On the Path of Eternal Strength.

The morning stretched out gray, clogged with a weary sun that could not manage to warm the glass walls of the office. Inside, the atmosphere smelled of coffee, of clean paper, and of a fear no one wanted to name aloud.

Helena remained seated, her back straight, like a fragile monument refusing to bend. In front of her, the table was clean except for the black portfolio she had requested the night before.

Selena entered without knocking, her steps silent, relentless, as precise as the beat of a war clock. She placed another set of documents on the table, nothing more than a faint, dry thud.

—"I have gathered everything," she said with the surgical calm that defined her. "Every trace, every record, every camera. As far as the world can see."

Helena breathed deeply, her gaze fixed on her protégé.

—"Show me."

Selena stood without sitting, and began to unfold the sheets with implacable method.

—"It begins here," she pointed out. "Genetic match verified with the archived mother."

The database recognized him as Sebastián Solís. The civil registry reactivated his identity code just three days ago.

Helena nodded in silence, recalling the spiraling glow of those eyes that did not seem to belong to any human.

Selena continued:

—"On the day of the identity reactivation, he appeared at the Conservation Archive, requesting the release of his mother's body."

The protocol was not properly followed: he did not present a medical certificate nor legal authorization for the release, only…

—Selena paused, searching for the exact word—

…"only his voice."

Helena arched an eyebrow.

—"Did he intimidate?"

—"He intimidated," Selena confirmed. "No one wanted to argue with him. He left with the body."

Helena lowered her gaze, pensive, tracing the edge of the report with her fingertips.

—"And then… he disappeared," she concluded.

Selena nodded.

—"From that moment on, there is no official trace for hours. No camera recorded him leaving the urban area, as if he had vanished."

Helena tensed, but did not reply. Selena moved on to the next folder.

—"Hours later, new location: a restaurant on the commercial outskirts."

—"A restaurant?" Helena repeated, bewildered.

—"Yes. The interior cameras confirm the identity. He was accompanied by a woman not registered in the database —black hair, red eyes, uncommon build— and by a creature classified as a probable exotic beast, still without a technical name."

Helena pressed her lips together, holding back a shiver.

—"Did he do anything there?"

—"He only ate," Selena replied without hesitation. "He conversed. Ordered meat stew and bread."

He caused no conflict.

The cameras show him calm.

Helena felt a shudder run down her spine.

—"A monster… having lunch."

—"Yes," Selena replied, with the edge of her imperturbable voice.

"A monster with manners."

A moment of silence weighed on them both.

Helena gathered her strength again.

—"After the restaurant?"

Selena displayed the last page.

—"They left on foot. Then took the peripheral road toward a stretch with no public cameras. From there we have no more data. Only scattered witnesses: an elderly woman at the gas station mentioned having seen 'a man with impossible eyes' walking toward the cliff overlook, accompanied by the same woman and the beast."

Helena rubbed her temples, closing her eyes, weary.

—"And there he vanished again."

Selena nodded with military precision.

—"There were no reports of violence.

No complaints.

Only a void."

Helena let her hands fall onto the table, exhausted.

—"The world," she whispered, "doesn't even know what to do with him."

—"Because he doesn't fit into its boxes," Selena affirmed.

"They cannot define him.

They cannot stop him."

Helena leaned back in her chair, feeling the wood give way under the weight of her memories. —"And the woman?"

—"Unknown. No documents, no file. No trace."

Helena swallowed hard, recalling the way that woman moved: silent, savage, almost feline.

—"She didn't seem like a slave."

—"She wasn't," Selena confirmed.

"He didn't force her. She moved like a wolf beside her pack."

Helena shivered.

—"He called her with the voice of someone who doesn't need to command."

—"Yes," Selena agreed, and an inhuman gleam crossed her gray eyes.

"He called her as one calls home."

A silence, deep and reverent, descended upon the office.

Helena let out a sigh.

—"I don't want to lose track of him."

—"We won't," Selena affirmed.

"But the question is…"

—"Which?"

—"Do you really want someone to find him again?"

Helena lowered her gaze, thoughtful.

—"Perhaps not," she admitted.

"But I do."

The morning light trembled against the windows, as if it did not dare to fully enter, and both women understood that they had just begun to track something that did not belong to their world. Something that walked outside the rules.

Selena kept the portfolio resting on the table, with the cold restraint that defined her. Helena, seated with a firm expression but clenched hands, did not take her eyes off her.

—"Show me the mother's background," she ordered in a faint voice.

Selena nodded, and unfolded the next report with extreme care, as though she were carrying glass about to shatter.

—"Elena Solís," she read. "Born in sector nine, year 1992. Daughter of a working family, traditional seamstresses, no criminal record, no connection to criminal networks. Basic technical education. Took charge of her son at the age of twenty. No registered link to the father. No marriage documents, no maintenance claims, no proof" Official genetic record of the progenitor.

That trace is blank.

Helena inhaled slowly.

—"And her death?"

Selena adjusted another sheet, reading it with neutrality:

—"Registered on October 14, 2017, after 4:05 p.m.

Traffic accident on Highway 27, during severe rain conditions.

A trailer lost control while attempting to overtake with almost zero visibility.

It struck the family vehicle head-on.

Elena Solís died at the scene of the accident, from severe chest trauma and the crushing of the cabin.

The body was recovered by emergency teams and transferred to conservation."

Helena kept her gaze fixed, the memory so alive it ached in her bones.

—"And the boy?" she asked, though her voice faltered just slightly.

Selena lowered her eyes.

—"No record of the child being rescued at the scene.

There was no trace of him when the aid teams arrived.

No one could confirm his condition after the accident."

Helena pressed her lips together, a knot forming in her throat.

—"He disappeared."

—"Exactly," Selena affirmed, with the coldness of someone listing catastrophes.

"The police file was closed due to impossibility of locating him.

Only the mother's body remained, in the transit archive, without family claims for ten years."

Helena let out her breath, her hand dropping onto the desk, dazed.

—"And ten years later…"

—"He returned," Selena concluded, without averting her gaze.

"He requested to withdraw her, with valid genetic proof."

Helena closed her eyes for a second.

She could picture it:

A child lost in the rain, swallowed by nothingness, returning transformed into a being who walked with death as his sister.

—"And the father?" she pressed, gritting her teeth.

Selena shook her head, curtly.

—"No record, no matching DNA.

He is an absolute ghost.

To the system, he never existed."

Helena remained silent.

In her mind, the date was tattooed like an open wound: October 14, 2017, after 4:05 p.m.

The point where Elena's life ended,

and the monster,

perhaps,

began to be forged.

Selena watched her, patient, letting the gravity of the data speak for itself.

—"Shall we continue?" she asked.

Helena nodded slowly, not hiding the tremor in her voice.

—"Yes," she said.

"I will not lose sight of him again."

Selena had not finished her presentation when she opened another folder, thinner, with only a few yellowed sheets that seemed heavy with dust and oblivion.

—"Regarding the belongings of Elena Solís," she began, her voice steady.

Helena lifted her chin, attentive.

—"The apartment located on Vega Street, block 12, ground floor," Selena continued, "has been in Elena's name since 2015. Small, modest. Two rooms. Last officially recorded visit: ten years ago, when the body was retrieved after the accident. Since then it has remained uninhabited, with no utility payments, sealed by citizen archive protocols."

Helena furrowed her brow slightly, recalling the impossible scene of Sebastián carrying that body with the reverence of a king.

—"And him?" she asked, weighing each word.

"Did he go back there?"

Selena shook her head softly.

—"No record of authorized entry in the lock-opening system. The seals remain intact, according to the system. Officially, he has not used it."

