On the Path of Eternal Strength.

The night had not abandoned him.

Not really.

Although the sky was beginning to pale on the horizon, Sebastián was still there,

sitting in the center of the clearing,

with his legs crossed over the earth that was no longer foreign to him.

Since everyone had withdrawn, he had not moved.

Qi had flowed through his body like an unstoppable current,

and his core had swallowed it all:

blades of loose energy,

fragments of the air,

residual echoes of the world.

Nothing remained pure when touching him.

Nothing survived his passage without being reconstructed.

His eyes opened slowly,

reddish, burning,

with the spiral of the Void turning slowly toward the black abyss of his pupil.

The sun barely caressed the mountain peaks when Virka approached,

barefoot, silent,

her hair tangled by the breeze.

—You didn't sleep —she murmured, more as a certainty than a question.

Sebastián did not answer.

His breathing was steady,

but the air around him still trembled as if something invisible was beating strongly.

—The earth is no longer the same —he finally said—.

It recognizes me.

Virka observed him in silence.

There was no doubt in her gaze. Only a wild, proud intensity.

Narka emerged from the lake a few meters away, shrinking into his smallest form, climbing onto Virka's shoulder like a protective spirit.

—Only a few hours have passed —he growled in a dry voice—

and the land already responds to the Void.

This…

this will grow.

Sebastián stood up.

His body seemed carved from something denser than flesh. It was muscle, yes.

But also contained pressure.

The reflection of something that was not yet complete… but inevitable.

That was when he felt it.

—They're coming —he said, without looking.

In the distance, the hum of the engine cut through the air,

and a few minutes later, the black vehicle descended along the dirt road, with the precision of a sharpened blade.

The clock read 08:03 a.m.

The exact hour.

Helena stepped out first.

Dark suit, hair tied back, gaze without concessions.

Selena descended after her, like a shadow dressed in exactitude.

Neither of them showed surprise at seeing Sebastián already standing,

waiting for them with a calm face and a straight back.

—We are ready —said Helena.

—And the rest? —asked Sebastián.

Selena extended a thin tablet.

But she did not speak.

Instead, it was Helena who explained:

—The construction has already begun.

You will have your house… just as you asked.

Her eyes drifted toward the barren land,

where the first markings had been carved into the earth:

circles of energy, channeling lines,

spaces outlined with precision.

—It will not be an ordinary mansion —Helena continued—.

It would make no sense to build a cage for a storm.

The structure will be wide,

three staggered levels,

open spaces that breathe with the environment.

Stone, high-resistance synthetic wood, internal reinforcements molded in layers.

Not to contain you.

But so as not to break with you.

—And the space for me? —intervened Virka, without preamble. Helena did not hesitate.

—Your room is connected to his.

No doors between you, but with enough distance if you require it.

Internal reinforcements for your movements… and your fangs.

Narka growled softly.

—And the water?

—The lake will be yours —Helena confirmed—.

The water will come from the mountain. Pure. Without chemicals.

Filtered only by pressure and gravity.

Sebastián observed everything without moving.

Barely a contraction at the corner of his lip.

His acceptance was not verbal.

But it was felt.

Selena spoke then.

—The training hall will be ready in five days.

The foundations are already poured.

The cultivation space was dug last night.

It will have complete isolation.

—And it will be hidden —added Helena—.

It cannot be scanned or detected from satellite or local network.

It will be your territory.

And only yours.

Virka crossed her arms.

—That I like better.

Sebastián stepped forward.

—I don't want servants.

Nor employees.

Nor traces of city.

Helena nodded.

—Only assembly technicians.

All mute and with direct orders to withdraw once finished.

No recordings.

No open connections.

Silence settled for a moment among the five.

It was not distrust.

It was certainty.

They were building a nucleus.

A sanctuary.

A battlefield.All in one.

And every brick, every wall, every thread of water,

would carry the echo of the Void.

Sebastián turned without saying anything.

He did not need to look further.

The foundations were laid, but his true temple was rising elsewhere.

Virka followed him without hesitation. Narka descended from the edge of the water and, without a word, perched upon his shoulder.

They walked beyond the immediate boundary of the land.

And then, the transition occurred.

No flash.

No tremor.

The visible world was replaced by its silent reflection.

The same place.

No machines.

No men.

No noise.

Only a broken sky, like blackened glass suspended over the earth.

Sebastián did not stop walking.

He reached the central clearing, now emptied of all that was human, and closed his eyes for a few seconds.

His Qi roared beneath the skin, without violence, only contained tension.

He activated it.

He did not seek complexity.

His core expelled the energy in the form of precise lines, red, heavy.

He laid it upon the ground and forced it to obey.

A straight wall emerged, without cracks or adornments.

At one side, he raised a solid column.

Then another, perpendicular, forming a closed angle.

In front of him, he projected a spear. He held it for a moment.

He felt the weight. It was real. It was made of his will,

not of theory, not of symbols.

It was a tool.

He hurled it against the structure.

The wall absorbed it before breaking.

It did not explode. It did not tremble.

It only vanished, digested by the Void.

—It works —said Narka. His voice resounded low, firm—.

Your energy no longer only builds.

It consumes.

And transforms. Sebastián did not respond.

He formed another spear, thinner.

Then a trap: a circular ring on the ground, made to absorb living energy.

The surface of that ring rippled, as if waiting for a false step to close.

At his side, Virka watched without moving.

Her eyes followed each shape, each line.

She understood what this was: not training.

A language.

Sebastián kept forming.

Slanted walls.

Defensive spikes.

Hollowed valleys to entrap.

There was no art. Only meaning.

Each structure he raised was a word.

And all together were beginning to form a language.

The Void was no longer an idea.

It was a territory.

And he was claiming it.

When he finished, he unraveled it all with a single thought.

The Qi returned to him, filtered by his core.

Denser. Sharper.

More his.

—This place will serve —he said at last.

Narka nodded.

There was no need to add more.

They had tested it.

And it worked.

Sebastián turned to leave.

The reflection of the world did not resist.

It did not need to.

Because now it knew… to whom Sebastián belonged.

He did not take long to move away from the center.

The reflected land stretched beyond the clearing, beyond the space where his mansion would rise. The vegetation began to close in, the trees bending as if the weight of the air forced them. It was not physical darkness, it was density. As if that world were waiting for something to happen.

Virka walked a few steps ahead, her body relaxed, but her gaze sharp. Each branch that cracked under her feet was not clumsiness: it was warning.

She did not hunt for hunger. She hunted because her blood stirred at the scent of living prey. At one side, Narka left Sebastián's shoulder and dropped to the ground. In seconds, his body expanded. It was not a slow transformation. It was a reminder.

His bones lengthened. Flesh folded over itself. Scales emerged, hard, dark, rough. His neck rose like a war banner. His tail tore into the earth.

In his true form, he measured more than six meters. His legs were claws. His eyes, motionless wells. His breathing was slow. Precise. He did not smell. He calculated.

—There is life deeper inside —he said with a deep voice—.

Chaotic. Wounded. Hostile.

Sebastián needed nothing more.

They walked.

The terrain grew irregular. Large rocks, dense moss, trees growing crossed like deformed arms.

And then, they heard the first sound.

Not a roar.

A lament.

A creature crawled among the bushes. It was large, the size of an adult bear, but its body seemed composed of twisted segments of other animals. Its skin was cracked, but beneath pulsed a blue glow that leaked like liquid poison.

It had two eyes… and a third empty socket that kept closing and opening as if it were breathing.

It did not attack upon seeing them. It folded onto itself. As if it awaited death.

Virka did not think. She vanished in a blink and reappeared atop the creature. Her knee drove into its back. Her claws sank into its side.

