On the Path of Eternal Strength.

The forest remained inside. Not as a thought, nor as a presence. It was structure. Sebastián did not walk: the forest moved him. He did not think: the forest guided him. Every thread of his body was woven obedience. Every breath, a fulfilled order.

His eyes no longer flickered. The pupils did not contract from the light. They were open doors to darkness. And the forest used them to see.

For days — or whatever time was here — Sebastián hunted. Like a reflection. Like a tool.

His steps were exact. His shadow did not exist. His scent did not float. Every mission was completed without questions, without errors.

Until the crack breathed.

First it was a sound. A laugh. Soft. Childlike. Distant. It shouldn't be there. The forest had no laughter.

Sebastián stopped. The body, which until then had moved with the perfection of a mechanism, faltered. One foot did not fall on the exact spot. A branch cracked.

The forest felt it.

And pressed.

Not with words. With weight. Sebastián's mind became dense, as if the air were mercury. An inner fog covered him. Memories began to burn. The bracelet. The name. The voice that was not of the forest.

The order came, firm: ELIMINATE.

But this time, something did not fit.

It was not prey. It was not an intrusion.

It was a creature. It did not belong to the forest. It did not respond to its rules. Its existence was an impossible accident or a foreign will that had taken root in the crack of the world.

It was thin, with cracked red skin, with visible bony segments protruding from its back and joints. Its skull was elongated, with no apparent mouth, and instead of eyes it had sunken sockets that pulsed with a dim glow, like old embers. It walked on four limbs, but could stand upright if it wished. The claws were long, curved inward, made to climb and cling, not to destroy.

The chest beat to an alien rhythm, as if its heart were made of roots. Each breath felt like an ancient exhalation. Its presence was not hostile… it was something else. Something impossible to name.

And then it stopped in front of him.

It did not move. It did not tremble. It did not flee.

It only looked at him.

It did not smile. It could not. But it tilted its head slightly, as if it recognized something. As if it remembered him.

A gesture that did not belong to the forest. A small movement… but different.

And that was enough.

Sebastián froze.

The forest pointed out the vital spots. The throat. The neck. The heart.

And Sebastián…

Did not attack.

The arm rose. But did not fall. The fingers tensed. But did not close. The forest roared. Not outward. Inside him.

And the crack opened a little more.

The creature barely tilted its torso, its breathing emitting a low hum, deep and continuous, as if speaking to him from within without words. Sebastián did not understand how, but he recognized it.

At first it was a barely perceptible sensation, like a tickle in the chest. Then, the hum became a rhythm: familiar, intimate, as if resonating with his own heart.

And then he knew. Not with his mind. With something deeper. What he felt was recognition. Not of sight. Not of form. Of essence. A part of him that had not yet been devoured by the forest recognized it as his distorted reflection, his impossible mirror.

Between them, the air changed. It became dense, charged with something that was not danger… nor relief. It was connection. Pure and raw.

And then, between them, a whisper arose. It did not come from the forest. It did not come from her.

It was the mysterious voice. The one that sometimes called him in dreams, that sometimes burned like memory. This time it sounded closer. More alive.

"Listen to her," it said. Soft. Distant. "Not as enemy. Not as prey. As echo."

The creature moved closer, just slightly, with a fluid step, as if floating over the roots. It stopped the humming and let silence speak for her. Then she exhaled a deep, wet click, with shape. Like an attempt at language without tongue.

And Sebastián understood.

Not by logic. Not by words.

By bond.

"She is not part of the forest," whispered the voice. "But she lives in it. Like you."

The creature tilted her head. It was not a human gesture, but it contained an ancient tenderness. A pure attention.

Sebastián did not fully understand, but he felt. Not with reason, but with a deep, buried memory. The bond was not explained. It was recognized.

And that recognition was dangerous. Because where there is bond, there is choice. And where there is choice… there is crack.

Not like a clear memory, but like an echo. A reflection of himself when he was still a child.

His body trembled. Not from the forest. Not from the order. From something older. Something buried.

The creature remained still. It did not move. It did not speak. It only observed him, as if waiting for an answer that could not be spoken aloud.

And then, he closed his eyes.

The forest did not punish him immediately. Because he hesitated. Because for the first time, something escaped its control.

But doubt does not last long in what does not forgive.

