feet. Then the legs.

Then the torso…

And at last the eyes.

Those dark fissures that never blinked.

But just before vanishing completely, he left behind one last phrase floating in the air, without voice, without direction… only as thought:

"Not all monsters are born of hatred. Some… are born of forgetting."

Sebastián was left alone.

But the silence was no longer the same.

Now he knew that the Rift of Mirrors did not only show what he could become.

It showed what had not yet been chosen.

And choosing… was what separated him from that figure.

Even if only… for now.

Sebastián said nothing more.

He did not look back.

Not out of bravery. But because he knew that in this place, looking back served no purpose.

The figure was still there, motionless, yet it did not disappear. It did not need to.

Because the reflection does not vanish when one stops looking… it only hides behind unresolved thoughts.

The path ahead of him was not clear.

It was no path.

It was a strip of ground made of twisted crystals, cracks opening with each step, and mist that did not conceal, but waited.

But Sebastián pressed on, not because he knew where he was going, but because standing still would be the same as accepting that—that which he had just seen—was right.

After a distance without time, he found a rise of solid glass that emerged from the ground like a fractured flower. There, he sat.

He did not cross his legs.

He did not close his eyes.

He only breathed.

And cultivated.

For the first time in this biome… from within.

The Qi did not accumulate as in the meadow, where the body absorbed the wildness of the environment.

Here… Qi was formed with what one was capable of accepting.

And Sebastián, slowly, began to inhale his own cracks.

His technique did not roar.

It did not shine.

It was a serene flow. A river that did not feed on the world, but on the echo of what had not yet been faced.

The Core of the Inverted Origin spun slowly, as if digesting questions, not energy.

The air around him was not dense nor hostile. It was tense.

As if every particle knew that what was happening was not mere meditation, but a deep digestion of the soul.

Sebastián kept his breathing steady.

One inhalation.

One pause.

One exhalation.

And in each cycle… more Qi.

Not new.

Not external.

But recycled, polished, renamed.

The Crack did not move.

The environment seemed still.

But on the periphery, far away, the black substance still existed.

It did not draw near.

It did not recede.

It only grew… unseen. Fed by all that had yet to be resolved.

And Sebastián… without knowing it, no longer cultivated only Qi.

He cultivated decision.

And at some invisible point between his soul and his breath… something else began to beat.

Not as threat.

But as possibility.

As if his worst version… were not a destiny.

But a temptation. The Qi spun.

The Dao murmured.

But something at the center of that balance did not quite fit.

Sebastián held his posture.

There was no pain.

No physical interruption.

But inside… a subtle friction began to seep through.

It was not a rupture.

It was a deviation.

A wordless voice, an originless idea, began tinting the flow of his cultivation with a foreign rhythm.

The Core of the Inverted Origin absorbed, as always.

It converted.

It rewrote.

But at its deepest edge… something remained undestroyed.

As if a tiny portion of what was absorbed refused to be neutralized.

As if it had will.

The crack in his abdomen did not collapse.

But it pulsed differently.

Slower.

Denser.

The flow of Qi did not stop, but now it seemed that every cycle of cultivation dragged along with it a residue, a kind of invisible ink that could not be erased.

It did not contaminate.

But it did… leave a mark.

Sebastián opened his eyes.

Not out of alarm.

Out of intuition.

And he saw nothing strange in the environment.

But within him… an image crossed his mind.

It was not a memory.

It was a reflection.

The dark figure. Viscous. Latent.

Not as threat.

Not as enemy.

As part.

As an alternate circuit.

A subterranean layer of his Qi that did not follow his commands… but his doubts.

—This is not part of the biome…—he whispered.

And the echo did not reply.

Because in the Rift of Mirrors, truths are not confirmed.

They are endured.

He tried to cultivate again. Deeper.

He tried to recover his center, to return to that state where Qi and will were one.

But something was watching him.

From within.

It did not block.

It did not interfere.

It only… waited.

As if the mere fact of existing there was enough to alter the entire process.

As if its existence were a discordant note in the melody Sebastián was trying to compose with his soul.

And then, he understood.

It was not enough to cultivate Qi.

It was not enough to strengthen the body.

It was not enough to find a Dao.

If he did not resolve what now inhabited the margins of his consciousness…

Everything would become a distorted echo of what had once been choice.

And cultivation would no longer be his.

It would become an extension… of that.

The Qi flowed again.

Not because he directed it.

But because the body already needed it.

Yet something in the form of the flow had changed.

It was thicker.

Darker.

Not in color, but in intent.

And then, without warning…

A fissure in the inner cavern opened.

Not physical.

Not emotional.