Helena did not reply, but doubt flickered in her eyes for an instant.

—"Sometimes doors are not the only way to enter," she murmured, more to herself.

Selena went on, relentless:

—"As for financial resources, Elena maintained a single savings account. Residual balance, almost symbolic, with no movement in ten years. It seems the associated card ended up in Sebastián's hands after he reactivated his identity." There are no more resources, no valuables.

Nothing that would allow him to sustain himself if he returned as a common citizen.

Helena drummed her fingers on the table, a slow gesture, heavy with thought.

—"An empty apartment…

A bank account with barely a few coins…

and the card in the hands of a son who should not exist."

Selena nodded, her expression unshaken.

—"Everything suggests he has no fixed place to settle," she explained.

"If he were to return to the apartment, we would detect it through the activation of the digital seal. But so far, nothing."

Helena stifled a sigh.

—"He is a ghost," she said with resignation.

"A ghost who walks with his own shadow."

The morning light filtered lazily through the blinds, caressing the papers as if afraid to damage them. Helena went over them again, searching in each line for the crack, the fissure, the detail that might have escaped her. But Sebastián left no traces. Not even in the things that should have belonged to him by inheritance.

Selena remained silent for a few seconds, respecting the density of the moment.

—"Do you wish us to watch the apartment?" she asked, her tone neutral.

Helena gave a faint nod, her eyes still fixed on the folder.

—"Yes," she said.

"If he returns there… I want to know before anyone else."

Selena closed the report with a soft thud.

—"Done."

Helena remained silent, her mind trapped in impossible images:

the mother asleep forever, the son who returned after ten years,

and an empty apartment, like a sealed sanctuary waiting for resurrection.

The morning was already well advanced when the overlook, gray and desolate, breathed once more under the pale light of the sun. The cracks in the asphalt seemed to have swallowed the echo of the night, and the wind carried a distant scent of gasoline and salt.

Virka sat at the edge, her gaze lost toward the city, watchful, motionless, like a resting wolf. Her black hair floated slightly with the breeze, and her red eyes, still heavy with desire and ferocity, did not stray from the figure meditating at her side. Sebastián remained with his torso upright, his breathing so steady it was almost frightening. He had not spoken a word since the kiss that sealed their union a few hours earlier. His mind was still alight, burning with an understanding that came in drops, like water over stone:

Superior Channeler.

Level seven.

He had not reached it yet, but the vision of what it implied still vibrated in his bones:

the structures of Qi—walls, spears, barriers, strikes—

could no longer be generic constructions, colorless, devoid of meaning.

If his core, the Inverted Origin Core, was capable of devouring and disintegrating any energy, rebuilding it into pure reddish Qi, then those properties had to begin to be transmitted to everything he formed.

He could no longer raise walls that only blocked blows,

nor create spears that only cut flesh.

His creations had to carry the essence of his technique:

to absorb, crush, purify,

devour the enemy's strength

and return it transformed into his own power.

That was the true principle of the Superior Channeler.

Not yet binding his dao, because the dao remained incomplete,

but allowing the outer Qi to begin to reflect, in tangible form, the nature of his cultivation.

Sebastián let out a sigh, heavy, almost mineral.

There was no frustration.

There was no haste.

Only the brutal certainty that every step was necessary.

Virka turned slightly, watching him with a spark of wild tenderness, and murmured:

—"You're still trapped in your world."

He half-opened an eye, red, deep, without breaking the serenity of his voice.

—"I am not trapped," he replied.

"I am… aligning my walls with what I am."

Virka tilted her head, her smile crooked and dangerous.

—"And when you finish, will you devour my blows too?"

Sebastián held her gaze calmly, and the hardness of his lips softened just slightly into something resembling affection.

—"Only if you throw them with all your heart," he answered. Virka laughed, a dark, broken sound, full of instinct.

—"Then you will have no mercy," she mocked, lowering her gaze to her own body.

"Because I don't know how to fight any other way."

Narka, in his compact form, rested a few meters behind. His cracked shell pulsed with imperturbable calm, and his voice resounded deep, like a distant thunder:

—"It is what you must do, Sebastián.

Let your Qi not be mute.

Let it carry your method,

even if you still ignore your true path."

Sebastián gave the faintest nod, closing his eyes once more.

His deep breathing ran through his back, his core vibrating like an alternate heart, swallowing the raw energy of the surroundings, polishing it, turning it crimson, perfect.

He visualized in his mind a wall of Qi not only resistant,

but devouring.

A spear that not only wounded,

but drained vitality.

A prison capable of swallowing the fury of the enemy

and returning it in the shape he dictated.

That was the principle.

The first step.

The true gate of the Superior Channeler.

Much was still missing.

It was not yet his.

But for the first time, the map stopped being a labyrinth,

and became a path,

crooked,

broken,

but clear.

Virka sighed, moving closer, brushing his shoulder with her bare knee, possessive, and without words reminded him she was there to bite down on any fear that tried to bring him down.

Sebastián did not flinch, and let his Qi continue to pulse with the brutal serenity of one who needs to prove nothing.

The city, down below, remained ignorant,

unaware that on that edge of the world

a monster was learning to carve his shadow

with the delicacy of an artist

and the precision of an executioner.

The morning light, now firm and without tremors, had settled over the overlook like a harsh blessing. The wind carried the scent of The scent of hot asphalt and dust drifted past, reminding them that the world had not stopped, even if they seemed to exist outside any calendar.

Sebastián opened his eyes after the long meditation, his Qi still pulsing deep, a dense red murmur running through his spine like a twin heartbeat. He straightened slowly, feeling the weight of his body, his muscles tense yet steady, and noticed his breathing had become slower, more certain.

At his side, Virka had not shifted position, her leg crossed over the other thigh, watching him with that gaze that always seemed ready either to devour him or to protect him. When she saw him move, a wild spark flared through her red pupil.

—"Finished thinking?" she asked, her voice low, grave, almost amused.

Sebastián released a long, contained sigh.

—"For today, yes," he answered, his voice firm.

"Enough to understand that my Qi can no longer be neutral.

It has to carry the mark of what I am."

Virka nodded slowly, proud, resting her elbow on her knee.

—"And your body?

Do you also plan to leave it behind?"

He looked at her, with a gleam not entirely human, and shook his head slowly.

—"No," he said.

"My body is still my most honest frontier.

I want to refine it, push it further, give it an art that is mine.

One that doesn't depend on Qi,

nor on magic,

only on this"—he raised his fist, the hand trembling faintly with living tension—

"On flesh."

Virka smiled, her fangs bared in a grin that was not mockery but pure excitement.

—"An art only yours?" she purred, amused.

"Are you going to invent your own style?"

Sebastián did not answer immediately.

His mind filled with the idea, still nameless, with no concrete steps, only a phrase,

a seed:

"When the body reaches its end, only will remains. And with it, the world breaks."

That was all he had,

but it was enough to ignite a new horizon.

—"It's just a germ," he admitted, lowering his voice.

"I have no references, no masters in this world to perfect it.

But I know I cannot stay with what I inherited from Draíla." This place demands another way of fighting,

one that is mine,

and mine alone.

Virka leapt to her feet with an agile spring, her black dress billowing like an omen.

—"Then test it on me," she said, her voice heavy with desire and danger.

"Strike me with your truth,

and let me return mine to you."

Sebastián watched her, feeling something tighten inside his chest—not fear, but a renewed hunger.

—"Here and now?"

Virka nodded with a dark, proud smile.

—"Here and now," she repeated.

"No Qi.

No rules, except we do not kill each other."

Narka, in his compact form, lifted his shell slightly, his golden eye watching with stony patience.

—"I will be witness," he said, solemn.