First came the ground. The roots vibrated beneath his feet, as if an ancient fury awoke from the center of the earth. Then came the sound: a dry, endless creaking, like bones splintering inside trunks.

Sebastián opened his eyes.

The creature was still there, unmoving. But the forest… the forest was closing in. The branches began to bend. The air lost its color. And from the shadows, figures emerged: not beasts, not trees, but forms made of the forest itself, grotesque imitations of what had once been human. Deformed echoes, empty eyes, bodies covered in moss and fossilized flesh.

The punishment was clear: erase the crack.

The red creature stepped back one pace. Not out of fear. Out of preparation. Sebastián felt it too. The forest pushed him to kill. Not her this time. What was coming.

But something broke. The impulse did not come with strength. It was not order. It was desperation.

The crack was not only weakness. It was threat. And the forest knew it.

Sebastián took a step forward. The creature turned her head toward him, slight, almost imperceptible. They did not speak. They did not need to.

The battle was not for survival. It was for something deeper.

And in that brutal silence, with the forest roaring like a wounded beast,

Sebastián moved. Not as a hunter. As part of a dance.

The red creature slid alongside him. There were no words. No agreements. Only shared instinct, a mutual echo, as if the same dormant blood beat within them both.

The entities of the forest advanced, slow at first, as if still expecting obedience. But when they saw there was none, they unleashed themselves. Their bodies creaked as they moved, deformed, made of bark mixed with bones. Some walked with twisted legs. Others crawled, dripping black sap from nonexistent mouths.

The first was fast. Sebastián pivoted on one foot, crouched, and struck at the neck with precision. The crack was dry. The red creature complemented him by circling around his back, using his body as an axis, and leapt with a cross slash that split the second entity in two without spilling a single drop.

Then more came.

Sebastián did not think. He felt. The forest could not predict his movements because they were no longer his. They were shared.

Every attack was met with a fluid movement, as if they were dancing among roots that also wanted to join their rhythm. Sebastián rolled between trunks, leapt over branches that cracked and broke at the exact moment. The creature followed him like shadow and fire: sometimes roaring within, other times gliding soundlessly.

When one of the false humans grabbed his arm, Sebastián did not react. He only waited for the spin: the creature descended like a living blade from above, bit with open claws, and in a second the enemy's arm was part of the ground.

The forest tried to confuse them. It changed the terrain. Lengthened the shadow. Moved the light without logic. But they did not need to see. They felt.

And in that impossible synchronicity, each defeated creature was part of a beat.

One Two Pause. Three Four Turn.

As if pain did not exist. As if killing was not violence. As if they had found something sacred in that brutal symmetry.

The enemies did not stop coming. Some fused with the wood and emerged from the trunks. Others leapt from the treetops. But the rhythm did not break.

The creature descended with savage elegance, wrapping torsos with her claws as if weaving an invisible thread of strength. Sebastián responded with precision: fingers that pierced soft hollows, knees that shattered joints on first contact.

And between each fall, each death without scream, the forest grew more erratic. More savage.

But they did not change.

Because they were not fighting to survive.

They were fighting to free themselves.

And the dance, that improbable choreography, was the crack itself made movement.

And that, though brief,

was enough to make its roots tremble.

But the forest did not end there.

It did not scream. It did not roar. It did not send more bodies nor roots with claws. It only acted with surgical precision, almost silent. And that was the most brutal.

The ground beneath their feet creaked. But it did not give way at once. It opened slowly, like a wound tearing itself. Sebastián felt the vibration, and before he could react, the red creature was already sliding toward the edge, dragged by an invisible force.

He tried to reach her. His arm stretched out. But it was like trying to grasp mist with a broken hand. His fingers brushed the void, and the crack closed just as his nails scraped the edge.

She disappeared.

Not with a scream. Not with a crash. With absence.

The forest isolated him.

And the isolation was not a space. It was a state.

He did not know how much time passed. Days, perhaps weeks. Or maybe only seconds prolonged by despair.

The forest did not leave him alone in the void. It filled it with images.

The first was his own face. But not the one he remembered. It was an empty one, soft, deformed by fear and obedience. His reflection, dressed in cracks, covered by roots that sprouted from his own eyes.

