On the Path of Eternal Strength.-Chapter 60 - 58 Those Who Do Not Hide What They Are

Chapter 60: Chapter 58 Those Who Do Not Hide What They Are

The instructor’s final order left no emotional trace in the air. It was dry, direct, without indulgence. And yet, the four understood that this was the closest thing to a farewell they would receive. They did not turn. They did not give thanks. They did not try to fix the moment in their memory. They only inclined their heads slightly, each in their own way, like someone acknowledging a structure more than a man. Then they walked.

The path to the locker rooms was brief. Silent. Cold. The wind still dragged particles from the field, as if the echoes of those who had fallen refused to disappear completely. None of the four spoke. There was no need. The essential had already been said... with bodies, with decisions, with endurance.

Virka and Zaira took the side access to the women’s locker room. Óscar and Sebastián followed down the opposite hallway. The doors closed behind them with a hollow sound. And the scene divided.

The women’s locker room had no large mirrors or warm colors. Everything was white, functional, outlined with an efficiency that bordered on cruelty. The light was direct, without nuances. It did not decorate. It did not soften. It only revealed.

Zaira was the first to release the knot of the black garment she still wore under the uniform. Her body emerged from the fabric like an awakened sculpture. Firm legs, full hips, marked abdomen with a precise line, projected bust, not a curve out of proportion. There was an inevitable sensuality to her, but not one she tried to use: it was the natural consequence of her mastery over herself.

Virka, beside her, had already stripped off the tight clothing without any ceremonial gesture. Her body was different. Thinner, but no less powerful. Her muscular lines marked themselves like natural tensors beneath white skin with a slight grayish tone when the angle allowed it. There was no aesthetic intention in her. Only form made for function. Where Zaira was earthly harmony, Virka was contained threat.

Zaira could not help but look at her. Not with desire, nor rivalry. Only with instinctive precision: the way that creature —because that was how she felt, more a creature than a person— moved, dressed, held herself... it was another kind of language. One the body understood before the mind.

Virka took from her locker a minimal lower garment: black shorts, without edges, without markings. She put them on in a single movement, no underwear beneath. Then a short, tight shirt, just enough to cover the chest. No bra. No lace. Only what was necessary to enter the uniform without being stopped.

Zaira, still glancing at her from the corner of her eye, reached for her own garments. She first took out her underwear: a silver lace set, subtly but elegantly designed. The bra had a firm cut, functional yet beautiful. The lace panties rested softly on her skin, revealing the sculpted contour of her hips and thighs. She did not do it for seduction. It was her way of not forgetting who she was, even under pressure.

He put on the uniform over it, with slow but steady movements. Each garment fell over her as if it recognized its place.

When both were ready, they looked at each other once, barely a crossing of gazes. Neither said a word. And yet, something had been said.

They left.

In the hallway connecting to the changing rooms, Óscar was speaking.

—Don’t get me wrong —he said, with that tone of his, a joke wrapped in iron—, it’s not that I want your secret... but there’s something in you that doesn’t fit with the rest of this zoo. How did you make your body reach that level?

Sebastián didn’t stop. Nor did he lower his head. His voice, when it came, was just like his walk: firm, without ornaments.

—My body transformed... because of what I lived.

He didn’t explain further.

Óscar didn’t insist. He only smiled, as if the answer confirmed something he already suspected. He slightly quickened his pace.

Zaira and Virka came out at that moment. Sebastián saw them immediately. His gaze passed over both, but stopped on Virka. Not out of surprise. Not out of interest. But for something deeper. Recognition. Nameless closeness.

Virka walked toward him without saying anything. As if it were obvious, natural. She positioned herself at his side. There was no greeting. Only the mute synchrony of two presences that had already been tested.

And then they walked.

First the two of them. Behind, Zaira —with her firm stride and silent gaze— and Óscar —with his indecipherable half-smile— followed them. Not because they wanted to follow them. But because it was the same path.

The institute awaited them.

And this time... they arrived different.

The sound of their footsteps was not the same as when they first arrived. Not because of the rhythm, but because of the density. There was something in the air, in the body, in the echo of their movements that had changed. The Rakzar had not filled them with glory, but had emptied them of doubts. They no longer walked toward something. They simply advanced because they still could.