The beast screamed, but the sound was cut short when Sebastián lifted his hand and created a circular Qi trap.

He placed it beneath the creature's body and, as it closed, it absorbed part of its energy, leaving the animal completely motionless, as if drained.

It did not die. It still breathed. But it was no longer dangerous.

—This was not a test —said Sebastián—. Just a fragment.

—The real ones are near —Narka replied.

And then, they appeared.

Four figures emerged from the forest, surrounding them with stealth. They were not the same. Each had a different design: one had claws with more bone than flesh; another, a neck that branched in three directions; the third seemed to be part of the ground itself, as if its skin had fused with the earth.

Only the fourth had eyes that seemed… to see.

They were not ordinary beasts. They were remnants of something else.

Degenerated forms that had once been pure.

They did not hesitate. They attacked.

Virka leapt forward, hurling herself toward the one with multiple necks. In midair, she spun on her axis and struck it with a kick that shattered one of its spines. It fell like a broken root.

Narka slid like a living shadow, biting the leg of the largest creature and flinging it against a tree that could not withstand the impact.

Sebastián stood firm. The creature fused with the ground tried to attack him from below, launching a spiral of sharpened roots.

He extended his palm.

A wall rose half a meter from his body.

Made of reddish Qi, solid.

The roots struck… and vanished upon contact.

They were not repelled.

They were erased.

—Dao of the Void —he murmured—. It devours. It does not fight.

He leapt. Landed on the beast's back and channeled his Qi directly into the enemy's body.

The creature arched, but it could not scream.

Sebastián's energy entered like blades that did not cut flesh, but essence.

Within seconds, its body turned to dust.

Not by fire.

Not by impact.

By absolute negation.

The last creature tried to flee.

Sebastián raised a spear of energy.

He did not throw it.

He let it float.

And at the right moment, he closed his fist.

The spear disappeared.

But an instant later, it emerged inside the creature's chest.

From the inside out.

It exploded.

Blood. Fragments. Silence.ChatGPT dijo:

Only Virka panted, her eyes dilated, her body trembling with contained excitement.

—We hunted well —she said without looking at anyone.

Narka approached, his form still impassive, his scales splattered with remains.

—Now you are hunting as you should.

Sebastián did not respond.

He walked toward the body that had released the most energy.

He touched it with the tips of his fingers.

And the remaining Qi was absorbed.

Not out of hunger.

But because the Void allowed nothing to be wasted.

They did not stop.

The terrain kept changing the further they advanced.

The trees seemed less natural, as if they had not grown… but had remembered what a tree was and then slowly deformed into something else.

The air was denser. Charged not with heat or humidity, but with intention.

Here did not dwell fragments nor creatures twisted by accident.

Here, the hunt was true.

The ground rumbled, faintly.

—It comes from the east —announced Narka—. It is large.

The sound grew.

A heavy trot. A dry gallop.

And then, it emerged.

A bull.

Black as ash, but with incandescent lines running across its back.

From its spine burst constant flames, as if a volcano breathed beneath its skin.

It did not have two horns, but four: branched, cracked, wrapped in liquid fire.

Its eyes were orange wells.

Each step left a burning fissure beneath its hooves.

It stopped about twenty meters from them.

It snorted.

The earth cracked at its feet.

—Level 9 —said Narka with absolute calm—.

But without technique. Only brute strength and pure fire.

Virka smiled. Not out of amusement, but out of recognition. —It is beautiful.

Sebastián stepped forward.

The bull charged without hesitation.

It was not fast. It was inevitable.

A wall of muscle and heat that would have pulverized everything… if not for what it found ahead.

Sebastián raised a structure.

Not a wall.

A sharpened pillar, made of his Qi.

The Void did not block the charge.

It swallowed it.

When the bull struck, the fire went out.

The horns clashed against an energy that emitted no resistance, but absorbed everything.

The animal's body stopped cold.

One second.

Two.

Then it was hurled backward, as if reality itself rejected it.

It rose again. Damaged, but not defeated.

It spat fire from its nostrils.

Then gathered it in its throat… and unleashed a living blaze.

Virka leapt without waiting. She cut through the tongue of fire without slowing, her body wrapped in her own savage energy.

Her claws sank into the bull's side.

The impact made it stagger.

Narka slid along the ground, spinning in a spiral, and with his tail he caught one of the beast's hind legs, immobilizing it.

The bull screamed.

Sebastián appeared before it in a single step.

He did not attack with technique.

He only placed both hands upon the animal's chest… and let his Qi flow.

The fire went out.

The horns glowed for an instant… and shattered like frozen ash.

The final roar was shorter than the silence that followed. The body collapsed.

Not broken.

Empty.

Sebastián absorbed the remaining energy without uttering a word.

—

They did not have to wait long.

Another presence was approaching.

Lighter.

Faster.

Through the trees, a figure moved like lightning.

A feline.

A panther, perhaps.

But its body was longer, more fluid.

And its fur emitted flashes like cracked crystal.

Each time it stopped, a spark ran along its back.

—Electricity —murmured Virka—.

And real speed.

—Level 8 —said Narka—. But with sharp elemental control. If it ignites fully, it can alter the environment.

The panther stopped about ten meters away.

Crouched.

Its paws did not touch the ground.

They floated, barely.

Then, it vanished.

Only a hum.

Sebastián felt the pressure shift and turned his torso.

The creature appeared at his back, claws forward.

But his Qi was already there.

A minimal trap.

A square seal that collapsed over the creature upon contact.

It did not capture it.

It drained it.

The panther shrieked, its body convulsed.

It tried to escape, but the very air was invisible blades cutting away its mobility. Virka appeared in front and struck it in the stomach.

The body folded.

It fell without a sound.

Narka did not approach.

—Efficiency —he said simply—.

That is what separates slaughter from hunting.

Sebastián did not respond.

He only closed his fist.

The Qi trap disintegrated, and with it, the last remnants of the feline's energy.

—

The third creature appeared without a sound.

A bird.

Giant.

Its wings were as long as the branches of a dead tree.

Its plumage seemed made of hardened smoke.

And where its eyes should have been, spheres of white ice glowed.

It floated without moving its wings.

Each time it beat the air, the environment dropped in temperature.

—Wind and frost —announced Narka—.

Not physical strength.

Environmental manipulation.

—Level 9, then —said Sebastián.

The bird screeched.

And with that screech, the air vibrated like a wave of blades.

Virka advanced first, but the wind pushed her aside.

Narka resisted, crouched.

Sebastián raised a column.

Not to defend himself.

But to channel.

The Qi absorbed the cold from the environment.

Then he concentrated it.

And returned it in a straight line.

It was not fire.

It was hardened Void. The line touched the bird on one of its wings.

It decomposed.

As if it had never been solid.

It fell.

Virka caught it in the air.

She slammed it against the ground.

No scream.

No tremor.

Only breaking bone, feathers shattering like glass.

And at the end, a dry crack.

The body vanished like loose dust.

Sebastián turned to Narka.

—This plane is full.

—Because you are filling it —Narka replied—.

Now you hunt… and the world begins to respond.

Silence imposed itself again.

No presences remained.

Only the latent echo of extinguished energies,

and the invisible pressure of the plane that seemed to breathe in its own way.

Sebastián walked among the remains.

There were no bodies.

Only marks on the earth:

black fissures, shards of frost, dry ashes.

—These things… are not normal —he murmured, without expecting an answer.

Virka moved at his side, still in a state of alert.

Not from fear.

From instinct.

—They have something different —she added—. It is not Qi. It is not soul force.

But it feels… alive.