Then came the echo of his voice, speaking to him from everywhere: — You were a crack. Nothing more. — She betrayed you. — She was never there.

Each phrase was a black drop falling into his mind.

The visions dragged him. He walked through corridors of wood that breathed. He saw the creature chained, moaning without sound, her chest opened by branches. Or he saw her standing, motionless, with her eyes extinguished, repeating the movements of the false humans, as if the forest had absorbed her completely.

Sebastián began to doubt. Not of her. Of himself.

— It was you — the forest whispered from the ground, from the air — . You brought the crack. You ruined the symmetry.

And the darkness closed like a cage without bars. It did not need physical confinement. It was mental. Sensory. A prison made of thoughts that dissolved at touch.

But the crack did not extinguish.

Because it was not memory. It was instinct. It was desire to be with her. Not as human. Not as beast. As whatever they were now.

And then, after what felt like an eternity without time, the vision changed. A figure appeared before him. The exact form of the creature. Her proportions. Her breathing. But her eyes… they were not hers. They shone with a strange light. Cold. Hollow.

She had claws, yes. But they did not dance. They dragged. They were claws of obedience.

The forest had tried to copy her. As it had copied everything.

And for a moment, Sebastián felt terror. Not of her. Of the forest.

Because he understood it was trying everything. Because what he had with her could not be repeated.

Then came the voice. The one that burned in the cracks.

— It is not her.

Three words that undid the deception.

And as if the forest broke within, the false image disintegrated into black ashes, inhaled by roots that no longer knew where to grow.

And then, without drama, without noise, she appeared.

She did not fall. She did not emerge. She simply was.

She was by his side. As if she had never left.

Sebastián did not speak. Nor did she. But the bond pulsed between them with more strength than any vision.

And the forest trembled.

Because it had not separated them. It had only reinforced the bond.

The last assault was not physical. It was pure fury. Roots that exploded like whips. Shadow that took shape in deformed versions of them. The perfect parody of their dance, copied by creatures that did not understand rhythm, only form.

But they did not break.

Sebastián took the first step. She spun around him.

It was not attack. It was music.

Each movement was a note. Each strike, a negation. Negation of control. Negation of fear. Negation of the forest.

And when the last shadow fell, and the roots withdrew, there was no final scream.

Only a dry silence. Like a shameful retreat.

The forest did not lose. But neither did it win.

What happened was something else.

A pause. A forced acknowledgment.

The crack could not be closed.

And in that pause, charged with contained breaths, with shapeless time, she extended a claw.

Not as a weapon. As a gesture. As the memory of an ancient gesture, lost, of a child who once was human, and of a creature that never was, but who had been born to be at his side.

Sebastián took it.

And in that instant, something invisible ignited between them. Not a spark. Not a flame. But a silent expansion, as if their bond opened a slit in the invisible sky of the forest.

The creature did not react. She only held him, and for the first time, there was no tension in her claw.

Then, both felt a different tremor. Not from the forest. From beyond.

A vision seized them. It was not imposed on them: it emerged from their contact. As if the universe wanted to show them what their bodies already knew but their minds had not yet remembered.

A twisted tower under a sky of ashes. A city buried in roots that fed on memories. A hooded figure, turned away, watching them without turning.

And in the distance, a new voice. Ancient. That was not of the forest nor of the cracks. It was of something else.

"Come. You have danced enough. Now you must learn to breathe."

The vision dissolved.

Sebastián exhaled. He had not known he had been holding his breath.

The creature took a step. He followed.

And for the first time, he did not walk alone.

But he was not walking toward the forest. Nor fleeing from it.

He walked toward the crack.

Toward the true beginning.

Days passed. Not of sun and moon, but of shared breaths, of new paths that were not marked. The forest no longer attacked them, but neither did it ignore them. It was as if it watched them from the leaves, from the lichens hanging from the branches, trying to understand what had slipped from its grasp.

Sebastián and the creature did not speak. They could not. But they understood each other. They learned to move together without looking. To stop when the other hesitated. To eat, to rest, to exist within a harmony that was no longer reaction, but shared will.

She hunted, but not by instinct. She brought dead prey and left them near him, silently observing as he touched them, understood them, and then buried them beneath soft roots. And sometimes, when the wind was gentle, she approached and placed her head near his chest, just to listen to his heartbeat.