A fissure of perception.

And through it… a figure entered.

It did not walk.

It did not fall.

It simply appeared, as if space had not forgotten it… only remembered it too late.

It was another Sebastián.

But different from the previous ones.

Not corrupted.

Not ideal.

Only… withered.

The skin had no wounds.

But the eyes were tired.

Not broken, nor dark.

Only… exhausted. As if they had seen too much and understood too little.

His Qi was faint, almost nonexistent.

Not from weakness.

But from choice.

—How many times did you believe that moving forward was enough?—he said, without moving.

Sebastián did not respond.

The echo of his cultivation still resonated in his chest, like a pressure that would not release.

The visitor observed him.

Not with judgment.

With pity.

—You take everything you can from the world…—the figure continued—.

But you never ask what the world is taking from you.

Sebastián frowned.

—What are you?—he asked. Not with fear. With need.

—I am not what you can become—said the figure, unhurried—.

Nor what you could have avoided.

I am the version that did not want to look inward.

Silence thickened.

—I am here because you are already beginning to understand… that not everything you feel is born of you.

A shiver ran through Sebastián.

Because that phrase… did not sound metaphorical.

It sounded real.

—What is interfering with my cultivation?—he finally asked.

The figure smiled, weary.

—Something that does not block. That does not break.

Only redirects.

Like a hidden root under the earth… diverting the water without you noticing.

It is not outside.

But neither is it entirely yours.

—How do I remove it?

—And what if you don't have to remove it?

—What if what you have to do… is decide whether it continues to grow?

Sebastián kept silent.

And for an instant, he did not know whether cultivation was what fed that thing…

Or whether that thing was already part of cultivation.

The figure took a step back.

—I did not come to give you answers.

Only to remind you that every energy you use… leaves a trace.

And what you do not face within yourself… Qi engraves it.

The Dao carries it.

And the body… reproduces it.

Sebastián felt something tense in his back.

As if that truth… were already written in his muscles.

The figure vanished.

Not into smoke.

Into an invisible current absorbed by the environment, as if it had never existed beyond that message.

And Sebastián… breathed.

But he did not feel lighter.

Because now he knew… that what grew within him was not going to wait for his permission. It had no form.

No name.

No face.

But every time he closed his eyes… he felt it closer to his organs than his own heartbeat.

It was not like invasive energy.

Nor like a voice.

It was presence.

As if, inside his center, someone were learning to imitate him.

Not to replace him.

But to accompany him.

But from where?

From what part of his soul had that door opened?

Because this… was not Qi.

Nor Dao.

It was something else.

Something that did not flow with him.

But reacted to him.

He tried to suppress it.

To close the meditation.

To fold his Qi back into its deepest layers.

But the pressure increased.

Not with violence.

With insistence.

As if that which dwelled inside him did not want to escape…

but to stay.

And Sebastián understood something he did not want to admit:

What was growing… was feeding on his path.

If he tried to seal it by force, he would break it.

If he ignored it, it would still grow… without direction.

And if he accepted it…

what would become of him?

He opened his eyes.

The biome had not changed.

The Rift was still there: alive, transparent, expectant.

Everything seemed the same.

But he knew that inside him… something was being redefined.

Not as a threat.

Not even as corruption.

But as an unspoken symbiosis.

—What are you…?—he whispered.

There was no answer.

Only a faint echo… that did not come from outside, but from his own marrow.

As if the question had been thrown into a bottomless well.

And in that well… something had turned to look at him for the first time.

The meditation did not break.

It deepened.

Because now he was not cultivating only to strengthen his Qi.

Now he cultivated to hold himself.

Not to dissolve.

Not to lose himself… to that which he did not understand, but which was already inside him.

And without knowing how, he understood:

This could not be contained.

It could be shaped.

Like hot stone that could become a weapon…

or a wound.

—I will understand you—he said, without voice.

And the Qi… changed.

For the first time since arriving at the Rift, his cultivation felt different.

Not like absorption.

But like conversation.

The power no longer flowed as before.

It was not a straight line.

It was a curve.

As if the flow now had to go around something…

integrate it…

and then continue.

It was not an improvement.

It was a warning.

Because if he could not define what he was embracing…

that embrace… would be surrender.

And Sebastián had not been born to surrender.

But the Rift had not been born to leave him in peace, either.

The world around him began to dissolve.

Not with violence.

With nostalgia.

As if reality were an old photograph…

and someone, from within, were erasing it with their fingers.

Sebastián blinked.

And he was no longer there.

The Rift had disappeared.

The crystalline floor.

The echo.

The pressure.

Now he was walking through a long corridor.