"And if either of you forgets your limit,

I will intervene."

Sebastián rose fully, rolling his shoulders, letting the air mingle with his breath until all trace of meditation was erased.

His spiraled red eyes, from iris to pupil black as the abyss, burned without the madness of old, but with a brutal edge that could not be mistaken.

—"Let's begin then," he murmured, letting the idea of his style be born in the palm of his hand, without technique yet, only intention.

"Let me feel your fangs, Virka.

And I…

will show you the beginning

of what I intend to forge."

Virka lowered her head, her wolf's smile marking territory, and took a natural combat stance—feline, perfect in its restrained brutality.

—"You're going to regret this," she purred, a wild gleam in her pupils.

Sebastián did not step back.

He did not tremble.

And as the breeze stirred the dust of the overlook, he allowed himself to think,

for the first time in many years,

that the beast he carried inside

and the man he had learned to love

could coexist

in the same guard.

Sebastián drew a deep breath, his Qi pulsing faintly to trace the outline of the Veil. A snap of his will was enough, and the normal world shattered like drowned glass: the sky trembled, the colors withered, and everything sank into a spectral, unreal glow.

The city vanished in an instant.

No witnesses remained.

Only them.

Narka settled at the edge of the overlook, his shell drawn in, golden eye alert, accepting his role as guardian without intervening.

Sebastián flexed his neck, his breath steady. He felt no weight in his arms, no tremor in his back: he was pure compressed force, a body trained and hardened to the extreme, equivalent to a power level 11, initial stage—but without a trace of Qi to soften the strain.

Virka smiled, baring her fangs, a savage gleam in her gaze. Her inner energy slept, but her body—honed, violent—coiled like a predator at the brink of a leap. Her power level was in the range of 9 (peak), yet the raw strength of her flesh—brutal, inhuman—matched level 10 (peak), bending all logic.

There were no rules.

Only one boundary:

not killing each other.

Virka struck first, without warning. Her foot grazed the ground in a surge so fast it left marks in the dusty asphalt of the Veil, and her fist sliced the air with a whistle like a scythe. Sebastián crossed his forearms and took the blow, feeling the crack of his bones reverberate up to his spine.

He did not yield.

He answered with a knee to her side, so quick it tore a beastly growl from Virka, who twisted away and returned with an upward kick straight to his jaw.

The strike missed by mere centimeters. Sebastián recoiled, flexed his body, and threw a right hook that split the air with a muffled thunder, grazing Virka's chin. She grinned, eyes blazing, and sank her fangs into his forearm in mid-counter, the pressure of her bite drawing a thread of hot blood.

—"More!" she roared, her voice broken with savage pleasure.

"More, Sebastián!"

He shook her off, grabbed her hair, and drove her toward the ground, but Virka rolled to break free and sprang back up with feline agility. Her body, perfectly proportioned, gleamed under the dim Veil light like a hunting beast without a cage.

She lunged again.

A low sweep, followed by a spinning elbow that tore through the breeze with brutal violence. Sebastián leapt to dodge the trap, but Virka anticipated the movement and stamped a fist into his abdomen, sending him a few meters back, leaving a cracked mark on the ground of the overlook.

Sebastián's chest expanded, his breathing a muffled roar, and blood slipped from the bite that Virka had left on him.

He felt the primal pleasure of living flesh.

Without Qi.

Without artifices.

Only pure destruction, like a war drum.

The technique that was only germinating in his mind throbbed, still without form, but vibrating with the certainty of his philosophy:

when the body reaches its end, only will remains.

He did not need anything else for now.

Only to endure.

Only to strike.

Only to feel.

He advanced again.

His feet thundered on the asphalt, and his fist clashed with Virka's forearm with such fury that the impact seemed to shake the very air itself. They slid around each other, seeking cracks, measuring breaths.

Virka did not retreat, never retreated.

She struck a knee to the hip, a short hook to the ribs, and a headbutt that made their foreheads collide with a dry crack. Sebastián felt a moment of haze in his sight, but his instinct ignited like a spark and he counterattacked:

elbow to the chin, elbow to the neck, leg sweep.

Virka fell, rolled, rose again, her face stained with dust and with the most beautiful and deadly smile that Sebastián had ever seen.

—"Again!" she spat with a hoarse voice—

"Give me again!"

He obeyed.

He ran toward her like a living landslide, his legs loaded with the excessive power of a restrained monster, and rammed her with his shoulder, smashing her against the metal railing of the overlook, which vibrated with a terrible screech.

Virka grabbed him by the neck, without surrendering, and returned a brutal kick to his thigh, seeking to break his balance. Sebastián snorted, adjusted his stance and lifted her by the waist, throwing her to the ground with a crash that raised a cloud of dust in the veil.

They breathed heavily.

Blood flowed from minor cuts, from poorly blocked blows, from Virka's bites and Sebastián's elbows. But neither stopped.

Neither hesitated.

They were beasts.

Lovers.

Warriors.

Narka, unmoving, watched them without intervening, his golden eye burning with the gravity of one who contemplates the forging of something immortal.

Sebastián let out a broken laugh, with the metallic taste of his own blood.

Virka imitated him, and in that instant, war and love were the same thing.

The silence of the veil barely vibrated with their frantic breathing. The suspended dust drew lines in the spectral light, as if each grain floated waiting for another impact.

Sebastián lowered his chin, adjusting his guard, his forearm marked by Virka's bites. He felt his bones tighten, every muscle charged with a living tremor that was not weakness, but the announcement of an untamed power.

Virka smiled, blood slipping down the corner of her lip, and licked herself like a satisfied beast.

—"Are you tired already?" she purred, her tone heavy with threat.

—"Never," Sebastián replied, his voice low, like molten iron.

Virka roared and charged again. Her knee strike cut the air at the height of his liver, forcing him to twist, to protect himself with his elbow. The pain thundered, a brutal rumble in his ribcage. Virka gave him no space: she followed with a hook to the chin, fast, precise, that almost made his legs buckle.

Sebastián reacted on instinct, landing a fist in Virka's ribs with such force that he felt the vibration of the impact resound in his shoulder. The blow bent her, but did not stop her: she rolled over herself and lunged like a wolf, using her shoulder to slam him against the shattered railing.

The iron thundered.

The world seemed to tilt.

Sebastián grabbed her by the waist and hurled her back, breaking the savage rhythm. He breathed hard, blood in his mouth, heartbeat pounding in his skull. He felt the raw strength—his strength—demanding something more.

Not enough.

The thought rose, sharp, cold.

It was not enough to only unleash power.

It was not enough to push the muscles to the limit and explode. He remembered his philosophy.

When the body reaches its end, only will remains.

Then he understood.

He should not strike with muscle.

He had to use the tendons, the bones, the ligaments,

every micro-joint

in synchrony,

driving the pressure to such a brutal level that the very flesh felt on the verge of bursting,

so that then the will could ignite the final blow.

That was the principle.

Virka lunged again, screaming like thunder made woman. Her leg swept the ground, seeking to break his knee. Sebastián leapt, his body reacting almost before his mind, and let all that accumulated tension discharge into his right fist.

He did not only flex the muscles.

He did not only clench the fingers.

He felt every vertebra, every nerve,

align like a violent gear,

a perfect death machine.

He struck.

The fist impacted Virka's forearm with a dry crash.

A visual shockwave burst around his fist, twisting the air like a mirage. Virka was thrown several meters, rolling over the cracked asphalt, before stopping with a growl, her shoulder smoking from the heat generated by the clash.

Silence.

A dense stillness, like the world holding its breath.

Sebastián lowered his arm, feeling the burning run down his entire side. It had not been perfect.