Sebastián learned to read her movements. When she rose upright, he knew danger was near. When her breathing sharpened, he understood that something from the forest wanted to break their truce. But the forest no longer dared more than that: small gestures. Subtle tests.

One night, while the world slept under a dome of fossilized branches, the voice returned. Not the forest's. The other one. The one that had burned within him like echo and destiny.

"The crack is no longer rupture. It is path."

And Sebastián understood. At last.

He had not become human again. Nor did he need to. Neither had he surrendered to the forest. He had learned to be something else. Something in between.

And he was not alone in it.

From the top of a cliff covered in violet lichens, he gazed at the plain beyond the forest. It was not clearer. Not kinder. But it was new.

She arrived behind him, silent, and without looking imitated him. She sat at his side. Not because she understood everything, but because they shared the same direction.

Further below, among the distant roots, a shadow watched them. It did not attack. It did not move. It only observed.

The forest did not pursue them. But neither did it forget them.

Sebastián did not fear it. Because now, every step he took with her was not an escape.

It was an act of affirmation. The day began before Sebastián opened his eyes. Not because he felt sleepy or had a routine. The forest did not allow rest, and night did not differ from day, except for the sounds: the trees creaked less and the roots moved more.

He slept leaning against a trunk that did not breathe. He had learned, through blows, that some inhaled slowly, almost imperceptibly, and if you rested against them they would wake you with branches tangled in your chest. He avoided those. Instead, he chose the ones that were dry, hard, inert… or at least appeared to be.

About seven steps from him, always the same distance, the creature slept.

Or pretended to.

He was never sure.

She lay on her belly, forelegs stretched forward like a great feline, her tail curled like a living root. Her elongated head, without visible eyes, rested on her own claws, and a soft hum wrapped her like a muffled bell. It was not a snore. It was something else. A sound that vibrated, that wove. Sebastián felt it in his ribs more than in his ears.

During the first nights, he did not sleep. He pretended, like her. They took turns closing their eyes, though neither dared move a muscle if the other changed position. There was no truce, no pact, not even understanding. Only a tense pause. A cold war of brief glances and contained breaths.

The forest left them.

Not because it granted peace.

Because it observed.

The fungi that grew near the clearing glowed brighter when they were close. The branches creaked in the opposite direction of their steps. The moss formed almost geometric shapes where they walked. It was as if the forest were taking notes, each night, of how they survived without killing each other.

Food was a problem.

Sebastián barely recognized what was edible. Since he awoke in this part of the forest, he had not ingested anything that did not taste of iron, dust, or ash. Some roots had burned his throat. A fungus had made him vomit for two days. He learned to smell first, then touch with his tongue and wait to see if anything numbed.

The creature did not help him.

But neither did she ignore him.

During the third night — or what he thought was the third — Sebastián crouched to dig up a white bulb he had seen the deformed deer eat. When he held it in his hand, she emitted a deep hum. Not loud. Not threatening. But clear.

Sebastián understood.

He left the bulb. Threw it far away.

Hours later, when they both rested at opposite ends of the clearing, she dropped beside him the corpse of a rodent with multiple eyes. She did not push it. She did not offer it. She only left it.

He did not touch it until she moved away.

He cooked it — if cooking meant placing hot stones over the flesh — and ate it in silence.

Since then, food arrived that way. Without contact. Without obligation. She hunted and left it. He ate and did not thank her. Not because he did not want to. Because he did not know how.

One night, while collecting a thick liquid that looked like petroleum but wasn't — he used it to hydrate his hands — the creature approached him. Not running. Not threatening. She only walked toward him, very slowly. Sebastián stayed still, his palms full of the murky black liquid. The creature smelled his wrists. Then turned her head toward the river — if one could call a river a current of black liquid bubbling without direction — and growled low.

Since then, Sebastián stopped drinking black liquid directly. He waited for her to inspect the place, to make that low growl. If she did not, he did not drink. He learned to follow her judgment, without admitting it, without showing it. Only with acts.

Sleeping became easier when the creature began to roar at dawn.

It was a short roar. Muffled. As if calling the forest. But every time she did, the branches stopped moving for a few seconds. As if the forest breathed with her. Sebastián did not understand, but he took advantage of those moments to sleep. Never more than an hour straight. But it was enough.