Worn down.

With unpainted concrete walls.

He knew where he was.

That building…

That place…

It was his old apartment.

The place where, for the last time, he had believed life could stop without ceasing to hurt.

His heart quickened.

Not because he recognized the place.

But because his body… already knew what he was about to see.

He entered without knocking on the door.

Without fear.

Without a name.

And inside… there he was.

Sitting on the threadbare carpet of the living room.

Not an older version.

Not a figure of the future.

But him.

As he was before all this.

Before the training.

Before the pain.

Before the power.

A child.

With a hunched back.

With his gaze lost on a stain on the ceiling.

As if the entire world were collapsing… from above.

Sebastián stood still.

Watching him.

The boy lifted his gaze.

And he did not smile.

He did not ask.

He only spoke.

—And what if cultivation is not enough to fill what you left behind?

The voice was soft.

Not accusatory.

But it struck harder than any technique.

Sebastián wanted to answer.

But he could not.

Because deep down… he knew that question did not come from the boy.

It came from that which now inhabited him.

And that, to understand it, he had to go through himself.

Through that child.

Through that silence.

—I do not seek to fill anything—he whispered—. I only want to be able… to hold it all.

The boy looked at him without judgment.

But his eyes… were larger than he remembered.

As if the void he himself carried had grown along with him.

—Then don't expect what is born from you… not to try to swallow you.

Sebastián swallowed hard.

And took a step toward him.

But the floor trembled.

Not out of rage.

Out of truth.

The boy began to disappear.

Not into ashes.

But into silence.

As if he had never been there.

—Don't go—said Sebastián, this time with fear.

—I'm not going—replied the boy—. I only return… when you stop pretending you can live without asking why.

And he faded away.

The apartment too.

And the sky.

And the Rift returned.

Not as punishment.

As mirror.

Sebastián breathed deeply.

And for a moment, he did not know whether the one who had returned was himself…

…or something new that had just been born. The air that entered his lungs had weight.

Not as a burden.

But as if every molecule wished to remain inside, clinging to flesh, to memory.

Breathing did not calm him.

It pushed him inward.

And it was there that he felt it.

A pulse.

Not in his heart.

But lower.

At the base of the spine.

As if something were coiling around it, climbing from the marrow to the sternum.

His body reacted immediately.

The muscles tensed.

Not in defense.

In containment.

Because the energy within no longer responded only to his will.

It moved on its own.

It pulsed with a cadence that did not come from cultivation… but from something else.

Something old.

Primal.

Forgotten.

And yet… intact.

It did not appear.

But it let itself be felt.

As if every cell of his skin began to remember what had been buried, silenced in the name of strength.

What he had left behind when he chose power above all else.

And it was then that the biome reacted.

The Rift changed shape.

The crystalline walls began to reflect another silhouette.

Softer.

Curved.

More alive.

And before Sebastián… appeared a figure.

Human.

Feminine.

Not a real woman.

A representation.

Almost a caricature of what a woman could be when she became desire, temptation. Shining skin, as if bathed in a sweat that was not sweat.

Dark hair, falling like damp shadow over the shoulders.

And eyes… eyes without whites, only pupils deep as nocturnal lakes.

She walked toward him barefoot.

Each step generated an echo… but not a sound.

An emotional echo.

As if each footprint resounded in some memory of Sebastián that he no longer wanted to remember.

"How long has it been since you felt something that didn't hurt?" —asked the figure, with a voice that seemed like wind blowing between ribs.

Sebastián did not answer.

Because the body already had.

The inner pressure rose.

His Qi fell into disorder for an instant.

The cultivation zones trembled.

And that which had been growing in silence… beat louder.

And he understood it.

This was not just a reflection.

It was a crack.

A smaller fissure inside the greater fissure.

A channel through which something sought to break through.

But not something simple.

Something embodied in symbol.

Something that knew his voids. **"You are not real," said Sebastián, with a voice deeper than usual.

"And what is real here?" —the figure replied, coming closer, lips almost brushing his ear—. "Your scars? Your Dao? Your strength?"

He clenched his teeth.

Because part of him knew she was not lying.

And part of him… did not want to resist.

His body had been trained to endure blows, hunger, poison.

But not this.

Not a desire that does not scream.

A desire that whispers.

"I am not a trial," the figure continued, walking around him as if studying his muscles, his breathing, his inner cracks—. "I am a consequence."

"Consequence of what?" —he asked, barely holding back the tremor.

"Of not touching what burns," she whispered—. "And pretending it doesn't exist."

Sebastián's eyes closed for an instant.

But he found no peace.

Because in the darkness… another smile was waiting.