The pain in his tendons screamed that he had not yet mastered the technique.

But he had grazed the frontier.

Virka rose, shaking off the dust, a broken, beastly laugh lighting her face.

—"That!" she spat—

"That is what I want from you!"

Sebastián swallowed, holding his guard, without losing his composure.

—"I don't know what to call it yet," he admitted.

"But I know it begins here."

Virka licked the blood, her wolf's smile marking a territory she never intended to relinquish. —"Then show me," she challenged, her voice deep, broken with desire and rage—

"show me how you are going to break this world

with nothing more than your body."

He nodded, and charged again,

without fear,

without mercy,

willing to refine every living fiber to the very edge of collapse.

Because he understood,

blow by blow,

that his art would be born

at the exact point where flesh breaks

and will decides

not to die.

Virka did not wait. With a roar that seemed like the very voice of the earth shattering, she hurled herself at him, arm extended like a living spear. Her claws sought to tear his neck, while her legs propelled her with the power of a runaway wolf.

Sebastián felt the world shrink into a heartbeat.

There was no space to think.

No margin to doubt.

He bent his body and spun on his axis, letting Virka's charge pass barely a millimeter from his skin.

He felt the howl of the air being cut, the nearness of death in the trajectory of her nails, and knew that a heartbeat slower would have split him open.

Virka did not stop: she used the momentum to spin and come back with a side elbow aimed at his ribs, brutal, precise, relentless.

Sebastián blocked it with his forearm, but the impact shook his spine like thunder, knocking the breath out of him.

He resisted.

He did not yield.

He returned to his philosophy:

When the body reaches its end, only will remains.

The next strike from Virka came with the speed of lightning. Sebastián dodged it with a slight shift of his hip, and in that minimal opening,

he saw the exact moment

when her guard dropped,

her breathing faltered,

her stance broke. There. The world stopped for a second.

His entire body—joints, tendons, bones—aligned like a single spring, tensing to a limit that brushed absolute pain.

He did not just clench the muscles.

He did not just release strength.

He pushed every living fiber to the edge of self-destruction,

and on that edge,

the will ignited like an inhuman fire.

He struck.

His fist, charged with the very essence of his flesh, exploded against Virka's solar plexus with such violence that the shockwave twisted the air, ripping a roar from the veil. The pressure was so brutal it lifted her from the ground, sending her several meters back like an iron doll, crashing her against the spectral pavement, where she lay, her chest heaving, her eyes still red but overflowing with a tremor that was not fear…

it was respect.

Silence fell again.

Virka coughed, the thread of saliva and blood marking her open mouth, and she remained still, too dazed to rise.

Her hands trembled, and a shiver ran down her spine as she breathed, shattered, marveled, defeated.

—"Bastard…" she spat, with a broken laugh—

"That…

was yours."

Sebastián approached, his breathing just as ragged, his pulse pounding like a war drum.

He felt that blow had been only the first glimpse

of what he sought.

It was not perfect yet.

It still needed to be shaped.

But it brushed his idea:

when the body reaches its end, only will remains.

And in that instant,

he knew.

He could build it.

He could forge a martial art so brutal it broke the logic of Qi,

born only of flesh

and the will not to die.

—"Thank you," he said at last, his voice hoarse, as he bent down to hold Virka carefully—

"I could not do it without you." Virka lifted her gaze, with a wild gleam that only he knew.

—"You don't have permission…" she panted—

"to do this with another beast…

do you understand?"

Sebastián barely smiled, a gesture filled with hardness and tenderness at once.

—"Only you," he confirmed.

With care, he channeled his Qi over Virka's body, sealing the fissures in her flesh, soothing the torn muscles, closing cuts. She sighed, a soft moan escaping her lips, and leaned against him, exhausted.

Then Sebastián looked at his own open, skinned knuckles, and let the Qi flow over them, healing the cracks with a gentle, methodical pulse.

The veil remained stable a moment longer, as if holding its breath at what it had just witnessed.

When Virka could stand on her own, Sebastián rose, and with a simple thought let the veil dissolve.

The normal world settled back over them:

distant noises, the murmur of engines, the mortally common light of the city.

Narka, impassive, cast them an approving glance, and let his rocky breath mark the end of the battle.

Sebastián lowered his chin, still feeling the rumble of his own strike, and thought:

"I must continue… it is not enough yet."

Because the idea had germinated,

but the art was not finished.

And that,

seemed beautiful to him.

The veil had faded, leaving behind an almost painful silence. The breeze of the normal world caressed the skin of Sebastián and Virka, dragging with it the taste of dried blood and the cracked dust of combat.

Virka settled sitting on the broken asphalt, still breathing with effort, while Sebastián lowered his arms, feeling the deep tremor that ran through his bones.

It was not weakness.

It was the echo of a real power, without adornments, that had demanded everything from him.

Narka advanced a few steps, letting the creak of his heavy shell resound like a solemn drum. His golden eye examined them calmly, and for an instant, Sebastián felt that gaze could pierce every crack in his flesh and mind.

—"You fight well," Narka said at last, with that rasping, deep voice that seemed to drag centuries—

"Not for technique." Not for elegance.

You fight well because you do not lie.

Sebastián lifted his gaze, swallowing hard, his heart still pounding like a war drum.

—"Not lie?" he repeated, barely a thread of voice.

Narka nodded slowly.

—"You held nothing back," he explained.

"You struck with everything, without fear of being broken,

without pretending to be more beautiful than you truly are.

That is what makes true monsters strong."

Virka let out a low, broken laugh, and allowed her black hair to cover part of her face.

—"I like that you call us monsters," she purred, amused.

Narka did not smile, but his gaze seemed to soften slightly.

—"Because you are," he declared.

"And it is better to be a monster with purpose,

than a beast without direction."

Sebastián frowned, probing at a doubt that had burned within him for a long time.

—"Narka…" he murmured—

"What level are you, really?"

The shell vibrated, as if containing a thunder, and the guardian's voice resounded without dramatics:

—"My power…" he said with the naturalness of one who mentions the color of the sky—

"is equivalent to level 20."

Virka arched her brows, a shiver running down her back.

Sebastián barely managed to contain a sigh of astonishment.

Level 20.

An abyss.

A frontier so distant it seemed a myth.

Narka continued, relentless:

—"It makes no difference if I am beast, human, or demon.

A level is a level.

The measure is the same.

And if you transcend it,

you transcend it like every living being,

by breaking your limit or dying in the attempt."

Sebastián clenched his fists, absorbing the weight of those words.

His own body still trembled from the fight, reminding him of every fissure, every mistake, every place where flesh had nearly burst.

But also reminding him that he had endured. Narka inclined his head slightly, like a tired king.

—"Your path, Sebastián," he growled,

"is not as distant as you think,

but it will not be fast.

You will have to burn yourself at every step,

and no master who caresses your wounds will serve you."

Virka settled closer to Sebastián, with a pride almost animal.

—"That sounds perfect for him," she scoffed, amused.

"And for me."

Narka snorted, a deep sound that made the ground vibrate.

—"Then keep breaking yourselves," he said, his voice solemn—

"because only then, when the body reaches the end,

will the will remain."

Sebastián lowered his chin, breathing more calmly, and allowed his thoughts to anchor themselves in those words.

Yes.

It was still lacking.

Every fiber still hurt,

but now he had the certainty that he had begun to write his own art,

blow by blow,

with the brutal honesty that only he could afford.

Virka leaned on his shoulder, closing her eyes for an instant, without losing that broken smile that made him feel alive.

And together, while the world remained ignorant of their steps,

they accepted that the next fracture

would also be a new brick

for the legend they planned to build.