Narka lowered his head. His draconic form seemed less rigid now.

He was not relaxed.

Only more willing to speak.

—What you feel —he said— is not Qi.

It is mana.

The word hung between the three.

Not for what it meant,

but because it sounded… foreign. —Mana —repeated Sebastián—. I had not heard it named in this world.

—Because it is not born here —answered Narka—.

Not from you.

Not from your path.

Not even from this face of the world.

Sebastián did not move.

He only listened.

—Mana is another form of energy —Narka continued—.

It flows in the invisible like Qi,

but it does not seek harmony.

It does not strengthen.

It does not shape.

Mana transforms.

It distorts.

—Magic —said Virka, with a mixture of disdain and curiosity.

—Yes —Narka affirmed—. But not as humans understand it.

True magic is a structured violation of order.

Mana is the base that allows it.

That is why these creatures seem twisted…

because they follow no law you know.

Not of this world.

Not of yours.

Sebastián crossed his arms.

—Then, are they from another plane?

Narka tilted his neck.

—Some, yes.

Others… are residues.

Fragments of ancient mistakes.

Creatures that were touched by mana and became trapped here.

Where they cannot die,

but neither can they return.

—And why does this place keep them? —asked Virka—.

Shouldn't they disappear if no one feeds them?

—Perhaps it does so out of curiosity.

Or out of vengeance.

—Narka turned his neck toward the colorless sky—.

Or perhaps this plane also wants to remember.

There was a pause. The air was not cold, but it carried the weight of something that had seen too much.

—And us? —asked Sebastián, staring at the ground cracked by their battles—.

Are we awakening it?

—No —said Narka—.

You are only making it… aware of you.

Virka watched him.

There was pride in her gaze.

But also a warning.

—If this world begins to notice your power —she whispered—,

what happens if it starts to respond?

Sebastián did not answer.

He only walked toward a clearing where the sky split into dark lines,

and the shadows stretched like thin hands.

There he sat.

Crossed his legs.

And began to breathe.

Not to rest.

Not to meditate.

But to listen.

Because the Void also listens.

Sebastián remained still.

Seated upon the fractured earth,

with closed eyes

and Qi within him flowing like a river without banks.

He did not meditate for spiritual pursuit.

Nor out of need for peace.

He was only… listening.

Not with his ears.

With energy.

With the core.

Around him, the world seemed the same.

The same static reflection of the clearing.

The same dense air, without wind.

The same cracked sky that neither shone nor darkened.

But something had changed. The Qi structures he had left behind—walls, pillars, traps—

were not… as before.

A pillar he remembered raising straight now stood twisted,

as if it had been observed from another angle

and then imitated…

failing in logic.

A circular trap had a new crack.

Not from damage.

But from intervention.

They were not mistakes.

They were gestures.

As if the plane were trying to replicate what it did not understand.

Sebastián opened his eyes.

The shadow of a nearby tree stretched farther than it should.

And it was not because of light.

There was no light in this sky.

Only the awareness of something that, perhaps,

was trying to learn to be a shadow again.

Narka approached, leaving shallow furrows in the earth.

—The plane… moves —he said.

—There is no wind —replied Sebastián.

—No. There is not.

And yet, look at the dust.

Sebastián followed with his gaze the curve of suspended motes.

They swirled.

Slowly.

As if something invisible exhaled from below.

—This place was not alive when we arrived —Narka added—.

Now… it breathes.

Not like an animal.

Like something… beginning to know it exists.

Behind them, Virka remained alert.

Her pupils dilated.

Her skin faintly bristling. —I feel gazes —she murmured—.

Not from enemies.

From something without form.

But not empty.

Then, they saw it.

A figure rose in the distance.

It did not run.

It did not fly.

It did not roar.

It was quadrupedal, like a deer.

But its neck was too long.

Its skin seemed made of dead roots and scales.

And its eyes… were not where they should be.

One on its forehead.

Another on its throat.

It looked at them.

It did not advance.

It only existed, for a few seconds,

and then turned toward the forest,

carrying with it something that was not footsteps.

It was… an echo.

—It did not come to fight —said Sebastián.

—It came to see —answered Narka—.

And what it saw… will leave with it.

Sebastián stood.

The ground beneath his feet trembled.

But not as before a beast.

It was as if the plane recognized him.

Not as master.

Not as invader.

But as anomaly.

—What does this mean? —asked Virka.

Narka took his time to answer.

—It means that this place…

is no longer neutral. For the first time,

the reflected world has memory.

And you, Sebastián…

already live within it.

The silence did not last long.

Virka walked ahead of them, eyes narrowed, senses open.

Her steps were neither stealthy nor noisy: they were precise.

As if every muscle knew what to do before receiving the order.

—I want another one —she said, without looking back.

—What kind? —asked Narka.

—Any.

A living one.

Whole.

Not burned… nor reduced to dust.

Sebastián said nothing.

He only watched her.

—For hunger? —asked Narka—. Or for curiosity.

—Both —she said—.

I want to taste how they feel inside.

How different their flavor is.

The path led them to a deeper clearing.

There, the trees were thick, with bark like scabs,

and roots like sleeping serpents.

A creature moved among them.

Small, but fast.

It had the shape of a boar, but its skin was crystalline.

It reflected the light that did not exist,

and left a trail of violet sparks as it ran.

Its eyes had no pupils.

And each time it snorted, blue vapor puffed from its tusks.

Virka did not wait.

She leapt among the trees, cutting through branches, slicing leaves with her body.

The boar squealed and tried to flee.

But it was too late.

She caught it with a slash of her claws.

Brought it down.

And before the animal could make another sound,

she snapped its neck with a dry twist. The creature still trembled.

Virka crouched over it.

She opened its side with her claws.

The inside was warm, but not bloody.

The flesh had a violet hue, and a subtle energy rose in slow spirals.

Narka approached.

—It is still alive —he said.

—Perfect.

Virka sank her teeth in.

Not with desperation.

With precision.

She tore away a piece of steaming flesh and chewed it.

It was not blood that spilled from her mouth.

It was a denser substance.

Almost liquid, yet luminous.

As if the mana tried to escape her body upon contact.

Sebastián watched her, without judgment.

Only recording.

—Does it taste different? —he asked.

Virka closed her eyes.

Her breathing grew deeper.

—Yes.

It tastes like something… unfinished.

As if this flesh does not know whether it wants to nourish or poison.

—And yet you eat —said Narka.

Virka looked at him with a half-stained smile.

—That makes it more interesting.

She kept eating.

Each piece seemed to ignite her more.

Not with pleasure.

With sensation.

After the third piece, she stopped.

Not because she was satisfied.

But because something… changed. Her pupils contracted.

Her nails trembled.

And a line of dark vapor escaped from the corners of her lips.

Sebastián stepped closer.

—Do you feel ill?

She shook her head.

—No.

But this… does not stay still.

It is not like the flesh of any beast.

This… tries to be something more.

As if it had memory.

Narka exhaled slowly.

—Mana is unstable.

It was not made to feed physical bodies.

But to be used, molded, contained.

You are forcing it to enter you… and it does not know what to do with you.

Virka spat out a shard of bone.

—Then let it learn.

Because it will not be the last.

Sebastián turned.

The clearing remained still.

But the ground, once again, seemed to be watching them.

And the roots, though motionless, had a different order…

as if they had arranged themselves for a better view.

The body of the magical boar lay open,

still warm.

Its violet flesh exhaled dense vapor,

and the air around it seemed… slower,

as if time itself avoided drawing too close.

Virka licked her lips.

Not out of gluttony.

Out of instinct.

Something inside her was not satisfied.

—Something is missing —she said.