The institute’s hallways unfolded before them with the impersonal symmetry of unending machinery. White lights, clean walls, corners without cracks. A functional order that did not invite, only guided. On each side, routes to dormitories, cafeterias, training rooms, administrative zones. No sign was decorative. No line was unnecessary.

The four walked together until the next intersection. There, as if it had been waiting for them beforehand, an assistance robot stood motionless. Tall, thin, with barely visible joints beneath a polished casing. It had no face, only a luminous strip on its head. When it detected them, the line lit up with a blue blink.

Sebastián was the only one who stopped.

He took out his credential with his left hand, slid it across the robot’s reader without saying a word. The machine responded with a neutral, precise voice:

—Identification recognized: Sebastián Solis. Inquiry?

—First-grade zone —he said, his voice firm but without urgency.

There was a pause. Then, from the floor, white arrows began projecting a route that veered toward one of the farthest corridors.

Sebastián didn’t respond. He put away the credential. And without looking at anyone else, he extended his right hand.

Virka was already taking it.

There was no prior glance. No implicit agreement. Only a natural synchrony, the exact reflection of two bodies that already knew the other’s silence.

Both began to walk. No one stopped them. No one asked for explanations. Zaira diverted her route toward the cafeteria without turning back, with the same confidence with which she had crossed the entire Rakzar. Her step was firm, direct, without nostalgia.

It was then that Óscar spoke. 𝑓𝘳𝑒𝑒𝓌𝘦𝘣𝘯ℴ𝑣𝘦𝑙.𝘤𝑜𝑚

—Do you mind if I go with you?

The question floated, without any intention of stopping them. But the tone was different. Not playful. Not invasive. Just... curious. Óscar was still a few steps behind, but he hadn’t changed his posture. Hands at his sides. The high bun like a careless knot. The clear gaze.

Sebastián and Virka stopped.

They turned at the same time. Not in practiced synchrony, but as if the same impulse had run up their spines. Sebastián didn’t speak immediately. Nor did Virka.

—We’re not anyone’s spectacle —he said, without raising his tone. The phrase fell without harshness, but with weight.

Óscar raised a hand in a gesture of calm.

—I didn’t mean that. I don’t want to make you feel watched.

A brief pause. Neither apology nor insistence.

—I just think that you two... are unique. I’m intrigued to see how something like that walks through a place full of children. I won’t cause trouble. Just watch. Nothing more.

The hallway hung in an expectant stillness. The light on the floor continued marking the route, but no one stepped on it anymore. Then Sebastián looked at Virka. He said nothing. She didn’t either. But she nodded, only once.

And that was enough.

Sebastián began walking again. Virka followed him. And Óscar, unhurried, joined the pace, a little behind, without breaking the rhythm.

There were no more words.

Only the sound of their footsteps moving away through a corridor that led to a zone that had no traps, no tests, no meters...

But that perhaps held the only kind of pressure they had yet to know:

the kind of a world where one has not yet decided to be strong.

The children’s zone.

Zaira turned in another direction. Her stride was firm, dry, without detours. As if her body still carried the imprint of the Rakzar’s path, but her mind had already detached from the metal. She didn’t look back. She didn’t look for anyone. Her steps were not those of someone fleeing nor of someone seeking company. They were of someone who continues, simply because there is still road left.

The institute’s hallways seemed cleaner than usual. Or perhaps it was her eyes that now perceived every line with more harshness. Soulless lights. Walls without history. The entire environment seemed designed to keep bodies moving, but never to support thoughts. And yet, she thought.

She thought about Virka.

Not out of jealousy. Not out of admiration. But because it was inevitable. That creature —because she could not simply call her a companion— had surpassed her. With no background, with no prior experience in the Rakzar. She had surpassed her with a naturalness that hurt more than the defeat itself.

Zaira didn’t deceive herself. She had not lost by carelessness. She had given everything her body knew. She had forced it, burned it, overloaded it. And even so, she was second.

Virka hadn’t struggled. Or at least, she hadn’t shown it. She simply flowed through each stage with monstrous efficiency. As if her body had been born to adapt without effort. As if that race had not been a challenge, but a continuation of her existence.