The veil had vanished minutes ago, leaving the overlook immersed in a dense, almost reverent silence. The distant murmur of the city went on its course unsuspecting, ignoring the open wounds those three beings carried in their breathing.

Virka remained leaning against Sebastián, her hand still trembling, but her pulse steady. The wild gleam of her red eyes had softened, showing a quiet tenderness that only he could bring to the surface. Narka, a few steps away, watched with the immovable calm of a mountain, as if nothing existed capable of disturbing him.

Sebastián had healed the fissures of his body with the remaining Qi, but the beating of his core was still heavy, demanding more, claiming more, like a hungry beast. That constant pressure clung to his sternum, an oppressive weight that did not disappear even in calm.

Finally, he decided to break the silence.

—"Narka," he said, with a deep voice, "explain something to me.

My core… it is not like the others.

It always asks for more." It is always devouring.

It is as if it doesn't even want to let me breathe.

Narka turned his great mineral head, his golden eye gleaming with gravity.

—"Because it is not a common core," he explained, his voice dragging the solemnity of a final judgment.

"You do not carry a simple human dantian.

Your Inverted Origin Core is…

a devourer.

It does not retain energy in a stable way.

It destroys it, refines it to the highest degree of purity,

and reconstructs it only for you."

Sebastián narrowed his eyes, focused.

—"And what does that mean, in real terms?"

Narka breathed deeply, his shell vibrating with a deep sound.

—"A normal cultivator has a dantian that behaves like a pond," he said.

"It stores his Qi, keeps it stable, filters it little by little,

accepts impurities, and still serves him.

He does not need to be absorbing without pause because it tolerates those residues."

Sebastián nodded, understanding.

—"But you," Narka continued, "your core does not admit anything unclean.

Every time you absorb energy,

it pulverizes it,

cleanses it to the extreme,

turns it into a perfect Qi,

without the slightest stain."

Virka shifted, listening in silence, her eyebrow barely arched.

—"That level of purity," Narka went on, "is not free.

Your core demands everything.

Everything.

And when it runs out of food,

it devours you."

Sebastián felt a shiver run down his back.

Yes, he had felt it more than once.

That weight burning his veins,

that heartbeat turning into hunger and pain

if he did not cultivate constantly.

Narka looked him straight in the eye.

—"You must understand something," he growled.

"A normal cultivator, in each realm, develops a dantian of a certain size, with enough capacity for his level." But yours needs double.

Because your pure Qi takes up more space.

Every technique you unleash will consume twice the reserve of another cultivator at your same level.

And if you do not feed that core constantly,

it will swallow you alive.

Sebastián closed his eyes for a moment, absorbing every word like a knife sinking slowly.

—"You confirm it," he murmured.

"It was not just a sensation.

It is real."

Virka tightened her jaw, her reddened gaze suddenly ignited by a different fire.

—"Sebastián…?" she asked, in a voice so low it hurt.

"When were you planning to tell me all this?"

Sebastián opened his eyes, meeting the wild gleam of his wolf, and his own throat hardened.

—"I didn't want to worry you," he confessed, simple, without adornment.

"It is my burden."

Virka scoffed, a contained growl, and gave him a light punch on the shoulder, barely a touch, but loaded with tender fury.

—"I am not a flower," she snapped.

"I am your shadow, damn it.

If your core can devour you,

it is my problem too."

Sebastián did not lower his gaze.

—"I don't want you to burn with me," he insisted.

—"I already burned!" she shouted for an instant, her voice broken.

"I am already with you, can't you see?

If your own power swallows you,

I fall too.

Do not push me away!"

Silence fell again, hard as stone.

Narka did not intervene, letting the tension resolve itself in its own way.

Sebastián drew a deep breath, letting the Qi flow through his veins, calming himself.

—"You are right," he admitted, his voice rough.

"I cannot keep hiding it.

This core is a monster,

and if I want to tame it,

I am going to need you close." Virka drew a deep breath, closing her eyes, and allowed herself to smile, broken, with dry tears that did not fall.

—"That answer…

is the only one that matters to me," she whispered.

Narka gave a slight nod, as if a forgotten god approved the pact.

—"The Inverted Origin Core is not impossible to master," he conceded,

"but it will demand everything from you,

and from her as well.

There will be no room for half measures.

No weak love.

No half loyalty."

Sebastián looked at his hands, still tense, remembering the monstrous vibration of his strike against Virka.

Remembering the fine line

between control

and destruction.

—"I will not give up," he said in a deep voice.

"If my core wants to devour me,

it will have to fight first."

Virka let out a short laugh, charged with savagery, and nestled closer, like a wolf claiming the warmth of her alpha.

—"That's you," she purred.

"My rotten emperor."

Sebastián sighed, letting his heart beat in rhythm with his core,

knowing that this inner monster

would be his greatest weapon,

and his greatest doom,

if he did not learn to tame it.

The breeze passed softly over the overlook, and for an instant, the three remained still,

accepting that the path

was only just beginning.

The afternoon sun fell over the overlook with a dirty light, casting long shadows across the cracks in the pavement. Nothing of the previous battle was visible there, because the veil had erased every trace. For the normal world, everything was still a forgotten and silent corner, with the distant murmur of the city pulsing like a foreign heart.

Sebastián remained standing, his breathing steady, while Virka settled at his side, vigilant, her red eyes tense, alert to any movement. Narka, in his compact form, waited motionless, without uttering a word, the presence of a guardian who knew when to yield to silence. It was then that Sebastián caught the sound of a vehicle approaching.

It was not magic, nor strange signals: only the trained hearing of a monster who forgets nothing.

The engine, tuned and deep.

The steady rhythm of the brakes,

the sure footsteps on the asphalt.

It did not take him long to recognize them.

—"They're coming," he said quietly, without alarm.

Virka growled, with a gesture of annoyance.

—"The human women again," she spat, almost amused.

Helena stepped out of the car with the calm of one who does not kneel before uncertainty. Her dark coat floated with the breeze, her face marked by experience and dignity. Selena followed, with the same cutting coldness as always, evaluating every inch of the overlook like a silent battlefield.

They stopped a few meters from Sebastián.

Helena inclined her head slightly, without forcing kindness.

—"I did not expect to find you still here," she said.

"But I am glad I don't have to chase your shadow across the whole city again."

Sebastián observed her, with the hard calm of one who does not feel guilty for existing.

—"I don't usually run," he replied, simple, without arrogance.

Virka gave a low snort, barely restrained.

Selena studied his stance, measuring every detail, not daring to interrupt.

Helena breathed deeply.

—"And so, have you already decided where you are going to stay?

Are you going to look for a refuge?"

Sebastián lowered his chin slightly, reflecting.

—"I do not intend to disappear," he said with brutal serenity.

"But I am not interested in throwing myself into this city's wars either.

I want a space for my own, nothing more."

Helena nodded slowly, understanding.

—"I can suggest some discreet places," she offered.

"Isolated, without cameras or curious neighbors.

Not to control you, but… so you don't end up becoming a spectacle."

Sebastián did not reply, he only listened.

Virka, on the other hand, snorted with savage disdain.

—"We don't need nests," she cut in harshly.

"We can sleep in the mud if necessary." Sebastián looked at her, without hardness, only with patience.

—"It is not about a nest," he said, grave.

"But about understanding the territory.

Knowing which streets you could protect

if one day you decide that something belongs to you."

Virka narrowed her eyes, a trembling glimmer—almost vulnerable—crossing her red pupil.

—"I don't want to belong to anything," she insisted.

"We are not human, Sebastián."

—"I know," he admitted, without losing his serenity.

"But there is no harm in knowing the world.

Not everything is violence.

We can… try new things.

