On the Path of Eternal Strength.-Chapter 61 - 59 And They Walked Together

They did not speak. They did not move. And, for one more instant, they did not breathe. The glass separated them from the world to which they did not belong... and yet, none of the three could look away. The white-haired girl—the only snow-white silhouette in that entire ocean of colors—continued shaping figures out of modeling clay with an almost ritual calm. At her side, her backpack trembled slightly. Just a movement. A contained vibration.

Óscar was the first to notice it.

He barely furrowed one eyebrow, tilting his head as if to confirm that he had not imagined it. But yes: Valentina’s backpack was moving. Not by mistake, not from a badly placed tug, not from a tremor. It was moving from the inside.

Valentina noticed it too. She stopped her play, slowly turned, and looked at the backpack. For a few seconds, her eyes—heterochromous, intense, still clean—rested on it. Then, without saying anything, she lifted her head and directed her gaze... directly toward them.

Óscar tensed.

The distance, the angle, the position. It was not possible. There were children in front, teachers crossing, materials, noise. The glass was slightly opaque at its edge, and even so, that gaze found them as if it had been invoked.

—Do you see it? —murmured Óscar without taking his eyes off—. She’s looking at us.

Virka nodded, without surprise.

Sebastián only murmured:

—She always knows where we are.

Valentina smiled. A small, genuine smile, without artifice. She raised her hand and waved it forcefully, as if greeting a universe on the other side of the glass.

Óscar, despite his usual composure, felt something tighten inside him. It was not fear. It was not tenderness. It was... something primitive. As if a truth larger than he was prepared to understand had just brushed his face.

Valentina did not run toward them. Instead, she picked up her backpack—the same one that had shaken—and headed toward the back of the classroom, amid classmates’ laughter and badly out-of-tune children’s songs.

Two minutes passed.

Three.

Then the girl returned. Not alone.

She gently pulled the hand of a tall woman with a kind face, dressed in a white coat that clearly indicated her role: teacher. It was her teacher. And Valentina guided her with the same energy with which she had earlier shaped impossible figures in modeling clay. She dragged her—with her small, irresistible strength—toward the door where the three were waiting.

Óscar crossed his arms again, his body relaxed but his thoughts in full calculation.

—I suppose now we really are... going to have to talk to the teacher.

Virka did not respond. Sebastián lowered his head for an instant. Almost imperceptible. As if he were making a silent bow to the moment that was about to come. Because beyond the hallways, beyond the titles, the Rakzar, the trials, the blood there was this. A girl who had decided that she did not need permission to bring the world to her parents. And she was doing it. The sensor responded with a brief flash when the teacher placed her hand. The glass slid to the side with a soft, almost respectful sound, as if even the door understood that the gesture was not merely administrative. The boundary between both spaces disappeared, and with it, the last barrier separating two realities that did not usually touch.

Valentina did not wait for confirmation.

As soon as the passage was clear, she moved forward with a clean impulse, without hesitation, without calculation. She did not walk: she ran the few meters that separated her from them and threw herself forward, arms open, her entire body resolved to reach them. Sebastián crouched slightly, just enough to receive her firmly, and Virka leaned in at the same time, closing the space naturally. The girl was caught between them, surrounded by two presences that did not need words to hold her.

The embrace was not effusive or exaggerated. It was compact. Total.

Valentina buried her face against Virka’s torso, gripping tightly, as if that contact were an anchor fixing her to the world. Sebastián placed a hand on her back with a contained, precise gesture, without tremor. There were no broad smiles. There were no soft phrases. Only a silence that did not weigh, because it was full.

Óscar remained a few steps back. He did not interrupt. He did not approach. He observed without intruding, with that attention of his that does not judge, but also does not get distracted. Something in the scene forced him to stay still, as if any movement would be a lack of respect.

The teacher watched them for a few seconds longer than usual. Not out of distrust, but because she was witnessing something that did not fit the institute’s usual protocols. The way Valentina clung to them left no room for doubt. That was not an occasional visit. It was not an external tutoring session. It was belonging.

—Are you Valentina’s parents? —she finally asked, in a lower tone, more human than the procedure required.

Sebastián straightened calmly, separating just enough to be able to look her in the face, without completely breaking the contact between Virka and the girl.

—Yes —he replied—. We are her parents.

The teacher hesitated for an instant. Not because she did not believe the answer, but because institutional logic called for a clarification that she herself already knew was unnecessary.

—It’s just that... you look very young —she said, without irony, without judgment.

—We are —Sebastián accepted without detours—. But that changes nothing.

He added nothing more. He did not explain. He did not justify.

The teacher looked at Valentina again. The girl was still holding on to Virka, calm, secure, as if that were the only place in the world where she did not have to stay alert. That image resolved any remaining question.

—Primary activities have already ended —she said then—. Here we are not so strict with dismissal when parents come to pick up their children. If you wish to take her now, you may do so.

Sebastián nodded once. Then he turned toward the girl.

He moved close enough for Valentina to be able to see him without letting go of Virka. His voice did not soften. It did not need to.

—Daughter —he said—. Do you want to leave now?

Valentina took a second to answer. Not because she hesitated, but because she did not want to let go yet. Finally, she lifted her head, her heterochromatic eyes shining with a strange clarity, and nodded decisively.

—Yes.

Nothing more was necessary.

The decision had been made long before anyone put it into words.

They walked without haste, but also without pause. The Institute, that mass of ordered metals and polished corridors, began to fade behind them as if it had never been part of anything warm. With each step, the floor ceased to be institutional gray and began to look like earth again... even if it was still artificial, even if it was still part of the dome, there was something different in the air. Something that had nothing to do with war, nor with training, nor with evaluation. Something that could only be described like this: Valentina was talking.