One he himself had forgotten.

One that came from his past, from his blood, from what once made him human.

And for the first time…

…his strength seemed fragile.

Not for lack of power.

But for the excess of the unspoken.

And the untouched.

And Sebastián knew it.

Not with the mind.

With the flesh.

His breathing grew heavy. Not because he could not control the air… but because there was something inside that did not want to be contained.

The muscles of his abdomen contracted as if an invisible poison had begun to stir from the inverted core.

He clenched his fists.

Not in defiance.

In supplication. The Qi trembled. The energy zone he had built with such control… flickered like a flame whipped by the wind.

And then, Sebastián tried to purge it.

As if that figure —that woman of liquid desire, soft voice and skin that shone like ancient sweat— were only a virus that could be extracted with willpower.

He raised his Qi.

Concentrated the pressure on his chest.

And unleashed a wave toward the surroundings, attempting to dissolve the image with pure, clean, cultivated energy.

The ground vibrated. The cracks creaked. The air grew denser.

And she… did not move.

"You cannot purge what you have denied for too long," she whispered, while the wave of Qi passed through her as if she were warm smoke.

And she walked.

Not with aggression.

With devastating slowness.

Each step she took resonated inside Sebastián not as threat, but as memory.

A memory of things undone.

Unspoken.

Untouched.

"I am not an enemy," she repeated, with a smile that did not provoke fear, but reflection—. "I am only what accumulates when you walk too far away from yourself."

Her fingers touched his cheek.

Not like a caress.

Like a mark.

And Sebastián stepped back half a pace.

Not from weakness.

From recognition.

Because the body does not forget.

And that skin, even if he had never touched it before… awakened buried sensations. "Do you remember what you were before wanting to be eternal?" —she asked, lowering her hand to his chest—. "When you still knew that to feel was not to betray your goal…"

He wanted to answer.

But his voice was trapped in his stomach.

Where something no longer obeyed.

She brought her face close to his.

And she did not kiss him.

But she left her breath.

Warm. Dense. Almost sweet.

"You have achieved much," she said—. "You have destroyed, survived, created techniques that only your body can sustain…

But you have also forgotten what it is to tremble without fear.

What it is to desire without calculating.

What it is… to be human."

The phrase struck harder than any creature of the blood prairie.

And in that instant…

What was growing inside Sebastián pulsed.

Not in his heart.

Not in his core.

In his back.

As if a black root began to carve its way from his spine toward his neck.

A damp, invisible… yet present sensation.

The female figure did not grow alarmed.

She smiled.

"This is not a trial," she whispered—. "It is the toll for what you left behind." Sebastián opened his eyes forcefully.

The environment shone brighter.

The fissure reflected not his body… but his voids.

And he grasped something brutal:

The cultivation he was doing…

was no longer his alone.

Because every Qi he accumulated, every word of the Dao he pronounced, was also feeding something else.

Something that accompanied him like a nameless shadow.

And she —the figure— was not the owner.

She was only the voice that reminded him that his strength also carried a price.

And that he could not ignore it forever.

Sebastián did not step back.

He did not flee.

Nor did he attack.

He sat down.

In silence.

As if the world around him no longer had shape… nor urgency.

His legs crossed over the crystalline ground. His palms on his thighs. His eyes half-closed. Not cultivating power.

But something more ancient.

Looking.

Inward.

Not at the Qi.

Not at the Dao.

At that corner where his voice had not yet reached.

"What am I now?" —he murmured, without expecting an answer.

The fissure did not stir. The environment froze in a thick calm, as if the world refused to intervene.

And then, the pressure returned.

Not external.

Not mystical.

From the center of his chest, something descended toward the abdomen. A dark heat. Not painful. But dense. Like an inverted thorn opening in silence.

Sebastián breathed slowly.

And descended further.

He visualized his interior. Not as a map of energy, but as a damp corridor, full of echoes.

He saw his decisions.

He saw his forgettings.

He saw the faces of those he left behind… even the ones he could never look straight in the eye.

And he saw them distorted.

Not by time.

By hunger.

A figure, made of shapeless shadows, watched him from the end of the hallway.

It did not move.

It had no eyes.

But it felt him.

And Sebastián… felt it too.

"Were you always there?" —he asked.

The figure did not respond.

But the pressure in his chest intensified.

Not as fear.

As truth.

For now he understood: he had cultivated his body, his soul, his Qi…

But there were parts of himself that could not be cultivated.

Only accepted.

Or ignored.

And everything ignored… gathered.

It grew.

It took space.

And name.

"What do you want?" —Sebastián asked, in a barely audible voice.