Zaira frowned slightly at the memory of Virka’s expression throughout the entire test. Cold. Calculated. Silent. Without tension, without fear, without visible desire.

That absence of conflict was more unsettling than any threat.

And then there was Óscar.

His performance had been good. Measured. Within the predictable. He didn’t stand out, but he didn’t falter either. He was intelligent, of course. Every movement of his had a calculation behind it. But he didn’t represent anything outside the norm. He wasn’t an anomaly. Not like Virka. Not like... Sebastián.

The name crossed her mind like an unexpected weight. Sebastián.

Zaira pressed her lips slightly as she walked through the empty hallway leading to the cafeteria. She tried not to think about it. But it was useless. His image returned. Not his face, not even his eyes. What returned was the echo of his step... that step that never broke.

The instructor had said it clearly. The core of his ARMEX had been collapsing since the beginning.

And even so, Sebastián ran. Jumped. Fought. Endured.

Without energy. Without assistance. Only with his body.

Zaira didn’t need to see the data. She had seen everything in the Rakzar. She had felt his presence as he passed. His rhythm. His consistency. There was something in him that could not be explained with training or technique.

It was something else.

A strength that was not built... it was forged.

And the most unsettling part: he didn’t seem to have used even half of his capacity.

Sebastián didn’t seek first place. He didn’t rush his pace.

He didn’t need to impose himself.

He just advanced.

And that was enough for no one to be able to catch him... unless he allowed it.

That calmness irritated her. Not because of arrogance, but because it was real. He wasn’t exhausted. He wasn’t breathing heavily. He wasn’t sweating. He had finished the Rakzar like someone finishing just another walk. As if the important part had not been winning, but simply not stopping.

Zaira reached the cafeteria. The place was deserted. The automated staff still operated in silence. The lights there were warmer, but no less impersonal. She approached the ordering console, entered her identification, and waited. As the food began being served onto the metal tray, she thought again.

Everything she believed she had under control... no longer was.

She thought about her body. Her strength. The mastery she had perfected over the years. She thought about her training, her discipline, her experience with the ARMEX, the risks she had taken, the times she had broken herself to rebuild.

And then she remembered Virka... advancing without tension.

She remembered Sebastián... without energy, but untouched.

Her name, Zaira Thorne, had not been humiliated. She had placed second.

But there was something worse than losing.

And it was realizing that even with everything she had done... there was someone else who hadn’t even fought to win. And even so, he finished ahead.

The tray made a faint click as it was completed. She took it without expression, walked to one of the central tables, and sat alone. She didn’t look around. She wasn’t expecting company.

She chewed without hurry, without pleasure. Only out of necessity.

And while she ate, the faces returned.

Sebastián. Virka.

A creature that did not feel.

And a monster that had not yet shown its teeth.

The silence persisted as the three followed the arrows projected on the floor. It wasn’t the same silence they carried from the Rakzar. This one was lighter, more open, as if each step marked the entrance to a territory that demanded no masks or defenses, only presence. The hallway lights dimmed as they moved away from the institute’s main core, as if the structure itself understood that the place they were heading toward didn’t require the same kind of attention.

Sebastián glanced at one of the branching paths and spoke for the first time since he had taken Virka’s hand.

—This isn’t the same path as always —he murmured, without stopping—. It’s not the way we go on normal days... when we come for Valentina.

Virka nodded softly, her gaze fixed on the luminous arrows.

—I know. Even for the children... this place shows different things.

She didn’t say it as a judgment. She said it as if she were talking about the weather. As if the institute were a living entity that transformed depending on the type of step that crossed it, depending on the reason one walked inside it. Even Valentina, in her fragility, had noticed those variations. And that, for Virka, was truth enough.

Óscar walked a few steps behind, hands folded behind his back, with that relaxation that seemed part of his skeleton. His voice arrived like a clean cut through the reflections.

—Valentina?

Sebastián didn’t hesitate. He didn’t hide. He didn’t lie.

—Our daughter —he said.

The sentence settled in the air with a brutal calm. Without defense. Without the need for context. Like a smooth stone thrown into a bottomless lake.

Óscar paused for a moment, then let out a small laugh. Not mocking. Not sarcastic. Just a dry exhalation, charged with genuine surprise.