Eat something.

Look.

And if you don't like it, we leave."

Virka held his gaze, filled with that lethal pride that defined her so much.

—"If I don't like it," she purred, her voice hoarse,

"I'll rip your throat out."

Sebastián sketched a half-smile.

—"That is also part of the deal," he said, unshaken.

Narka, with his heavy silence, approved with only a slight movement of his golden eye, without breaking his role as guardian.

Helena raised her hands slightly, like one offering truce.

—"I can send you the coordinates of those places," she proposed.

"Only so you have options."

Sebastián nodded.

—"Do it.

We'll see how habitable they are."

Helena relaxed her shoulders a little, and for the first time seemed less specter and more human.

—"Then, for now, I will not bother you further," she said, softly.

Selena inclined her head slightly, without adding anything, though her gaze remained fixed on Sebastián like a sharp needle.

The breeze slipped once more between them, dragging the dust and a dense silence that no one dared to break.

Helena and Selena returned to the vehicle, and as they started the engine, Virka snorted with a faint gesture of annoyance.

—"Do you really want to go for a walk?" she asked, her voice deep. Sebastián looked at the horizon, the afternoon breaking into reflections of metal and smoke.

—"Yes," he replied.

"After all this…

it does me no harm to remind you that the world also has other ways of beating."

Virka contemplated him, with a strange spark, and in the end, accepted with a resigned snort.

—"But don't expect me to like it," she warned.

Sebastián walked toward her, his hand barely brushing her cheek, with a hard softness.

—"I only ask that you look at it," he murmured.

Virka did not answer, but neither did she move away.

And so, with Narka accompanying them in his solid muteness, the three prepared to leave, leaving the overlook behind, while the city, down below, kept beating,

indifferent,

awaiting

what a monster and his pack

might one day do.

Helena had climbed into the driver's seat with a mechanical gesture, as if dragging the weariness of an entire century. She closed the door, breathed deeply, and started the engine, noticing the barely perceptible tremor in her fingers. Selena, at her side, kept her face unshaken, but her gray eyes remained fixed on the figure of Sebastián, motionless over the cracked asphalt of the overlook.

The vehicle started slowly, the vibration of the engine spreading through the ground like a rumor of escape. They advanced only a few meters, with the afternoon staining the city in a dirty orange, when Sebastián, standing, exhaled a breath so deep it almost seemed to drag all the twilight with it.

For an instant, he thought of letting them leave.

Letting Helena and Selena carry on with their prudence,

while he continued devouring the energy necessary to remain standing.

But his instinct—the same he had learned to obey more than his own words—reminded him of something:

Virka and Narka did not know this world.

They did not know how to move in it, did not know which streets would swallow their fierceness without turning against them.

If he was going to stay,

he needed someone he could trust—even if only for now—

to guide them.

It was only a second of decision,

a heartbeat.

His senses tightened like an impossible bow.

His hearing caught the steady pulse of the car's engine, the scrape of the wheels on the asphalt, the faint creak of the suspension as it turned at the first bend of the exit ramp. His sense of smell detected the mix of clean oil, worn leather, and Helena's subtle perfume.

His sight followed the line of dust,

the reflection of the sun on the windshield.

All in a single frame,

perfect.

And then, he propelled himself.

His body, trained to the extreme, burst across the distance in a single blink. His legs exploded in pure power, every fiber turned into a brutal spring that crossed the remaining meters in a heartbeat.

The speed was so savage that the wind cracked around him,

the friction burning his skin like embers,

the asphalt twisting beneath his boots.

For the normal world, that was impossible.

A man, without any mechanical support, moving at 500 kilometers per hour,

with the precision of a hawk

and the serenity of a monster.

The car had barely reached 30 km/h when Sebastián appeared in front of them, stopping with a dry skid that made the ground rumble. The engine of the car vibrated irregularly from the shockwave of the air breaking, and Helena flinched, betraying the calm of her mask.

Selena, against all odds, opened her eyes slightly, her gray pupil breaking for an instant in the purest astonishment she had ever allowed herself to show.

Sebastián was there,

as if he had emerged from nothing,

his breathing only slightly quickened,

his spiraled red eyes fixed on the windshield,

shattering in one stroke all the laws Helena and Selena had believed unmovable.

Helena turned off the engine with trembling hands, looking at him with a respect bordering on fear.

—"Sebastián?" she asked, her voice almost inaudible.

He approached the window, with the brutal serenity he always carried.

—"I want you to take Virka and Narka with you," he said, without preamble.

"Show them the place you offered.

Teach them the streets.

This world."

Selena took a second to process the phrase, her brow slightly furrowed.

—"You're not coming?" she asked. Sebastián shook his head calmly.

—"I have things to resolve here," he replied, simple, without giving further explanations.

"And I don't want to waste time."

Helena swallowed, still impressed by the way he had caught up with them.

—"Are you… sure about leaving them with us?"

Virka and Narka approached walking, calm, with the composure of predators who did not know fear. Virka stood beside Sebastián, with an almost annoyed gleam in her gaze.

—"I don't need guides," she protested, hoarse.

Sebastián looked at her directly, with the tempered hardness of one who does not ask for permission.

—"I trust that you will learn something new," he said.

"And that you'll remember it if one day it's needed to defend it."

Virka clenched her jaw, without losing her fierceness, but in the end she snorted, with an acceptance hard as stone.

—"Only this once," she growled.

"But I have no intention of playing at being civilized."

—"I don't expect you to play," Sebastián replied, with an almost kind glimmer.

"Only to look."

Narka remained silent, his golden eye steady, without intervening.

Helena nodded, turning the engine back on, still somewhat disconcerted.

—"Get in," she ordered, calmer now.

Virka turned to Sebastián one last time, with a low growl, almost possessive.

—"I will come back for you," she warned, her voice heavy with wild desire.

—"I know," he answered, with a chilling peace.

Narka followed her into the back seat with the calm of one who watches centuries pass.

Sebastián stepped back, letting the wind tousle his hair, and watched them leave,

taking with them a part of his own shadow,

while he prepared to hold his own monster,

there, alone,

on the edge of the world.

The car moved along the asphalt, the steady roar of the engine breaking the silence of the afternoon that was already beginning to fade. Inside, the atmosphere was tense, like a knife suspended in the air. Virka sat in the back seat, her body upright and alert, her red eyes fixed on the urban landscape that sped past the window. At her side, Narka kept his compact form, heavy and solid, without making a single sound.

In front, Helena drove with her usual serenity, though the pulse of her wrist betrayed her slightly. Selena, in the passenger seat, did not take her gaze off the rearview mirror, studying Virka and Narka with the same curiosity one would have for two caged predators.

Neither had spoken a word in the first ten minutes.

The air was heavy, dense, as if the vehicle itself knew it carried a fragile pact.

Finally, Virka, unable to endure the stillness, let out a low growl.

—"What are you after with all this, human?" she asked, her voice deep, barely restrained.

Helena did not turn her face, but her gaze hardened as it reflected in the mirror.

—"I want to understand him," she replied calmly.

"Sebastián.

He is not only an anomaly…

He is a possible miracle."

Virka arched a brow, full of disdain.

—"Miracle?

To me he is only a monster with a name."

Helena breathed deeply.

—"And yet, that monster may be the only way to heal me," she said, without trembling.

"My body no longer resists.

I don't care about studying his power if in the end it lets me live a little longer."

Virka clicked her tongue, with a fierce snort.

—"So all this isn't for him.

It's for you."

Helena did not deny it.

—"It's for me," she admitted, without shame.

"And also for this world.

If I can manage to understand him…

if I can offer him a refuge,

perhaps I can guide his strength toward a purpose that doesn't destroy everything in its path."