One night, as he turned on the ground, Sebastián's arm brushed against a root. Not one of the forest. One of hers. Her hind claw was near. Very near. She did not move. Did not withdraw. Did not growl.

That night, they slept a step apart.

No more.

But it was a change.

The mud began to change.

It did not disappear, but it no longer clung the same way to their feet. Sebastián noticed it when they walked together: the earth parted slightly at the creature's step, as if it no longer considered her a foreign body. It did not grant him the same. It still touched him, still weighed on him. But there was something different. He was not an enemy. He was a reminder. The forest was still watching him, measuring his permanence.

One morning — or what seemed a morning, because the light was still constant twilight — Sebastián touched a fallen branch that did not creak. It was the same one that days before had answered with a dry sound. Now it was soft, docile. The creature watched him from a stone covered in lichens. She did not approach. But when he raised the branch, she stood as well.

That was the beginning of the shelter.

They did not speak. There was no decision. But they began to gather materials. Pieces of soft bark. Arched branches. Large leaves, dead but resistant. The work was slow. Not because they did not know how to do it, but because the forest would not stop moving. Every structure they raised was touched, examined, displaced by curious roots or branches that stretched further than natural.

It took days.

The result was not a house. It was a shell. A cover of intertwined branches that did not glow, that did not breathe, that did not complain with the weight of the nonexistent wind. Inside that structure, the air was different. Less dense. Warmer. As if the forest, for the first time, let them be.

The creature slept near. Much more than before. Sometimes, so close that Sebastián could feel the vibration of her chest when she exhaled. And on sleepless nights, when the forest murmured names he did not remember ever speaking, her claw rested on his chest. Not as defense. As presence.

Food kept arriving. Small prey she hunted with silent precision. Sebastián began to do something he could not explain: instead of eating them immediately, he examined them. Observed their forms, their symmetry, their multiple eyes or absent tongues. Some he did not eat. He buried them under moss, and then marked the place with stones. At first, the creature only watched. But soon, she began to accompany him in that ritual. She did not help. She only was. And that was enough. One soundless afternoon, they felt the ground tremble.

Not like before. Not with threat.

With weight.

A creature was approaching. Large. Rhythmic. Sebastián stood up. The creature was already moving, upright on her four legs, her back arched like a living bridge. They waited. From behind a hill of roots descended a deer with three heads. None of the heads had eyes. Only mouths that opened without making sound.

It passed in front of them without stopping. It did not look at them. Did not smell them. They did not exist for it.

And when it disappeared into the forest's mist, Sebastián realized: they were no longer intruders.

They were cracks too deep to be ignored.

Weeks later, they found the stone circle.

It was buried among dry ferns. Twelve blocks arranged with impossible precision. In the center, nothing grew. The air within the circle was thick, as if filled with a breath held for centuries. Sebastián stepped forward. The creature growled. Low. An almost pained growl, as if the place burned her from within.

They retreated.

That night, Sebastián dreamed of fallen columns and fire that did not consume. And a symbol. A closed eye, surrounded by thorns. He saw it engraved on his chest. And also on hers.

When he woke, she was already watching him.

It was then that he began to speak.

Not with phrases. Not with names. Only sounds. Murmurs. Sometimes a syllable that meant nothing, but burned in his throat as if seeking to become tongue again. The creature did not interrupt him. She listened. Sometimes, she came closer than usual, tilting her head. And one night, when Sebastián murmured the first syllable of his name — not complete, only an echo — the creature roared.

A single note.

Deep.

Trembling.

And from then on, every time he said something, she answered with that roar. Not as reply. As affirmation.

As protection.

The forest reacted. As if that small communication had triggered an alarm. A replica appeared among the trees. The creature… but without soul. Without vibration. It mimicked the movements, roared in the same tone. But the air around it did not change. Its shadow had no weight. Its eyes were empty.

Sebastián did not hesitate.

Not because he knew how to destroy it. But because he knew who it was not.

He tore it apart with his hands, without emotion. Only certainty.

The forest shuddered. The trees creaked. But they did not move. They remained side by side. Breathing at the same rhythm.

Time ceased to count.

Sebastián no longer measured days. He only counted moments. How many times she woke him with her muzzle. How many times he placed a stone beside the shelter as a sign of something. How many times they roared together, even if no one threatened them.