Sebastián watched from the shadow, arms crossed.

Narka tilted his neck. —Search behind the sternum —he instructed, toneless.

There it should be.

Virka sank her claws into the animal's chest.

She opened it in a single pull, as if tearing old bark.

The inner cavity was black, damp, hot.

And there, embedded in throbbing fibers… it shone.

A core.

Not a gem.

Not a crystal.

It was a formless orb, as if fire, electricity, and hunger had tried to condense into a single object.

It pulsed.

Not with light…

with will.

Virka took it with her bare hand.

Her skin crackled at the contact.

—Is this what gives them form?

—No —said Narka—.

This is what gives them permanence.

Without a core, they are only energy without direction.

Virka sniffed it.

Her pupils contracted.

And without asking for counsel, without meditating, without fear…

she brought it to her mouth.

Sebastián did not intervene.

The crunch was dry.

The core did not explode.

It dissolved.

As soon as it touched her throat,

Virka's body arched.

Not from pain.

But from adaptation.

A brutal heat coursed through her chest.

Her stomach.

Her ribs.

And then… her heart. For an instant,

it did not beat.

Then it did again.

Strong.

Uneven.

—What did you do? —asked Sebastián.

Virka panted.

Her fangs seemed longer.

Her skin glistened with dark sweat.

—I don't know… but I feel it here.

She placed her hand on her chest.

Her beast-human heart pounded faster,

but it was not only speed.

It was density.

Each beat pushed something new into her blood.

It was not Qi.

It was not mana.

It was a friction between both.

An intent that did not know whether it wanted to fuse with her

or destroy her from within.

Narka watched her in silence.

—That core was not only a container.

It was a seed.

And you left it in fertile ground.

—Will it kill me?

—No —he answered—.

But neither will it obey you.

Virka smiled with stained lips.

—Then… let it try.

From her back, a dark vapor rose.

Not yet energy.

Not yet aura.

But an omen.

The reflected plane trembled, faintly.

As if something else had noticed.

As if… a balance had been broken.

Sebastián lifted his gaze. Among the trees,

a new presence was rising.

It did not run.

It did not roar.

It only walked.

But with each step, the world trembled.

The trees shuddered.

Not from wind.

From fear.

Virka turned first. Her instinct warned her before her eyes did.

Narka lifted his head. His body tensed, but he did not move.

The creature emerged from the shadows as if it had devoured them from within.

It was immense.

Not by volume, but by density.

A brutal weight in every step, as if the world itself had to yield for it to keep existing.

It had a feline form, yet distorted.

A body like a saber-toothed tiger,

but its fur was a mixture of dimmed scales and throbbing muscle,

and its fangs were not only in its mouth:

they grew from its cheeks, descended along its chest, and some curved back toward its spine.

Its paws bore no claws.

They carried blades of charred bone.

And when it exhaled, no breath came forth,

but a kind of black mist streaked with green, like the reflection of a poisoned swamp.

—That is not just a beast —said Virka.

—It is a stable deformation —answered Narka—.

Its mana core must be fully adapted.

It no longer needs a body.

It keeps one out of choice.

The creature looked at them.

Three eyes.

One in the center of its skull.

Two at the sides, like open fissures with liquid pupils.

It crouched to charge.

But Sebastián stepped forward.

His reddish eyes gleamed from iris to the black abyss of his pupil.

—This one is mine —he said. Virka looked at him, unmoving.

—Are you sure?

—Yes.

My body is not broken yet.

And that… must change.

Narka did not speak.

He only nodded, respectful.

He knew what it meant.

He knew what was coming.

The creature roared.

The reflected plane seemed to tremble,

as if even its distorted laws had to recoil before that sound.

Sebastián ran.

He did not use Qi.

He did not summon techniques.

Only pure muscle.

Pure contained collapse.

His fist struck the monster's side,

and the sound was like a stone bell being split.

The impact dragged it half a meter,

but did not stop it.

The beast turned.

Its blades descended like scythes.

Sebastián dodged one, two…

the third grazed his shoulder and tore skin and muscle,

leaving a line of blood thick as living ink.

He did not stop.

He drove his knee into the creature's stomach,

and then his elbow into its lower jaw.

The monstrous tiger spun on itself and hurled him against a tree.

Sebastián rebounded.

Landed on his feet.

But spat blood.

—Good… —he said, while his muscles quivered—.

This body… still holds.

He charged again. Each blow now multiplied the pressure on his joints.

His bones cracked.

His skin tore.

But his will rose higher.

The style of the Art of the End of the Body was not refined.

It was explosive, destructive, suicidal.

Every strike of Sebastián was not a technique.

It was a negation.

A voiceless scream that said: "break, break, break."

The creature tried to escape.

But Sebastián dragged it by one arm.

Slammed it against the ground.

Ripped out a fang with his bare hands.

The feline screamed.

It tried to sink into the plane to flee through mana.

Too late.

Sebastián gathered all his strength into one final movement.

His feet sank five centimeters into the earth.

His back cracked.

And with a brutal twist,

he struck with both open fists at the base of the monster's neck.

The impact was so ferocious it split the creature in two,

from the inside out.

Not by energy.

Not by Qi.

But by absolute force at the edge of the impossible.

The creature fell.

It did not die screaming.

It died in silence.

As if the plane itself had erased it.

Sebastián dropped to his knees.

His arms trembled.

His body bled from pores and cuts.

But his face… smiled.

He had taken another step forward.

Not through enlightenment.

But through destruction. The Void, from his core, pulsed with satisfaction.

And his Art of the End of the Body…

already had form.

The body still throbbed, though it no longer had life.

Its magical entrails resisted dispersal,

as if something inside the creature refused to accept death.

But the earth had already marked it as a corpse.

Sebastián stood.

His knuckles bled.

His muscles cracked with every movement.

And still, he walked toward what remained of the beast.

He did not look back.

He did not speak.

He simply passed beside Virka,

like a ghost of burning flesh.

She did not stop him.

Her gaze was intense, fixed.

Not out of worry.

But out of a kind of respect that is never named.

An ancient silence,

that only beasts recognize in their equal.

—You are becoming more like me —she whispered.

Narka approached from the shadow.

His body returned to calm.

But his energy did not.

—That last strike…

was not only body.

It was will dragging physical limits.

Sebastián crouched.

Exhaled,

and placed his hand on the monster's back.

The skin was tense,

like leather cured over ancient bones.

But beneath it still vibrated veins of mana,

as if the core refused to let go.

—This thing will not return —he said.

—But its body still serves. With ritual precision,

he opened the belly with his fingers.

He parted the muscles as if reading a map.

He identified the line of bone,

the texture of living tissue,

and slowly extracted the central flesh,

the purest,

the least contaminated by reactive magic.

—This is for you —he said, tossing it to Virka.

She caught it in the air.

She did not even smell it.

She brought it to her mouth and tore off the first piece.

Her fangs slid like blades through warm butter.

—Softer —she remarked—.

More intense.

—Blood that burned before dying —said Narka—.

That changes the taste.

Sebastián continued.

He separated the ribs with measured pressure.

He did not break: he dismantled.

The claws of the deformed tiger were useful.

But what he sought was deeper.

When he reached the chest,

the core still throbbed.

Not like a heart.

Like a sun caged in broken flesh.

It was round, almost perfect,

but with inner lines that turned like bone clocks.

A spiral of purple light moved in its center,

and each pulse seemed to whisper something no one should hear.

Sebastián held it in his palm.

—This one I do want.

Narka looked at him with his head tilted.

—Do you know what it will do when you keep it?

—No.

But I will not leave it here. From within his tunic,

he drew the ring.