The inner environment responded with a muffled vibration.

It was not a word.

It was a need.

He understood it.

It did not ask to destroy him.

Nor to dominate him.

It only asked to exist.

And that… was more dangerous than any attack.

Because if it existed without limits, everything Sebastián was could be reshaped in its image.

And if he rejected it, he would only make it stronger.

A dilemma that could not be resolved with strength.

Nor with techniques.

Not even with will. Sebastián opened his eyes.

The environment had changed.

Or perhaps it was he who could no longer see it the same.

The fissure reflected a new shine in his pupils. One that was neither light. Nor shadow.

It was a trace.

Of something that had been touched.

"I cannot integrate you yet," he murmured—. "But neither can I go on pretending you are not there."

His words did not release relief.

They released tension.

As if naming that nameless presence made it more real.

And hungrier.

But also more visible.

And that… was a beginning.

Not of peace.

Of true struggle.

One that was not against the world.

But against his most silent reflection.

And Sebastián… for the first time… did not know if he wanted to win.

Because perhaps… winning was not what was necessary.

Perhaps… resisting had only fed that which he did not understand.

Sebastián exhaled, and it was not air that came out of his mouth.

It was an old doubt.

A fissure that had been beating inside for years without a name.

The most silent reflection did not attack. It did not speak. It did not dissolve.

It was there.

Present.

Not as a threat.

But as possibility.

And in that moment, something broke. Not outside. Inside.

Not with violence.

With acceptance.

He did not rise to fight it. He did not prepare a technique. He did not seek an escape.

He leaned toward it.

As if he knew that this reflection was not an error of the Fissure.

It was a question he had avoided for too long.

And the only way to answer it… was to swallow it.

"I cannot destroy you," he said, in a firm, low voice.

The figure looked at him.

Not with eyes.

With presence.

"And I do not want to lose myself in you."

The silence offered no answers.

But neither did it deny.

Then Sebastián extended his hands.

Not as offering.

As decision.

And the reflection… walked toward him.

Each step erased details. The face grew less human. Less formed. Less external.

More interior.

More visceral.

When the distance between them disappeared, there was no clash. No violent fusion. No scream.

There was absorption.

As if the borders dissolved.

As if the echo decided to return to the body that had emitted it.

Sebastián did not feel power.

He felt weight.

A strange weight. Not destructive. But deep. As if everything he had buried —the thoughts he silenced, the emotions he avoided, the ideas he repressed— had found a home… in him.

And they did not ask to be freed.

They asked for space.

Acceptance.

The Qi inside him trembled.

Not from rejection.

From expansion.

The Dao did not break.

It became broader.

More ambiguous.

Because now… there was another voice inside. One that did not want to take control.

Only to watch.

And sometimes… to whisper.

"You will not be my master," said Sebastián, now alone, standing.

"But neither will you be my enemy."

The environment did not change immediately.

But something in him did.

His body. His soul. His path.

He no longer advanced by escaping something.

Now he walked with that "something" breathing inside.

Without name.

Without face.

But with space.

And perhaps… with purpose.

The Fissure did not speak.

But it moved.

Not as an answer, but as a reorganization.

As if the environment felt… that what stood before it was no longer exactly Sebastián.

Nor something else.

The crystalline walls no longer reflected future forms.

Now they showed moments that had not yet happened. Possibilities… alternatives. Paths that were not warnings or threats, but dormant trails.

A reflection showed him seated, without weapons, surrounded by light. Another showed him devouring enemies without a shred of mercy. And yet another… simply walking beside someone he did not recognize, but whose presence made his chest beat harder.

Sebastián did not stop at any of them.

Not because he did not care.

But because he no longer sought to avoid himself.

The ground changed.

It was no longer smooth and cold. The plates began to tremble with each step he took, not from weakness… but as if they yielded to a new gravity. His gravity.

And then he understood.

The Fissure was no longer testing him.

It was listening to him.

What before were trials to break him, now were echoes adapting to his new heartbeats. They no longer showed future monsters. They showed what Sebastián himself had allowed to be born inside.

And that was… more dangerous.

More real.

A fragment of the ceiling fell. It did not crash. It floated.

And on its surface, for the first time, there was no figure.

There was a symbol.

A double-direction spiral. One inward. Another outward.

As if the Fissure said: you are no longer alone in here.

And that was not comfort.

It was warning.

Because what he had absorbed was not an answer.

It was a voice.

And voices… never fall completely silent.

Sebastián advanced.

Not stronger.

Not weaker.

Simply… more complete.

And around him, the crystals began to emit a new kind of light. Not guidance. Not judgment.

Acceptance.