And when the dark season returned, with its thick air and roots that spoke among themselves, they did not feel fear.

They felt memory.

Because now, even the forest knew…

That they also knew its rhythm.

Darkness returned with a sick calm.

It did not fall at once. It crept. Slid between branches, leaves, cracks. It brought no roars nor lurking shadows. Only the silence of the forest holding its breath. As if the very earth had decided to halt its cycle and watch them from within.

And that was the worst.

The creature slept by his side, but her body was more tense than other nights. She did not vibrate. Did not roar. Her chest rose and fell with a contained rhythm, as if she regulated her presence so as not to draw the attention of something already close. Sebastián watched her without moving. He felt the heat of her skin against his, the roughness of the scales scraping his bare leg, and that sensation that had begun to grow in him: that the creature was no longer "she," but part of himself.

He did not know when it happened.

Only that upon waking he no longer felt distance.

They began to touch more.

Small brushes while sleeping. The creature's muzzle against his nape. Sebastián's hand on her back, stroking the exposed spine that beat like a foreign heart. It was not tenderness. It was need. As if contact confirmed they were still there, that they were not illusions, that they had not turned into something else.

Days passed without incidents.

The forest stopped pressing them. Not because it accepted their presence. But because it studied them. Like a predator that does not attack because it wants to see how long its prey's resistance lasts before breaking on its own.

Sebastián stopped speaking. Even the murmurs disappeared. He only breathed. Only hunted. Only slept. Every gesture was reduced to the essential. And the creature followed.

Until it happened.

The figure appeared without warning.

It did not descend from the branches. It did not emerge from the earth. It simply was there.

A few meters from the shelter.

An elongated silhouette, still. Made of dense smoke that did not dissolve with the wind. Its form was his. His size. His body. Even his posture. But it was wrong. The fingers were longer. The neck too erect. The face… empty. Not white. Not covered. Empty. As if it had been ripped away and no one ever noticed.

Sebastián knew at once.

It was not an enemy. It was him.

A twisted version. The one the forest had wanted to mold from the beginning. The perfect tool. Without crack. Without doubt. An obedience incarnate in skin and shadow.

It did not move. But its mere presence hurt. Sebastián heard voices in his head: his mother shouting at him, the creature moaning, himself laughing with a tone he had never used. But it was not only that. There were other voices crawling along the edges of his consciousness — unknown, fragmented, as if thousands of throats spoke at once from the depths of a crack.

Some begged.

Others mocked.

One cried with his voice, but distorted, childish, as if it came from a memory that did not exist.

And then came the images. Not visions, not dreams. Images embedded in the flesh of his mind. Himself bound, obeying, hunting faceless. The creature dead at his feet. His own voice saying: "I did not hesitate."

Over and over.

Sebastián fell to his knees.

Not from fear.

From disorientation. Because for an instant, he did not know if he was on the right side of the body he inhabited. He did not know if he was the one watching, or the one laughing. He did not know if what he felt was his, or a residue the forest had left him.

And only then, when the creature's claw brushed his back, when the hum returned to vibrate against his spine like a muffled war drum, could he breathe again.

The figure did not move.

But something in it began to distill mist. A haze that dragged thoughts. The creature rose.

She did not roar. She made no sound.

But she placed herself in front of him.

Not as defense. As shield.

Her whole body tensed. The hum she usually used to mark presence changed. It became lower. More guttural. A deep chant that seemed to rise from the ground, as if speaking directly to the forest. As if warning.

The figure did not move.

At dawn — if that was dawn — it simply was no longer there.

And with its departure, something inside them broke. Or rather, opened.

She approached without warning. Touched Sebastián's forehead with her skull. A brief, dry, firm contact. And he touched her too. Not like before. Not an accidental caress. It was intentional. With the whole palm, resting on the rough neck of his companion. There was no tremor. No shadow.

Only contact.

And then, for the first time in weeks, Sebastián dreamed.

He dreamed of syllables that were not his, with a tongue he did not know but understood. He saw the red creature, not as she was now, but smaller, wilder, more furious. He saw her journey. He saw her wait. He saw how, in a place of the forest where time did not flow, she had waited centuries to find something that could see her beyond her form.

He woke up crying.

She watched him, motionless.

And for the first time, he approached without fear.