Black as obsidian,

with a thread of aged silver crossing its surface.

The Ring of Draila.

The relic that survived the extinction of a child and the birth of a monster.

Sebastián whispered a silent command.

The ring glowed for an instant.

And the core vanished within it.

Then, with equal care,

he cut a piece of the beast's skin.

Not all of it. Only a clean fragment,

enough to study.

To remember.

He stored it as well.

Not as a trophy.

But as a message.

The world fed him,

and he did not intend to return anything.

Virka was finishing her chewing.

Her pupils had dilated.

And beneath her skin,

a dark line seemed to pulse outward from the center of her chest.

Sebastián noticed.

But said nothing.

Narka saw it too.

And lowered his gaze, as if accepting an unspoken pact.

—Shall we continue? —asked Sebastián.

Virka wiped her mouth with the back of her hand.

—Until my instinct says enough.

And the Veil… swallowed them again.

As if it already considered them part of its flesh.

The nameless world stretched in illusory calm.

The body of the defeated creature still left a bitter scent in the air,

as if its death had not yet fully settled. Sebastián had walked a few meters away.

His steps weighed more inside than outside.

Every tendon, every joint, burned.

Not with pain.

With memory.

Virka watched him from atop an uneven stone,

legs crossed,

hands resting on her knees,

and a faint smile drawn,

like a beast witnessing the maturity of another.

Narka said nothing.

He only followed the movement of his companion,

as if measuring his breaths.

Sebastián stopped before a cleared section of ground.

Roots jutted from the earth like twisted ribs.

The soil was firm.

The air, charged.

He placed his right hand on his left arm.

He pressed it.

Not to ease tension,

but to confirm it still belonged to him.

—It was during that fight —he said, without turning—.

With that deformed being.

I struck it with everything…

and it wasn't Qi that split it.

It was something else.

His fingers clenched.

His fist cracked.

—I remember the moment.

My arm was not mine.

It was an extension of the act itself of breaking.

Then he took position.

Torso slightly turned,

rear leg as anchor,

front leg half-bent.

Right arm locked against his abdomen,

left hovering in broken guard.

Everything was pure tension. Every muscle marked its territory.

Every breath was measured.

And then…

He advanced.

Not with speed.

With brutal intent.

The fist erupted like an organic shot.

It was not a strike.

It was an outburst of biomechanics pushed to the limit.

The compressed air before him exploded.

And in that instant,

the pressure took shape:

A dragon.

Made of void.

Not of fire nor light.

But of broken atmosphere,

of wounded gravity.

With open jaws and curved claws,

aligned to the exact trajectory of his fist.

The image crossed the clearing,

shattering a dead tree and a rock.

Not by energy…

but by the violence of displacement.

When it stopped,

the shockwave carried on for two more seconds.

And then, silence.

Sebastián exhaled.

The skin of his arm burned.

Tiny ruptures traced through his capillaries.

But the strike…

had been perfect.

Virka stood,

crossing her arms beneath her chest.

—That was no longer a trial —she said, voice low.

—It was a technique —Narka replied, without emotion—.

The first of many. ChatGPT dijo:

Sebastián did not respond.

He only observed his own fist.

He looked at it as if it did not belong to him,

as if it had finally become something else.

—There is no name yet —he said.

—It doesn't need one —Virka replied.

But he knew.

He had seen it before,

in his imagination,

in the pressure that roared behind the impact.

It was a dragon.

And it was absolute.

The dragon of pressure had dissipated.

But the air had not yet regained its shape.

Small gusts danced in spirals,

as if unsure where to return.

Sebastián sat down.

Not on the stone,

but on the earth itself,

letting the ground—harsh and unforgiving—

remind him he was still flesh.

His right arm hung at his side.

Not broken.

But forced to the limit.

Virka approached without a word.

She placed herself behind him,

her hands resting on his shoulders.

It was not a gesture of comfort.

It was an anchor.

A reminder that she was with him… even if she could not ease the weight.

Narka descended from his shoulder.

He took form among the roots of the split tree.

His voice came like a slow crack in the silence.

—How many more times can you repeat it… before your body truly begins to break?

Sebastián did not answer immediately.

He watched his fist wrapped in dried blood,

the small red lines trailing down his forearm like threads of warning. —I don't know —he said at last—.

But if I can repeat it one more time… it will be enough.

Narka tilted his head.

His golden, ancient eyes scrutinized him without judgment.

—Do you know what the real problem with that technique is? —he asked.

—It's not the pain.

It's not the tension.

It's that… it cannot be used to kill without reason.

Sebastián lifted his gaze.

—Why do you say that?

—Because every time you release it,

you will leave a trace.

The world does not ignore that force.

It remembers it.

And when you do it too many times,

someone will come.

Sebastián nodded.

—Then… let whoever has to come, come.

Virka smiled, faintly.

Her fingers moved along Sebastián's back,

not as caress,

but as reading:

marking the tense muscles with her nails,

feeling the fissures opening beneath the skin.

—Your body is on the edge —she whispered—.

Your bones endure.

But the veins tremble.

And that cannot be seen from the outside.

—I don't need them to endure forever —Sebastián replied—.

I only need them to endure when I decide to break the world.

Narka stepped forward until he stood before him.

He crouched.

His paws sank lightly into the mud.

—Listen clearly —he said, with his flat tone, heavy with gravity—:

The force you are using is not natural.

Not because it comes from another plane…

but because it defies the logic of the human body. And though you have carried it further,

the body is still the limit.

You cannot build a school of techniques if you kill yourself executing them.

Sebastián held his gaze.

There was blood on his teeth.

—That is why it will not be a school.

It will be a sentence.

One that only I can write.

Virka leaned toward him.

She wrapped her arms around him from behind,

pressing her chest to his bloodied back.

She said nothing.

But her presence was enough.

Sebastián lowered his head.

His breathing was deep,

rhythmed… but broken.

—The Fist of the Absolute Dragon is only the beginning —he said.

—And what will be the end? —asked Narka.

—When my body breaks completely…

and even then…

I remain standing.

The nameless world trembled in the distance.

Sebastián had felt the presences for minutes already.

Two.

Strong.

A pressure in the flesh, not in the mind.

A warning the body understood better than any sense.

And he did not hesitate.

—Do not approach —he said, in a low voice.

Virka lifted her gaze.

Narka remained motionless.

They knew.

This was not a fight out of necessity.

It was a trial.

Sebastián walked toward the hollow where the presences converged.

From the first clearing emerged a feline nightmare:

four broad legs, A segmented tail,

skin in dark tones that seemed covered in boiling tar.

From its sides, small blue sparks jutted out,

and each time it breathed, the air whistled like static electricity.

—Mid Level Twelve —said Sebastián, without emotion—.

Fast. Nervous. Unstable.

From the opposite side, the forest split apart.

A quadrupedal colossus,

low-bodied,

with a wide skull armored by rocky plates,

and a single yellow eye that glowed like burning coal.

It advanced slowly,

but each step carved a new crater into the ground.

—Peak Level Twelve —he whispered—.

Stable. Brutal. Direct.

The beasts tensed.

They did not roar.

They did not attack immediately.

They only measured.

As if they knew that the one before them was no prey…

but something that had already killed.

Sebastián did not wait any longer.

He advanced.

Charged toward the feline creature.

It reacted like lightning,

firing a discharge from its tail.

He shifted aside, rolled over his flank,

and as he rose, he executed the strike.

There was no warning.

Only body, muscle, decision.

Fist of the Absolute Dragon.

The air compressed so brutally it seemed to weep.

A shape emerged along the path of his fist:

a dragon's head without eyes,

made of torn wind and broken pressure.