As if the biome, for the first time, recognized…

That what walked through its interior…

also knew how to look inward.

The Qi did not agitate.

It vibrated.

Not like a river seeking to escape, but like a substance that now had weight in his existence.

Sebastián was not cultivating outward. He was allowing his interior to reorder itself… as if the channels were not only for flow, but for transformation.

His body did not shine.

Did not float.

Did not burn.

But inside… each cell began to tense with a new elegance.

The Qi expanded in slow spirals through his torso, neck, arms, and legs, not pushing, but adjusting. As if that energy were beginning to recognize him as home.

It did not invade him. It accepted him.

And in that instant, he understood:

the Inner Consolidated Realm was not a wall… but a vault.

A living chamber, shaped to contain without breaking.

The Qi was not there to propel him, but to belong to him.

And in that inner silence, Sebastián felt something give way. Not collapse… but open.

A new rhythm.

A new pressure.

His breathing deepened, and the Qi began to accumulate in more complex points. They were not nodes. They were anatomical decisions, where his body chose to store, compress, refine.

His back… held part of the Qi as a reserve of explosive tension.

His abdomen… condensed it into a constant layer, like invisible armor.

His limbs… wove traces of energy that did not need to be activated: they were already ready.

His Dao also changed.

It did not become deeper… but more intimate.

Because now he understood that the path he walked was not the strongest. Nor the straightest.

It was the only one that did not stop when the inner voice whispered:

"This is not your limit."

And so, step by step, Sebastián reached the pinnacle of Realm 5.

But he did not celebrate.

He only opened his eyes.

And the fissure —that environment that once attacked him, reflected him, stripped him—… kept silent.

As if it understood.

As if, for the first time, Sebastián was not there to learn to defend himself… but to affirm who he was, and why he deserved to keep ascending.

His muscles did not swell.

They compacted.

His veins did not burn.

They aligned with the inner energy, as if every trace of the body were part of the design of a technique that had not yet been revealed.

"Pinnacle level…" he murmured, with no need to shout it.

Inner Consolidated.

But not only for containing energy.

But because now… none of him was divided.

Neither the body,

nor the Qi,

nor his will.

And deep down…

where the fissure could not reach,

something else grew in silence.

Not as enemy.

Not as ally.

But as inevitable consequence.

And in the middle of the silence that no longer hurt…

she spoke.

"Now you know what beats inside you, don't you?"

The voice did not come from far.

Nor from near.

It came from a place Sebastián did not yet know how to name.

But when he raised his gaze… she was there.

Draila.

Not as reflection.

Not as apparition.

But as someone who had been watching everything before he even knew what he was seeking She did not walk.

She was simply standing beside the fissure, where the crystal curved as if to respect her figure.

"You were always silent," said Sebastián, without rancor—. "Even when it hurt the most."

"Because I could not speak to you without breaking what you needed to build on your own," Draila replied, with that serenity that seemed to sustain worlds without the world ever knowing—. "Some answers do not heal if they arrive before the right time."

The young man closed his eyes for a moment.

And then he asked:

"What is that?"

He did not say 'that which crawled'.

He did not say 'that which wanted to take me'.

Only… that.

Because they both knew what he was talking about.

Draila did not hesitate.

"An inner demon."

The word was not fantasy.

It was weight.

A word that did not describe a creature, but a mechanism.

A consequence that does not come from outside… but from the constant friction between the soul and what is left unsaid.

"It is not a curse," she continued—. "Nor a possession.

It is the residue of everything you did not accept. Everything your body, your Qi and your Dao rejected, but that your existence… could not discard."

Sebastián did not look away.

"So… is it me?"

"No. But it was born from you," Draila answered—. "It is not a shadow that follows you. It is a fissure that opened from within. It feeds on every moment you pretended to be whole. On every decision you made without looking at its roots. On every impulse you denied for fear it would not fit with the strength you are building."

The fissure glimmered faintly in the distance.

And Draila took one step closer.

"It is not destroying you.

It is testing you."

"Testing what?"

"If you can sustain what you claim to want… without becoming what you most fear."

The young man did not answer immediately.

His chest moved slowly, but not from exhaustion.

It was as if each inhalation were a decision.

As if now each second implied remembering what he had seen… what he could not purge… and what he chose to embrace.

"Does everyone have it?" he finally asked.

"No," Draila said frankly—. "Only those who once wished to be more than the world allowed them."

"And can it kill me?"

"Only if you pretend it does not exist.

Only if you try to silence it.

Or if you use it without understanding it is also part of you."

There was a moment of true silence.

Not of the environment.

But of the soul.

As if even the demon… were listening.