He rested his forehead against hers. Closed his eyes.

Not from exhaustion.

From gratitude.

That day they did not hunt.

That day they did not move from the shelter.

They only breathed together.

And the forest, though it did not understand, let them be.

Because sometimes, a crack does not need to open further to become a threat.

Sometimes, it only needs to endure.

The forest no longer creaked. No longer sang.

It only waited.

Stillness was not silence. It was an invisible containment, as if every leaf had frozen halfway through a whisper. Sebastián felt it upon waking: the air did not move. There was no wind. There was no vibration in the creature's skin beside him. Only a hum so faint it was barely real, like an echo of what had been.

The creature did not sleep.

Nor did he.

They looked at each other, unmoving. As if both knew that what was coming could no longer be faced together.

She was the first to turn her body. She lowered her head. And she entered the trees.

There was no farewell.

Only mute acceptance.

Sebastián did not follow her.

He could not.

The forest did not prevent him.

But neither did it let him choose.

His feet began to move. Not like before, when he walked with the creature, feeling each step as his own. This time it was different. Each step was guided by a pulse coming from below, as if the ground marked the rhythm. As if he were being carried.

The roots parted.

The branches leaned.

The moss did not touch him.

And then, in a clearing he did not remember ever seeing, he found it.

Him.

Identical.

Same body.

Same face.

Same everything.

But without crack.

Without scars.

Without mud.

Without doubt.

He was there as if he had always been. As if the forest had birthed him while he slept.

His reflection said nothing.

It did not need to.

And Sebastián understood.

This was not punishment.

It was coronation.

The forest did not want to destroy him. It wanted to replace him.

— You are the mistake — said the mouthless voice — . But even a mistake can open the way for something better.

Sebastián did not reply.

He lunged. The first strike was clean, fierce. It hit the reflection's shoulder and pushed it back. For a second, he felt he had the advantage. He spun his body. Low kick. Elbow. Advance.

But the reflection did not fall.

It responded.

And every response was exact.

Not fast.

Correct.

Sebastián moved with rage. The other with logic.

And logic always finds gaps.

A fist to the ribs. A claw to the jaw. A knee to the stomach. Sebastián fell on his back.

But he stood again.

Not with strength. With obstinacy.

The battle became a cycle. Advance. Fall. Crack. Rise again. Another fall. His reflection did not tire. Did not breathe heavily. Did not bleed. And every time Sebastián stood again, the forest's voice returned.

— See how you fail.

— See how you bleed.

— See how you resist… knowing you cannot win.

And still, Sebastián roared.

Not with his throat.

With his chest.

With the crack.

Until they both fell. One atop the other. Blow against blow. Tooth against tooth. Nail against bone.

And in an impossible instant, the reflection opened his chest.

It thrust in its hand.

Touched him.

The heart.

Sebastián screamed.

But not from fear.

It was the crack opening.

With a strength he did not know he had, he gripped the reflection's wrist.

Dug his fingers into its torso.

And tore open the chest with his own hands.

The flesh gave way.

The bone split.

And there it was: the heart of the forest.

Dark. Perfect. Without cracks.

Sebastián took it.

Ripped it out.

The reflection gasped. It did not die.

It still looked at him.

With rage.

With fear.

With something like recognition.

And Sebastián devoured it.

Tooth by tooth.

Muscle by muscle.

The reflection writhed.

Disintegrated.

But before vanishing, Sebastián plunged his hand again into its chest and pulled out what remained: a root wrapped in thorns.

His own heart.

It still beat.

And then, without ritual, without glory, he pressed it against the heart he had eaten.

And they fused.

Not with light.

Not with magic.

With pain.

The roots spread inside him.

The thorns pierced his ribs.

The dark sap filled him.

And when he fell, he was no longer Sebastián.

He was something else.

Hours passed.

Or days.

The creature found him lying among the branches, bathed in blood that was no longer entirely red.

His chest open.

But his whole body pulsing.

She was not afraid.

She approached.

Smelled him.

Touched him.

And heard the new heartbeat.

It was not human.

It was not of the forest.

It was a living crack wrapped in thorns.

And she recognized him.

Sebastián opened his eyes.

And for the first time, the forest said nothing.

Because it knew that now, what lived in his chest…

would never obey again. The awakening was not abrupt.