It struck full force into the beast's flank. The body lifted from the ground,

spun in the air like a filthy rag,

and fell with a cry that never became a roar.

Black blood began to spill from its snout.

But it was not dead.

The monstrous rhinoceros was already charging.

Sebastián turned.

His ribs ached.

The arm he had struck with trembled.

But he held firm.

The beast rammed.

Sebastián dodged by centimeters,

but still felt the impact tear across his back.

He fell to his knees.

The world spun.

—Not yet —he spat.

He rose to his feet.

He could not feel his fingers.

But he walked.

The colossus turned, ready to charge again.

And Sebastián,

with his chest ablaze

and his jaw numb,

once more unleashed his will.

The second Fist of the Absolute Dragon

was not as clean.

The body was on the edge.

But still,

the pressure roared.

The dragon's form surged again,

more chaotic, more broken.

And it struck straight into the enemy's forehead.

The monster's skull cracked. A dry sound.

A crack.

And then, the fall.

The beast's body collapsed with all its weight,

shattering the ground in waves of soil.

Sebastián did not stay standing.

He fell to his knees.

The arm he had struck with hung dead.

Behind him,

the feline beast tried to rise,

but it was already bleeding from three points.

Its hind legs trembled.

It did not need a third blow.

His presence alone was enough.

It dragged itself toward the forest,

disappearing among branches like a fleeing shadow.

Sebastián remained still.

He breathed through his mouth.

His heart pounded like a hollow drum.

Behind him, Virka approached in silence.

And Narka descended,

to measure with his eyes…

what remained of his companion's body.

But Sebastián,

though he bled,

though his right arm was a chaos of torn fibers…

was smiling.

Because the technique worked.

And he…

was still standing.

The body of the fallen colossus lay hot still.

The blood that flowed was neither red nor black,

but a dense amber fluid, bubbling like diseased sap.

The bony plates along its back still vibrated,

as if the beast's soul refused to flee completely.

Sebastián rose to his feet.

His right arm hung dead,

but his left hand was already closing into a fist.

He needed no tools. Only his fingers.

Only the strength he had forged for these acts.

—The flesh for her —he said, without looking back.

Virka advanced with a red gleam in her eyes.

Her steps were almost sensual,

as if the blood in the air awakened a hunger deeper than the stomach.

She leaned over the open side of the corpse,

and without ceremony,

sank her teeth into the soft flesh of the neck.

She was not a beast.

She was a wild queen eating what her companion had hunted.

Sebastián, meanwhile, went straight for the center.

He sank his hands into the creature's chest.

The muscles gave way with a wet sound.

The ribs, though reinforced,

cracked one by one beneath the pressure of his fingers.

He pulled them apart,

and from within rose vapor:

residual mana and recent death, mingled in a warm mist.

And there it was.

The core.

A translucent sphere,

the size of a human heart,

yet pulsing as if still alive.

Inside it,

mana swirled like a cyclone contained.

Sebastián held it in his palm.

He felt the energy try to resist…

but the hunger of his Core of the Inverted Origin was not desire.

It was command.

He placed the magical core upon his bare chest.

The contact was immediate.

A whisper of void swallowed the resistance.

The core was absorbed slowly,

as if Sebastián's skin had become black liquid for an instant.

The mana was dragged inward,

undone, dismantled,

and rebuilt in its purest form: Reddish Qi, deep,

descended into his inner core

like rain feeding a starving fissure.

His back arched.

His body trembled.

But the process was controlled.

He had been born for this.

A few steps away,

Virka was still biting.

Her mouth smeared with blood.

Her nails tearing muscle as if it were fruit.

She ate like a divine animal:

with joy and brutality.

Narka, on the edge of a split root,

watched in silence.

—Your body endures more than expected —he said at last—.

But it is not eternal.

Sebastián, still kneeling, drew a deep breath.

The dead arm was beginning to respond.

A tingling coursed along the nerve to his shoulder.

—I don't need eternity —he replied—.

Only precision.

Narka lowered his head in approval.

—The technique was effective.

Twice.

But the second showed fracture.

—Where?

—In the synchrony.

The body and the intent were not fully aligned.

The second dragon was born… deformed.

Sebastián nodded.

—I felt it.

As if the air refused to take perfect shape.

—That means your body must not only endure.

It must obey. Sebastián closed his eyes.

The mana core no longer existed.

All had been absorbed.

His Qi now pulsed denser, darker.

—Every time I break,

something inside me changes as well —he murmured—.

I don't know if I am perfecting myself…

or deforming.

Narka did not respond.

Virka lifted her gaze.

She had blood on her chin,

but she smiled with a terrible sweetness.

—As long as you remain yourself…

I don't care.

Sebastián rose.

The arm no longer hung limp.

It hurt.

But it obeyed.

And that,

on his path,

was more than enough.

Silence returned,

like an invisible fog embracing the broken world.

Virka kept eating.

Her fangs tore the last tendon with a slow, almost sensual rhythm,

as if every fiber of flesh were a gift for her throat.

Her eyes gleamed in half-light,

satisfied and primal.

She did not think.

She only felt.

Narka rested on an elevated root,

with his legs tucked in,

staring at an indiscernible point between the shadows of the trees.

He did not speak.

He did not even breathe in a normal way.

He seemed suspended,

as if the world tolerated him out of sheer respect.

And Sebastián,

with his body still marked by blows,

let himself fall to his knees on the blackened earth. It was not surrender.

It was ritual.

He clenched his fists.

His chest rose with difficulty.

His ribs still ached,

and his right arm, though obedient, burned as if filled with embers.

Then he closed his eyes.

The outer world disappeared.

And in its place,

there remained only a heartbeat.

A red pulse.

A silent roar.

His Qi.

Not another's.

Not the one that floats between beasts or skies.

His own.

Born of his body,

filtered by his core,

returned to his being with devouring purity.

His interior became a well of still lava,

where every damaged muscle glowed in the darkness of his soul.

The Qi flowed like living water,

following the lines of pain.

Every open vein,

every torn tendon,

was touched by that silent energy

that did not burn…

it consumed.

It did not regenerate with gentleness.

It rebuilt like a hammer upon a broken statue.

The pain returned.

But it was pain directed.

With purpose.

As if within him there was an invisible blacksmith,

remolding his body piece by piece,

while his will stood firm in the center of the abyss. The energy of the core was not infinite,

but it was fierce.

And it obeyed.

While outside the blood dried upon his skin,

inside,

the flesh was being rewoven.

The bones adjusted.

The inner fractures filled.

The flow of Qi stabilized,

adopting a new pattern.

It was not the same as before.

It had changed since the battle.

Since the invisible dragons of pressure.

Since the collapse of the limit.

And now,

every breath felt heavier.

More real.

—You are adjusting your center —said Narka, without opening his eyes—.

Your Qi is shaping the container.

Sebastián did not answer.

But he knew.

He was settling his step in the Seventh Realm: Superior Channeler.

The energy did not merely fill him.

It was beginning to represent him.

His Qi was no longer just strength.

It was extension of his will.

Of his technique.

Of his path.

And he had not yet reached the edge.

His eyelids opened slowly.

The world returned.

The beast lay flayed.

Virka licked her fingers with half-closed eyes,

as if she had just sated something deeper than hunger.

And Narka watched him with that wise calm,

that required no approval…

only vigilance.

Sebastián rose. The body no longer trembled.

His steps were firm,

as if in meditation he had forgotten he ever bore wounds.

The realm was not new.

It was already his.

But now…

the body knew it too.

And that marked the difference.

Blood dried upon his skin like a cracked second skin.