—It’s not mockery —he clarified immediately, raising a hand as if he knew he was crossing an invisible line—. It’s just that... it wasn’t in my calculations. I thought you were coming for some relative. A brother, a sister. Something like that. But a daughter... that I did not see coming.

Sebastián didn’t respond. It wasn’t necessary.

Virka turned her face slightly, her tone as neutral as always.

—Why hide it?

Óscar raised his eyebrows.

—I don’t know... because the world does, I suppose.

—Then the world is wrong —said Sebastián.

Virka walked one step ahead.

—We don’t need to hide what we are in order to fit into what exists. We weren’t made for that.

Óscar looked at both of them, smiled for real this time, with that half-curve of his that didn’t ask permission to exist.

—Fantastic —he murmured—. Truly, fantastic.

No one responded. But they didn’t ignore him either.

They kept walking. The light changed once more. The arrows on the floor began to fade. In front of them, a double door lit up with a faint outline. The floating sign above the frame was simple, translucent:

Primary Zone – First Level.

The threshold was there, without guards, without protocols, without warnings.

Just a subtle border between the world of those who survived by blood...

and the world of those who still didn’t know why they should resist.

The walk was short, but not hurried. The arrows on the floor flickered with an amber tone, soft, as if they knew that speed was no longer necessary. Sebastián said nothing. Virka didn’t either. Only Óscar, a few steps behind, followed them with his hands in his pockets, observing without judgment. The hallway led them to a double door with reinforced glass, tall up to the ceiling. On the upper frame, a faint projection floated that read: Primary Zone – First Level.

They stopped.

Not because they needed to. Not because they had doubts. Simply... they stopped.

On the other side, through the glass, the light was different. The Institute no longer seemed the same. There were no emergency lights or energy panels draining away. No life sensors or surveillance drones. Just a wide space, with colorful carpets, walls illustrated with soft shapes, and children. Dozens of children. Some with modeling clay in their hands, shaping absurd and precious things. Others painted with thick crayons, creating deformed universes that only made sense to them. A group sang children’s songs, off-key but happy. There were no force lines. No medals. No combat.

And among them...

White hair.

Unmistakable. Like a line of snow falling in the middle of summer.

Sitting on a green cushion, with her back straight and her gaze fixed on her table, Valentina smiled. She didn’t look at anyone. Only at her clay, with which she built tiny figures: a sort of long-eared creature, then a house with three roofs, then a flower without petals. Beside her, her backpack rested against the low table, slightly open, and she whispered to it, as if the backpack could hear her. As if its presence were enough.

Sebastián watched her without saying a word. There was no rigidity in his body, but an absolute stillness. His muscles did not tense. His face didn’t change. Only the eyes... those perpetually red eyes stopped spinning for an instant. As if looking at her made him stop seeing everything else.

Virka saw her too. Her head tilted slightly. The crimson eyes didn’t blink, but on her lips there was something. Not a drawn smile. Just a slight break, a minimal curve, as if for the first time her face remembered what tenderness was. She said nothing. It wasn’t necessary. She was looking at her reason.

Behind them, Óscar didn’t hide his surprise. He had walked with both of them. He had seen them fight, stay silent, obey without bending, break without breaking. And now... this. That expression. That human and real instant that couldn’t fit the image he had built of them.

—Which one is your daughter? —he asked, breaking the silence with a voice curious but clean, without mockery.

Sebastián didn’t turn his head. He only lifted his hand and pointed. Virka did the same, in unison. The girl with white hair, focused on her world of clay, her bare feet moving to the rhythm of a silent song.

Óscar looked at her. His gaze went from Valentina to the two of them. And back to her. Then he let out a light nasal laugh that didn’t seek to offend.

—Well... —he murmured—. You’re a unique family.

There was no immediate response. And there didn’t need to be.

The image was enough. A white-haired girl among colors. Two figures who seemed not to belong to that environment... but who only there, on the other side of the glass, showed something that neither war nor pain had been able to erase completely.

The possibility of belonging.

And, perhaps, of protecting something more than themselves.

______________________________________________

END OF Chapter 58

The path continues...

New Chapters are revealed every

Sunday, and also between Wednesday or Thursday,

when the will of the tale so decides.

Each one leaves another scar on Sebastián’s journey.

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