A thick silence filled the car, while the city lights began to turn on, flickering like broken pupils.

Virka looked again out the window, a wild glint crossing her eyes.

—"I don't need a home," she muttered.

"I don't need walls.

The open sky is enough."

Helena sighed, patient.

—"Perhaps you don't," she conceded.

"But Sebastián… someday he might.

And a stable place can remind him that not everything is built with blood."

Virka twisted her lips, about to spit out another retort, when she heard a voice that thundered directly in her mind, deep and grave like thunder.

—"It is not convenient for you to scorn a refuge either," said Narka, using the Qi channel to speak only to her, without Helena or Selena hearing it.

"If this world ends up rejecting us,

having a known territory

will give us an advantage."

Virka did not respond aloud, only tightened her jaw.

—"The world will reject us sooner or later," she thought.

"I am not interested in pleasing them."

—"It is not about pleasing," Narka continued, with his mineral patience.

"It is about strategy.

A place with good energy,

like the overlook,

or even better,

will allow Sebastián to cultivate

and keep his core sated."

Virka frowned, distracted from the conversation in the front.

—"And what if he runs out of energy?" she asked mentally.

"I will not let it devour him."

—"It won't," assured Narka.

"His Qi is so pure,

it can reconstruct and disintegrate damaged tissue

without causing the pain of conventional healing.

He could save Helena

if he so decides.

But we must not reveal how."

Virka lowered her gaze for a second, a strange spark igniting in her chest.

—"We will keep that secret," she accepted.

"I do not trust these women yet."

Narka only nodded, in silence.

In front, Helena glanced briefly back, without guessing the mute exchange that had taken place.

—"Do you have any preference?" she asked.

"Ruined buildings, industrial zones, perhaps semi-abandoned houses on the outskirts.

The city is full of cracks where no one asks questions." Virka watched her harshly.

—"I don't care," she said at last.

"But if the place smells of death,

I will not stay."

Helena understood without protest.

—"I will do what I can so it is not a rotten place," she promised.

The conversation died again, devoured by the sound of the engine, while the vehicle continued its course through the gray streets.

Virka closed her eyes for a moment, letting the rattling of the car rock her like a tired animal, and thought of Sebastián,

of his way of looking at the world

as if he could devour it

and rebuild it at the same time.

Perhaps a home,

in some rotten corner of the asphalt,

was not so useless

if it served to remind him

who he was

and to whom he belonged.

The car went deeper into the city like a stealthy animal, sliding through avenues where the buildings looked like broken bones in the sun. Traffic flowed with indifference, and people walked unaware that, inside that nondescript vehicle, traveled beings who could shatter their reality with a single gesture.

Virka sat in the back seat, her back straight, her gaze fixed on the rooftops that rose and died beyond the traffic lights. Her red pupils vibrated with every neon flash, every shadow, as if the world itself irritated her with its lack of instinct.

On her shoulder, Narka remained in his compact form, heavy and solemn, with his golden eye barely lit, observing everything through a mineral silence. Only Virka could hear him in the muffled voice that spoke to her at the back of her mind, connected by the pulse of Qi.

—"These places…" murmured Narka inside her head,

"do not smell of living strength."

Virka frowned.

—"Too… dead," she thought back.

"Like sealed caverns."

In front, Helena drove calmly, guiding them through an industrial corridor, brick buildings broken and sheet-metal roofs, interrupted by faded murals and rusty antennas.

—"They used to store corn here," she explained, without turning her face.

"No one has paid for surveillance in years.

You could settle here without problems." Selena, in the passenger seat, was checking the coordinates on a portable terminal.

—"Stable perimeter," she noted with a voice of stone.

"Municipal cameras disconnected.

Perfect for going unnoticed."

Virka leaned an elbow on the open window, letting the wind lick her dark hair.

—"Perfect for rotting," she spat with disdain.

"Nothing breathes here."

Helena arched a brow at her through the mirror.

—"Were you expecting a castle?"

Virka bared her fangs in a half-wild smile.

—"I expected to feel the world beating.

This is…

an unnamed tomb."

Narka intervened again, grave, through the thread of Qi.

—"She is right," he said, only for Virka.

"This place lacks flow.

It would be difficult for Sebastián to cultivate here.

Without vital breath, his core would only writhe."

Virka shrugged, a gesture that Selena interpreted as disdain.

—"It's no good," she spat into the air.

"Show us another."

Helena sighed, but did not argue.

She started the car again, turning through narrow streets where electric cables tangled like dark veins. The car advanced into a more peripheral zone, full of semi-abandoned houses, gardens devoured by weeds, and roofs barely resisting the passage of time.

—"Here," Helena said cautiously.

"No one asks anything.

It is a forgotten neighborhood.

You could go unnoticed for years."

Selena verified the camera signal, relentless.

—"Zero surveillance.

Municipal patrols every three days, at most."

Virka lowered the window, inhaled the rancid air that entered, and wrinkled her nose with an almost feline gesture.

—"It smells of fear," she purred, but without pleasure.

"Fear anchors death in the walls." Narka murmured again inside her mind:

—"This place at least has a thread of energy,

but it is still too contaminated.

It would not feed the core well.

It could serve for rest,

but not for growth."

Virka twisted her mouth in a gesture of annoyance.

—"We are not interested," she said, curt.

Helena closed her eyes for a moment, holding back frustration.

—"What are you looking for then?" she asked, with forced patience.

"Make it clear for me, if you can."

Virka lifted her chin, her red pupils fixed on her like blades.

—"The world.

We want a place where the world breathes strong.

Where life has not given up."

Helena arched a brow, confused.

—"What does that mean?"

Virka exchanged a glance with Narka, who remained motionless, but whispered only to her:

—"Explain halfway," he warned.

"Don't let her know entirely what we seek.

It's not wise to open our entrails."

Virka gave a slight nod.

—"It means," she said aloud,

"a place that is not dead.

That still has roots.

Streets with breath.

Not empty ruins."

Helena sighed, half-understanding.

—"That is… complicated," she replied.

"The city does not beat the same for everyone."

Virka snorted.

—"For Sebastián, the heartbeat is not optional.

He needs it."

Selena intervened, her voice like a blade of ice.

—"And if we don't find anything like that?"

Virka smiled, her fangs barely showing.

—"Then we will rebuild it," she threatened, softly. Helena swallowed.

—"Rebuild… how?"

Narka spoke again in Virka's mind, firm, to hold her tongue:

—"Do not say everything.

Not yet."

Virka obeyed, with a barely audible click of her tongue.

—"In whatever way we can," she said at last, ambiguous.

"Do not fear.

If we want to stay,

we will adapt."

Helena did not seem convinced, but did not press further.

—"We'll see a couple more places," she offered.

"Then you will decide."

Virka snorted with a fierce gesture, as the car started up again.

Through the glass, she watched the city spread beneath the sunset,

a living, dirty stain,

full of lights that did not know whether to protect or devour.

And though she would never admit it,

a spark in her chest ignited at the thought

of a place that could be hers

and Sebastián's,

a sanctuary where death itself

would fear to enter without permission.

The car followed its route through gray arteries, where the city beat with an artificial pulse, twisted cables and lampposts flickering like old eyes. Virka watched it all with the sharp gaze of a caged predator, barely restraining the urge to leap and tear through the monotony of that asphalt.

On her shoulder, Narka remained still, compact, but his golden eye gleamed with gravity, measuring every crossing, every crack in the walls, as if cataloging the world itself.

—"You are still too much of a beast to explain this," he spoke through the Qi channel, only for her.

"Humans do not understand roots or flows of energy.

If you want them to help you,

you must translate."