Every fissure, every crust clinging to his torso,

seemed a map only he could read.

A cartography of pain traced by fire, fists, and will.

Sebastián leaned beside the dark river that cut through that reality,

and plunged his hands without hesitation.

The water was cold.

Not like that of the real world:

this did not carry filth away,

it devoured it.

He scrubbed the blood from his face,

his arms,

his chest.

He let the water enter the open wounds

so the last impurities of the beasts would drown far from his flesh.

Virka, at his side, submerged without a word.

Her fangs still gleamed with remnants of flesh between the gums,

but her eyes were serene.

Like a beast sated.

Like a lover in silence.

Narka descended, floating.

And though his form was as always—small, contained, solid—

his gaze carried the stillness of one who has seen things not yet meant to be spoken.

—We are ready —said Sebastián.

None argued.

He closed his eyes.

With a single gesture,

he summoned his Qi to open the fold that separated them from the normal world. The Veil tore without thunder.

It was not a portal.

It was an inverse breath:

an exhalation that returned them to the other side.

And the light changed.

The afternoon was far advanced.

The sky stained with a muted copper.

The breeze carried dust, dry leaves, and a faint echo of machinery in the distance.

The house—or what was meant to be a house—was no longer an idea.

It was structure.

From the hillside where they emerged,

they could see reinforced columns, extended foundations,

several exterior walls in progress,

and a crew of drones and automated workers operating with surgical precision.

Sebastián raised a brow.

—That is not a house.

Virka looked at him with a tilted smile.

—You didn't ask what kind of house.

Narka made no comment,

but his Qi vibrated softly with what almost seemed… approval.

In the distance,

Helena and Selena approached from a mobile control unit,

both with differing expressions:

Helena, impassive, with sharp eyes.

Selena, steady, as if everything were already under control.

—Punctual —murmured Sebastián.

—Late for us —Helena replied as she arrived, bluntly—.

But within the agreed schedule.

—And what is that?

—An executive-class residential core —Selena explained, without a hint of doubt—.

Seven habitable modules, three hidden structures for training,

an energy self-sufficiency system,

and underground channels for drainage and defense.

—All that just to sleep? —No —Helena corrected—.

All that is to exist.

If you are going to remain in this world, Sebastián,

you need more than stone and roof.

You need position.

He did not answer.

He was observing the details.

Wiring that was not common.

Sensors buried, vibrating with passive energy.

A perimeter wall that, though unfinished, already weighed as if it protected more than a body.

—At this pace —Selena added—, level one will be habitable in two days.

The rest will take a week.

With stable conditions.

—And you?

Helena narrowed her eyes.

—Our role does not change.

We observe.

We record.

And if something gets out of control… we intervene.

Virka snorted under her breath,

but said nothing.

Her arm slid slowly along Sebastián's,

as if affirming that no one would intervene without consequence.

Sebastián did not turn his gaze from the building.

—Then… we let them build.

—And you, what will you do? —Helena asked.

—I will continue cultivating.

Until this place is not only habitable.

But worthy of containing what comes.

Helena did not ask what that was.

Selena did not either.

Because both had already learned—

that when Sebastián spoke of the future…

he spoke as one who had already seen it.

The sun bled slowly over the horizon,

painting the sky in oxidized copper that seemed more a wound than a farewell.

The air still carried the ash of the upturned earth, The dust of rising structures,

and the whisper of soulless machines at work.

Before them,

the mansion—still a skeleton—rose like a titan in formation.

Without flesh, without voice,

but with foundations that trembled from within.

As if every brick already knew who would inhabit it.

—We begin here —said Selena, without waiting for a signal.

Her stride was precise,

the digital tablet floating at her side,

projecting plans with red and blue lines that shifted to her pace.

—This will be the main entrance.

Internal armor. Double door.

Thermal sensors hidden in the stone.

Full lockdown system in case of intrusion.

Sebastián only observed.

Virka walked at his side,

like a living shadow.

Her expression unreadable,

but her eyes scanned with the same voracity with which her fangs bared in battle.

—The central hall is designed to withstand extreme kinetic loads —added Helena from behind—.

You could train there without destroying everything.

At least, not immediately.

—And this? —asked Virka, touching a metallic wall that still lacked its skin.

—Part of the shock absorption system —Selena replied—.

If someone strikes with supernatural force… the structure absorbs it.

Narka let out a faint vibration of his Qi.

From Virka's shoulder, where he perched like an ancestral statue,

he let his thoughts flow toward Sebastián without needing to speak.

—This place… is not ordinary.

It is aligned to you, even if you do not see it.

The women have thought beyond the functional.

—Ally or cage? —Sebastián answered, mentally.

—Both —Narka replied—.

But every beast needs a refuge… even if it hates it.

They walked through corridors at Half-born halls.

Rooms marked with coded names.

Spaces destined for meditation, for combat, for rest, for what was yet to come.

—Here will be the access to the lower level —Selena indicated, stopping before a sealed hatch for now—.

A neutral laboratory.

No armed technology.

But with capacity for studies, recovery, and… other processes.

Helena added nothing.

But her eyes, always sharp, said more than her pressed lips.

At the southern edge of the complex,

a dry garden opened among the still-bare structures.

There rose an artificial lake,

fed by underground sources connected to the nearby mountain.

—Here —Selena said— is where the water for Narka will be.

The temperature can be adjusted.

The pressure as well.

Even a retractable dome was designed, in case he prefers total darkness.

Narka emitted a faint sound.

It was not approval.

It was recognition.

Night fell without permission.

Dim lights lit the perimeter.

Soft lanterns, like eyes unwilling to betray anyone.

A new silence wrapped the site:

not the absence of noise,

but an expectant pause.

As if the earth itself knew something was about to be born here.

Not a house.

Not a mansion.

But a brutal temple,

where strength, decision, and rupture would be law.

Helena and Selena stopped their walk.

—That is all for today —Helena said—.

Tomorrow we will begin with the inner layers.

Privacy, levels, access codes.

—And us? —Virka asked, without courtesy.

—You will sleep where you wish —Selena answered—.

There are provisional modules already functional.

They are not finished,

but they are comfortable… for what you consider rest. Sebastián did not answer.

He looked at the starless sky.

The world seemed to hold its breath.

And he… felt the place already breathing with him.

—Tomorrow —he said at last—.

Tomorrow we will see if this will be home…

or just another battlefield.

The drones ceased their buzzing.

The lights folded away.

And the mansion, still incomplete,

sank into the night with the dignity of what has not yet been…

but already weighs as if eternal.

Night had fallen completely over the land.

No trace of the oxidized dusk remained,

nor whispers of the drones' constant hammering.

Only the murmur of water sliding over stone,

and the distant creak of living roots beneath the earth.

Sebastián sat beside the artificial lake.

The water was clear, deep,

fed by underground currents that did not yet know the taste of the human world.

At his side, Virka stretched like a sated panther,

her hair loose and damp from the recent immersion,

her body still vibrating within with the energy of the hunt.

Narka was already gliding along the pond's edge,

his rounded form slipping into the water without a sound,

like a shadow merging with one more ancient.

Only a faint silver glow on his shell showed he was still conscious,

watching everything with that millennial stillness that needed no words.

—This place is… —murmured Virka, resting her head on Sebastián's thigh—

strange. Silent. I don't know if I hate it or if it calms me.

—Both —he replied, stroking her hair slowly—.

Enough to rest. Enough to stay alert.

The water reflected the silhouette of the two.

Not as shadows.

But as deformed echoes.

Sebastián's body still marked by combat,

his skin crossed by fissures that no longer bled,

and his eyes alight with that reddish glow, More spiral than iris,

more abyss than pupil.