And Draila lowered her voice, not out of fear…

but out of respect.

"Sebastián… inner demons are not born to drag you.

They are born to reveal to you how far you are willing to see yourself whole… without breaking."

"And if I succeed?"

"Then it will cease to be a demon," she said—.

"And it will become a tool."

"And if I fail?"

"Then… it will not be the worst you face.

It will only be the most intimate."

He breathed.

Not as one who finds peace.

But as one who accepts that peace is not always the goal.

"Thank you for telling me the truth," Sebastián whispered.

"You already knew it," Draila replied—.

"You only needed someone who would not deny it with you."

And then, she vanished.

Not like a shadow.

But like a presence that knew when to depart. Silence returned.

But it was not the same.

It no longer weighed.

Now… it waited.

Sebastián remained motionless for an instant. Not in meditation, nor in contemplation.

But because something —something new— was watching him. Not from outside.

From within the biome.

The fissure cracked.

Not from rupture.

But as if the place breathed differently now that he had accepted what he carried. As if the fissure itself were forced to respond… to match the inner pulse that now accompanied him.

And then… something descended.

From the heights of the abyss, a figure began to fall.

It did not float.

It did not fly.

It fell as if the weight of the world were pushing it down.

It was humanoid, but not human.

Its skin was crystal… but it reflected nothing.

It was as if it absorbed the images, swallowing them without returning any.

Multiple eyes carved into its face, but all closed.

Until it touched the ground.

And there, the eyes opened.

One by one.

Twelve in total.

Each with a different pupil: circular, slit, vertical, double… as if each eye were an unresolved story.

It did not speak.

But the fissure did.

From the walls, a trembling echo emerged.

Not words.

Not warnings.

Only a formless judgment.

And Sebastián understood.

This was not a reflection.

It was a trial.

A trial not of power.

But of stability.

Of inner symmetry.

Because that creature…

smelled like him.

Not in the body.

But in what he now carried inside.

And he knew it:

This threat had not come to destroy him.

It had come to ask him —with every movement, every blow, every attempt to break him— if his decision to embrace that darkness… could hold in combat.

The creature moved.

Not with speed.

But with perfect precision.

As if each step were predestined to break a balance that had only just formed.

And Sebastián… did not retreat.

Because he understood, without anyone explaining:

"This enemy… does not come for my body.

It comes for what I just accepted."

He bent forward.

Activated the Qi in his arms.

Felt his whole body tense, not from fear…

but from anticipation.

"Then come…" he whispered—. "Let's see if I am one at last."

And the first clash… broke the ground.

Not in fissures.

In shattered reflections.

As if the biome could not sustain a battle where inner truths were no longer hidden.

Because now…

The enemy knew what Sebastián had not wanted to admit.

And that… also made it stronger.

The floor exploded.

Not from external force.

But from the tension of two opposing truths colliding in a single point.

Sebastián moved first. He did not hesitate. He did not think.

He acted as if his body had already chosen before his mind.

His fist, coated in Qi, left a curved trail that split the crystals of the ground without touching them directly.

The enemy responded by leaning its torso with an impossible twist, as if its joints had no intention, only function.

The first impact was sound.

Then, pressure.

The air compressed between them.

And the errant reflection —that wordless creature— countered with a descending strike, executed with the precision of judgment.

Sebastián blocked it. Not with his arm.

With all his weight channeled from his feet, through his back, and contained in his wrist.

The explosion displaced the space.

Fragments of the fissure hung suspended, as if time hesitated what to do with such raw power.

"You will not break me with your form," said Sebastián—. "Because my form… already broke long ago."

And in that instant, the Path of the Indomitable Body activated fully.

The muscles compacted.

The blood roared into his chest like a torrent redirected.

The organs vibrated like drums resonating with intent.

Every part of his body ceased to obey human rules. The creature responded by creating a lance of dark crystal from its forearm. Not forged.

Extracted from itself.

And it attacked.

The lance thrust toward Sebastián's torso.

But it did not land.

A twist, half a shoulder flex, an imperceptible redirection.

Sebastián caught the lance with his bare palm.

The pressure made him bleed.

But his fingers did not open.

"Your precision does not interest me," he growled—. "I only want to see if you can withstand me."

He pulled on the lance, dragging the enemy closer in a fraction of a second.

He greeted it with a direct knee to the center of the chest, imbued with compressed Qi.

The creature cracked, but did not scream.

It recoiled.

Its eyes spun, disordered, as if searching for a weakness…

And they found it.

Because Sebastián still did not fully control what he now carried inside.

The creature aimed straight at that.

It tore the air with a sequence of attacks meant not to wound him… but to destabilize him.