Virka frowned, with a flash of annoyance.

—"Translate what?

They know nothing.

Why should I lower my words?" Narka did not blink, his mental voice as serene as a controlled thunder.

—"It is not lowering, it is being clear.

Tell them you seek a place away from people,

but with access to the city if necessary.

With trees, grass, clean water,

and large enough to build something of your own.

If it also has mountains,

or a small lake,

better.

Those places keep the energy alive

without having to destroy nature."

Virka sighed, weary, but acknowledged the advice was reasonable.

—"And the energy?

Do I not tell them that?"

—"No," Narka growled, deep.

"That belongs to our secret.

Let them know only the shape,

not the heartbeat we seek."

Virka twisted her expression into a crooked, savage smile, and finally spoke aloud:

—"Helena," she said, curt.

"Listen."

Helena looked at her through the mirror, with a slight start, already accustomed to her fierce tone.

—"Tell me."

Virka drew a deep breath, forcing herself to moderate her words:

—"What we need…

is land.

Not a rotten building.

A place away from people,

but not so far that we cannot return when we wish.

That has trees, grass,

running clean water,

and enough space to raise something of our own.

Mountains or a small lake,

better still."

Helena absorbed the description, processing every detail.

—"That is not a house," she dared to say.

"It is almost a sanctuary."

Virka snorted, without mocking.

—"Call it what you want.

For us,

it is future." Selena, who had not wasted a second checking on her portable terminal, raised her voice with her surgical tone.

—"There are options," she reported.

"Some in semi-rural zones near the city,

others farther away,

but the one that best fits everything you describe

is about 700 kilometers from here,

already entering rural territory,

outside the urban sprawl."

Virka blinked with a strange gleam.

—"That far?"

Selena did not alter her expression.

—"It is not an absurd distance,

but it is not a Sunday walk either," she explained coldly.

"You could be near a small village,

but nothing that would disturb your…

ritual."

Helena nodded with a sigh.

—"It would not be a common dwelling.

But land in your name.

There is no constant state surveillance,

and you could do whatever you wanted there

without curious neighbors."

Virka lowered her gaze for a moment, processing.

—"Seven hundred kilometers…

it could work," she thought to herself.

Narka intervened again in her mind, patient, grave:

—"It is perfect,

if the land still breathes there.

Cultivating near lakes,

rivers,

or mountains

will help Sebastián's core stabilize,

without stealing life from the environment.

And thus he will be able to rebuild

if necessary."

Virka sharpened her gaze, her pupil sparking with something almost like excitement.

—"We will keep it secret,

Narka.

They do not need to know that his power

can return rotten flesh

to freshness." —"Exactly," Narka confirmed, solemn.

"Let them only know the form,

not the root."

Helena drove more smoothly, as if the tension in the air had eased a little.

—"Then…" she said, measuring her voice,

"shall we go see that land?"

Virka nodded roughly, without softening her fierceness.

—"Go.

I want to see it with my own eyes."

Selena typed something into her terminal and, unshaken, dictated the route:

—"If we leave now,

we can arrive with light still in the sky."

Helena gripped the wheel, confirming the direction, and pressed the accelerator with a faint shiver.

The car left behind the peeling neighborhoods, heading toward the roads that bordered the city,

while the metropolis blurred in the rearview mirror like a defeated animal,

and the horizon—with mountains jagged in the distance—

opened like a bloody and new promise.

Virka let the wind from the window strike her face,

closing her eyes for a second,

imagining,

for an instant,

a place where Sebastián could grow again

without the whole world trying to break him.

The afternoon was already dying when the car began to climb the rural road. The sun dragged itself between the mountains, casting shreds of red light that seemed to set the horizon on fire, and the sky tensed with heavy, gray clouds, as if undecided between night and rain.

Helena gripped the wheel tighter when the asphalt ended, giving way to rough gravel. They advanced a few meters, jolted by the bumps, until the vehicle stopped in a clearing where the vegetation opened like a deep wound.

Ahead stretched a vast terrain, covered in tall grasslands, dotted with scattered oaks and pines. Beyond, a small lake reflected the last broken fragments of the sunset, and in the distance, mountains with dark slopes rose like mute guardians. The air was different there: dense, fresh, full of the sounds of insects and birds, without the acidic stench of the city.

Virka did not wait for anyone to speak. She opened the door and descended with an almost feline movement, her silhouette projected like a specter upon the cracked earth. Narka settled on her shoulder, heavy and solemn, his golden eye shining with a mineral gleam.

Helena watched them go with tension etched into every muscle of her face.

—"Let them be," she murmured to Selena.

"It's their way of understanding things."

Selena only nodded, not taking her gaze off Virka, as if cataloging her with every step.

Virka advanced slowly, letting her boots crush the tall grass. She inhaled the scent of living earth, deep, with the pulse of the lake striking her nostrils like a slow drum. Her red pupils vibrated, absorbing every detail: the whisper of insects, the grave cadence of an owl in the distance, the wind moving the leaves like an ancestral murmur.

—"This…" she murmured to herself,

"beats."

Narka shifted on her shoulder, transmitting thoughts with the mute voice of Qi:

—"It is good," he said, grave.

"The energy here is not rotten.

It could sustain Sebastián's core

without devouring him."

Virka nodded with a wild gleam in her eyes.

—"And without stealing life from the place," she thought.

"We could build

without killing it."

Narka remained silent for a second, evaluating the vibrations of the earth.

—"The flow is stable," he confirmed.

"Clean water, strong roots,

mountains that can serve as a natural wall

if one day it must be defended.

It is not perfect,

but it can be carved."

Virka walked to the edge of the lake. The water was still, reflecting the reddish sky and the elongated shadows of the trees, like a fractured mirror. She dipped a finger into the water, felt the pleasant cold biting her skin, and smiled with satisfaction.

—"It will do," she thought.

"It could be his lair.

It could be… our place."

Behind her, Helena stepped out of the car, with the caution of one who does not want to wake a predator. She remained at the edge of the clearing, her hands relaxed, though her tension still lived in her back.

—"Well?" she asked, with a measured voice.

Virka turned, her dark hair sticking to her face in the wind.

—"It works," she said, curt.

"It won't suffocate us."

Helena let out a sigh she hadn't even realized she was holding.

—"It is land," she explained cautiously.

"It could be bought or registered under a false name,

no one would ask much here."

Virka raised a brow, almost amused.

—"Do you think I care about paperwork?"

Helena held her gaze with the calm of someone who had bargained with worse monsters than bureaucracy.

—"No," she admitted.

"But it benefits us that no one comes to claim it later."

Selena stepped out as well, the terminal still in her hand, studying the data with surgical precision.

—"The lake has a constant flow," she noted.

"No industries nearby.

No stable neighbors within ten kilometers.

It is… acceptable."

Virka sketched a broken smile, full of fierceness.

—"Acceptable," she repeated, testing the word as if chewing metal.

"It's enough for me."

Narka released a mental pulse, only for Virka:

—"He could heal here.

He could rebuild

without dragging his hunger into the rest of the world.

This place does not fear to beat."

Virka breathed deeply, letting the scent of grass and wet earth fill her lungs, and nodded slightly, like a beast accepting territory after smelling it.

Helena and Selena watched them from a distance, aware that they were not part of that deep, almost instinctive decision that was being forged.

Night began to cover everything with a dark blue mantle, and the first stars lit up over the lake, trembling like living embers. Virka felt that, for a second, the earth itself gave them permission to remain. And though she did not say it aloud,

she knew that Sebastián,

if he set foot on that soil,

could be born again

without the whole world trying to consume him once more.

_____________________________________________

END OF CHAPTER 19