Virka lifted her gaze.

Her lips parted.

Her eyes did not ask.

They claimed.

—I saw you break again today —she whispered, unashamed—.

That technique… it is a way of dying in slow motion.

—I know.

—And still, you don't stop.

—You wouldn't either —he said, leaning toward her—.

Would you?

The kiss was not gentle.

It was a collision of desire and possession,

of history shared between flesh and rage,

of hunger contained that sought not pleasure,

but affirmation.

The world could burn.

But in that instant,

she was his fixed point.

And he,

her only pack.

Virka pulled back just slightly.

Her breath ragged.

Her chest brushing Sebastián's with a tremor that was not weakness,

but tamed tension.

—I don't care if you destroy everything.

Just don't destroy me.

—Never —he answered—.

You are the one thing I would not break…

unless it was to rebuild you stronger.

A dry laugh slipped from her.

Not mockery.

Understanding.

The water made a faint sound.

Narka emerged partially,

his voice vibrating without need of form. —The conversation you have not had…

it is time to have it.

Virka did not look at him.

Nor did Sebastián.

But both knew what he meant.

—The child —Virka said—.

Or the creature.

Or whatever it is we could bring into the world.

—We do not know if it is possible —Sebastián replied.

—But neither do we know if it is impossible —Narka said—.

And in this world…

the impossible hungers.

Virka rose slowly.

Her pupils gleamed.

Not with tenderness.

With inner war.

—And if it is not human?

And if it is not beast?

And if it is born… broken?

Sebastián did not avert his gaze.

—Then it will be ours.

And no one will touch it.

Silence returned.

Not as emptiness.

But as promise.

The night asked for no explanations.

Only presence.

And in that darkness,

beside the still water,

three presences—human, beast, and guardian—

prepared themselves for something that had no shape yet,

but already pulsed…

like a seed buried deep in the abyss.

Midnight had descended like a silent mist over the city.

The skyscrapers slept,

the drones patrolled without conviction,

and the lights of Helena Caelis's house were among the few still burning. On the top floor,

a terrace sealed with dark glass opened like a nest of silence.

There, among minimalist furniture and latent technology,

two women remained awake.

Helena stood before the window,

an untouched glass of wine in her hand.

Her other hand rested on the back of an empty chair,

as if she feared the furniture might flee if she did not hold it.

Behind her, Selena wrote in the air,

the projected screen floating between her fingers.

Data of the day.

Energy fluctuations.

Activity outside the pattern.

—All of this is a beautiful mistake —Helena murmured without turning.

—Do you mean the construction? —Selena asked, her voice never rising.

—I mean him.

The monster we helped set free.

And who now… is trying to build a home.

—You gave him the tools.

—And you did not stop him —Helena replied, turning slowly.

Her face showed no anger.

Only fatigue.

Ancient fatigue.

The kind dragged across generations.

—Do you think I don't watch him every second?

—Selena's voice was so calm it cut—.

I know how much energy he releases.

I know how his Qi reacts to the physical world.

And I know that what he carries inside… is not complete.

Helena finally drank.

The wine had body, strength, fire.

Nothing that could match what she felt when she looked into Sebastián's eyes hours earlier.

—That woman… Virka.

She is not human.

But she follows him as if her life depended on it.

—Perhaps it does. —And that being… Narka.

He obeys him, but not out of submission.

He obeys the way one obeys an abyss one has chosen to gaze into.

Selena let the data dissolve.

—Are you afraid?

—No.

I have memory.

I have seen things like this before.

Not with shape.

Not with name.

But with that same drive to advance as if the world were an obstacle and not a home.

A long silence followed.

The wind struck against the glass window as if asking to come in.

—There is something else —Selena said at last—.

The matter of the possible child between him and Virka…

Helena tightened the glass with her fingers.

—That is no longer science.

That is rupture.

—And if it is born?

If it is viable?

—Then the balance goes to hell.

And we go with it.

Selena stared at her.

—Do you want to stop him?

—I want to understand him.

And if I cannot…

then yes.

I will stop him.

The glass vibrated lightly on the table.

—Do you know what hurts me most? —Helena said, without tone—.

That for an instant…

when he healed me…

I felt something I had never felt before. —What?

—Peace.

True peace.

And then, fear.

Because his peace was not human.

It was the silence that precedes a storm.

Selena did not reply.

The city outside was still alive.

But it did not know.

It did not know that a being walked along its edges

with the power to create… or to tear out roots with a single word.

And two women,

the most powerful on the human continent,

watched him without knowing if they were allies…

or witnesses to their own extinction.

—Tomorrow —Helena said—.

We will see if that house they are building…

is a dwelling,

or an altar.

Selena shut down the systems.

The window darkened.

The night enveloped them.

And for the first time in years,

neither of them slept well.

The night moved on like a wound that does not bleed.

On the shadowed terrace, the wine was finished.

Helena remained seated, the empty glass hanging between her fingers,

as if she no longer knew what it was for.

Selena stood in a corner,

as if the air itself needed distance to breathe around her.

—I thought this would be easier —Helena said at last—.

To observe him. Classify him. Name him.

But Sebastián does not fit into any of my molds.

—He is not human —Selena replied.

—Nor is he a beast.

He has… moments.

Cracks. Selena did not reply.

She only crossed her arms, her silhouette outlined by the bluish light seeping from the floor.

—And if his child… is not with Virka?

Silence tightened.

For a second, not even the air machines breathed.

—What if the next one… —Helena turned her face just slightly—

were with someone like you?

Selena's gray eyes blinked. Once.

But that was enough for the venom of the phrase to sink in.

—I am not like Virka —she answered, with a calm so firm it seemed like ice—.

I would not follow him. I would not touch him.

And much less… lend myself to that.

—Out of pride? Out of fear?

—Out of logic.

—And if it weren't about following him —Helena pressed, without cruelty—.

If it were… about creating something you have never allowed yourself.

Selena drew a long, long breath.

The air cut her from the inside.

—What are you insinuating?

—That perhaps… you no longer need to perfect your efficiency.

That perhaps there is no one left to prove anything to.

And the only thing you have not built…

is a life.

—I built this city with you —Selena snapped, her gaze sharp as a blade—.

I was your executor, your shadow, your knife.

—I know.

And that is why I say it.

Because even knives rust,

if they have nothing to protect beyond duty.

Selena turned her face.

Not to avoid the phrase.

But because she no longer had an answer that would not hurt.

Helena rose to her feet.

She placed a hand briefly on her shoulder. It was not affection.

It was recognition.

—Go home.

Rest.

If tomorrow you still believe this was stupidity… we will never speak of it again.

Selena did not respond. She only nodded.

And left.

The city was a desert of cold lights.

The streets were empty.

But the silence carried a different texture.

When she arrived at her home—an elegant structure,

all clean lines and invisible surveillance—

Selena lit no more lights than necessary.

She undressed with precision,

hanging her jacket as if it were part of a ritual.

She walked to the bathroom,

where the smart mirror needed no command to activate.

There she was.

Her reflection.

The perfect woman.

The unbreakable executor.

The silent mind behind Helena's empire.

But something… cracked.

Not because of Sebastián.

Not because of Virka.

But because of the question.

"What if I have never had anything of my own?"

She shut off the mirror.

She sat on the bed,

only the silk robe embracing her figure.

And in that stillness,

for the first time in years,

Selena did not think of efficiency.

Nor of security.

Nor of strategy.

She thought of a future without structures.

Without protocols.

With an unfamiliar laughter breaking her control. And she did not know if that terrified her…

or if that was what she had been searching for from the beginning.

__________________________________

END OF CHAPTER 21