There was no jolt.

No terror.

Only a new certainty within the body.

Sebastián opened his eyes.

Not because he had to.

But because there was no longer any reason to remain hidden beneath eyelids.

The air was thick, but it did not overwhelm him.

The forest breathed around him with a tense stillness, as if measuring him from afar, knowing it no longer had power over him.

He sat up.

The creature was there, asleep in a protective position, though her claw no longer covered him.

It was not needed.

He himself was her defense now.

His chest beat slowly, deeply, as if with each pulse the forest had to adapt to his new rhythm.

And then he knew.

Without questions.

Without memories.

He simply knew:

It was time to leave.

They rose.

There was no farewell.

Because they no longer belonged to the forest.

They were what the forest had tried to destroy and had created by mistake.

They walked.

At first, the roots resisted.

They tried to close, to return to the pattern.

But the creature growled low.

And Sebastián simply walked.

Where his foot stepped, the ground yielded.

Not because it accepted him.

Because it could no longer deny him.

The forest did not open the path.

It recoiled.

The branches did not break.

They moved aside slowly.

As if fearing that a mere touch could plant something more in their bark.

And as they walked, something changed in the air.

A voice.

The same.

The ever-present one.

Whispered, soft, without urgency:

— Today you turn seven years old.

Sebastián did not stop.

He only exhaled.

— It doesn't matter, he said. That child no longer exists.

There was silence.

Profound.

Intentional.

And then, the voice returned.

— Then who are you now?

Sebastián did not answer immediately.

He walked a few more steps.

The creature halted at his side, as if sensing something was drawing near, but did not intervene.

— Do you still remember your name?

He closed his eyes.

Not because he doubted.

Because he no longer needed it.

— Yes, he said. But I do not carry it.

— And what remains of the one who bore it?

Sebastián turned slightly, looked at the forest one last time.

— Scars. And fire.

The voice did not answer.

Not immediately.

And then, for the first time, it did not speak only through the air.

The figure formed beside him.

Not an illusion.

Not a vision.

A woman wrapped in mist, formed of living shadow and fossil light.

She had no defined face, but her eyes shone like the center of a wound that had not closed, but had learned to beat.

— Do you know who I am? she asked.

Sebastián did not hesitate.

— I always knew, he said. I only needed you to speak as yourself.

The figure nodded.

And her voice trembled like wind contained between cracks.

— Draila, she said. That was the name I gave myself… when I still tried to contain what I was.

Sebastián lowered his gaze, touched the ground with his fingers.

The earth vibrated.

Not from threat.

From memory.

— Was it you? he asked. All of this?

The figure walked beside him.

— I was forest. I was mist. I was root that sought to mold you, and also crack that called you. I was all the forms I used to break you… …and none managed to prevent you from being born as yourself.

Then Sebastián understood.

Not with words.

With presence.

The world in which he had bled, lost, and devoured…

had a name.

And a face.

And now it looked at him directly.

— And now what will you do? asked Draila. The forest can no longer hold you. But the world… is still waiting for you.

Sebastián walked one step further.

— Which world? he asked, without doubt.

She raised a hand.

And then he saw it.

Before them, where before there had only been mist, black silhouettes of rock and thorns rose.

Mountains.

But not just any mountains.

Hills torn open by blades.

Slopes broken by bones.

Gray clouds that smelled of rusted iron.

And echoes.

Echoes that roared.

And laughed.

And waited.

— The Bloody Mountains, Draila whispered. Where the body screams what the mind can no longer deny. Where every step does not take you farther… …it makes you stronger.

Sebastián did not retreat.

— There the child ends, he said. There begins the one who knows how to devour.

Draila looked at him.

Not with sorrow.

Nor with hope.

With acceptance.

— Then go, she said. But remember… I am not guide. I am root. And I will beat with you… until the world stops resisting you.

The creature approached, as if she too had heard the name of those mountains before.

Sebastián did not wait any longer.

He crossed.

The forest did not stop him.

The roots did not reach him.

The sky did not roar.

Because nothing had power over him anymore.

Only forward.

Only mountain.

Only blood, stone, and cold.

And within his chest,

a human heart in form…

but made of black thorns.

A crack that beat.

And longed to climb.

END OF CHAPTER FIVE