And for an instant…

Sebastián felt his energy turning inward.

As if the demon inside wanted to rise.

But he did not let it.

He stomped violently.

He shouted.

Not in fear.

In affirmation.

And the entire floor shattered.

The crystal broke into shards.

The Qi surrounding him turned into a dense zone, like an atmosphere collapsing upon itself.

The creature staggered.

And Sebastián, without technique, without form, with body alone, charged.

One strike.

Another.

Another still.

There was no elegance.

Only impact.

Each blow did not seek to end the fight.

It sought to remind the world that his strength no longer depended on coherence.

It was affirmation.

And when the reflection fell to its knees, cracked, still conscious, still alive…

Sebastián did not finish it.

Because he understood that this creature was part of what he had to contain, not destroy.

"Not every battle is won by destroying the other," he said, panting—.

"Sometimes… it is won by no longer breaking yourself."

The creature looked at him.

And nodded.

Then, it vanished.

Not as a defeated enemy.

As a trial… completed.

And Sebastián was left alone.

But no longer divided. The silence was no longer the same.

It was not emptiness.

It was rest.

The Fissure of Mirrors did not tremble, did not shine, did not twist. It only existed. As if, for the first time, it respected what Sebastián had achieved without asking the biome for permission.

He walked.

Not with weight.

But with a strange lightness in his heels, as if the ground no longer judged him, only accompanied him.

With each step, he felt something different. Not in the body. Not in the skin.

In the conscience.

As if his Qi had become clearer. Not stronger, but more sincere.

He had understood something.

That his strength was not an armor.

It was a voice.

And that voice could not only be a roar against the world, but also an echo inward.

An interior language.

To cultivate… was not only to grow.

It was to remember.

What one was before wanting to become invincible.

And why.

That is why he sat.

Without ceremony.

He crossed his legs, let the air enter, and then turned it into energy without effort.

The Qi manifested.

Not as power.

But as acceptance.

It flowed not only through his channels, but through his emotions.

There were no jolts.

Only a silent expansion.

Without rupture.

Without fear.

And then… he felt it.

A slight click, as if something had fit inside him.

It was not light.

It was not explosion.

It was understanding.

His cultivation advanced.

A half-step… but eternal in impact.

Qi: Level 6 — Active Qi Core (initial stage).

The Qi ceased to be an external resource.

Now, a living core began to spin inside his abdomen.

It was not a sphere.

It was a fissure that had decided to turn upon itself…

Devouring.

Refining.

Creating its own center.

The Inverted Origin Core.

Not as inheritance.

But as declaration.

And in his chest, a murmur that did not come from his mouth.

It was a new whisper, without origin, but absolutely his own:

"What did not destroy me… did not make me stronger.

It made me clearer."

And when he opened his eyes, the biome looked at him.

Not with threat.

But with respect.

The Fissure did not speak.

It did not emit visions.

It did not summon images.

It did not urge questions.

And yet, everything it was… observed him.

As if the abyss itself recognized him.

Not as master.

Nor even as guest.

But as another fissure.

A walking fracture that also contained worlds.

Scars.

Limits.

And decisions.

Sebastián did not rise immediately.

The body would have allowed it.

The mind too.

But the soul… no.

The soul was still taking note.

Not of what he had achieved, but of what he had avoided.

Of the abyss he had looked at and not consumed.

Of the shadow he had not denied, but had not surrendered to entirely.

That balance —imperfect, tense, human— was his victory.

The biome began to change.

Not with violence.

Not with radical transformation.

But as if folding back.

The crystalline structures began to fade little by little, ceasing to reflect.

The echoes no longer repeated what he thought.

They silenced… waiting.

The fissure was not a prison.

Nor torture.

It was an invitation that had been answered.

And now, it let him go.

With a silence that no longer hurt.

But respected.

Sebastián stood.

He did not feel glory.

He did not feel peace.

He felt exactness.

As if at last his body, his Qi, his soul and his shadow had reached the same step.

And then, with the fissure silent behind him, he raised his gaze toward that vertical exit that had remained closed from the beginning.

He did not touch it.

He did not force it.

He only looked at it.

And the crystal split.

Not with thunder.

But like a membrane torn… that understood him.

The world outside was still waiting for him.

And he was not yet who he needed to be.

But now he knew who he would not be.

And that… was more than enough to advance.

Because on the Path of Eternal Strength…

Sometimes, the next step is not taken with the feet.

It is taken with an awakened consciousness.

And Sebastián, for the first time in his life…

did not feel alone.

He only felt real.

_______________________________________________

END OF CHAPTER 14