—After breakfast we watched a movie with letters... —she began, firmly holding the hands of those accompanying her, as if that way she could give more strength to her words—. Not the one about monsters that eat letters... another one. One where the letters hid inside words... and jumped on the screen. We had to catch them with our eyes.

She did not raise her voice much. She spoke more for them than for the world. More so that her day might exist within those who took care of her, than to prove anything.

—We had to write them. Fifteen. I did ten. The silent ‘h’ confused me... but the teacher said it’s not bad. That I’m improving. That soon I’ll do them all.

She hopped a little, with that nervous energy that only children who have not yet fully understood what it means to be alive possess. And that is why they live.

—After that... —she continued—, when we all finished, we could choose something to play with. I asked for modeling clay. I made a frog. And a house. But the frog turned out weird...

Virka listened with her head slightly tilted, her gaze warm and her lips barely curved. She did not say anything, but there was no need. Her expression was a wordless balm. Valentina noticed it. She smiled more because of that.

Sebastián walked on the other side. His face, as always, did not show a single emotion that could be classified as obvious. But the tension that usually inhabited his body was absent. His steps were soft. His posture, at peace. There was no rigidity, no defense. He was simply walking, as if that instant were enough.

Óscar, a couple of steps behind, did not speak. He did not know how to do so without interrupting what he was seeing. This was not acting. It was not a staged family, nor a functional group formed by convenience. It was a scene that could not be forced: a girl telling the world to those she believed deserved it. And two beings who, of all those he had seen fight, were the least designed for that... and yet, the only ones capable of holding her with such naturalness.

When Valentina paused, not because she had run out of words, but because she seemed to be choosing which part of her happiness to release now and which to save for later, Óscar stepped a little closer.

—Excuse me... —he said in a lower voice than usual, almost unsure—. How old are you?

The girl slowly turned her face. She looked at him out of the corner of her eye. She did not tighten her parents’ hands, but her body did press a little closer to Sebastián. She did not answer. Not yet. In her eyes there was no fear, only evaluation.

Virka was the one who leaned slightly, just enough to be at her height.

—There’s no problem, daughter. You can talk to him —she said in a calm voice, without softening its core—. If he were dangerous... I would have eliminated him myself.

The tone was as natural as if she had been talking about the weather. It was not a threat. It was a certainty that needed no explanation.

Sebastián did not look at Valentina. Nor at Óscar. He only said:

—He is not.

Óscar swallowed. Not because he was afraid... but because he was not used to that unfiltered honesty. That kind of statement usually came with gestures, with smiles meant to lessen its weight. But not here. Not in that family.

—Well... like your parents said —he added, with a slight smile—, I’m not dangerous.

Valentina watched him for a few more seconds. Then she nodded. Very slowly. Her little hand, still intertwined with Virka’s and Sebastián’s, did not tremble.

The walk continued. The Institute was already behind them. They made no plans. They did not discuss what would come next. But there was something indisputable in that walk: they were a family. Not perfect. Not standard. But real. And, for now, that was enough.

The question did not come immediately. But Valentina, as if she had been thinking about it from before, squeezed Sebastián’s hand a little and answered without looking at Óscar, without fear, without shyness... only with the certainty that there was no reason to lie:

—I am five years old.

The number floated in the air for a few seconds, as if it were not simply an age, but an affirmation of existence. The girl moved along between the three, sometimes hopping with both feet when the floor allowed it, other times walking straight as if imitating an adult’s stride. There was no inhibition. The Institute was left behind. And beyond its doors, the world returned to being something without a concrete shape... a space where everything was still possible.

Óscar smiled, tilting his head, as if trying to see beyond the answer.

—And where do you live, Valentina?

The girl stopped for a moment, lightly pursed her lips, and seemed to search for the words carefully. Not out of fear, but because her world did not quite fit into adult words.

—In a very big house —she finally said, stretching her arms out to the sides as if that explained the size—. But there aren’t buildings... there are mountains. And stones. And... and trees that make noises.

Óscar raised an eyebrow, more amused than confused. He looked at Sebastián, then at Virka.

—Mountains?

—Outside the city —Sebastián replied, without altering his pace.

—Far away —Virka added, without further explanation.

There was no need to discuss it. Óscar understood that there would be no additional details. He accepted that boundary with a nod, as if respecting the decision not to open doors that were not yet ready to be shown.

He turned back to the girl.

—And do you know where I live?

Valentina looked at him for the first time with full intention. She evaluated him the way only children can evaluate: with a perfect balance between pure intuition and arbitrary logic. She shook her head.

—In a very, very big building —he explained—. So big that inside there are many houses. So many that, if you’re not careful... you can get lost.

He smiled, letting his voice take on an almost storybook tone.

—It’s like a labyrinth. A fun one. If you ever want, you can come explore it.

The girl’s eyes opened as if the world had acquired a new dimension. The words “labyrinth” and “explore” seemed to shine in her mind. She made a small turn on herself, without letting go of her parents’ hands.

—How many fun things are there there?

—That depends on what you like —Óscar replied, crossing his hands behind his head with a light smile—. But I think there are many you might like.

Valentina jumped once. Then again. And then, without asking permission, she released the question that only children know how to voice without planning it:

—Dad... Mom... can we go?

Sebastián did not answer immediately. He turned his head slightly toward Óscar. He did not evaluate him as an enemy, nor as an ally. He only looked at him with the neutrality with which someone measures the movements of a shadow.

—Is that what you were looking for? —he asked, without raising his voice.

Óscar smiled. A brief smile, almost imperceptible, but real. He nodded.

Virka watched Valentina. At her eyes shining with the genuine hope of discovering something new. At her restless feet. At that energy that had not yet been marked by disillusionment.

—It’s all right, daughter —she said—. We don’t have anything to do today. We can explore.

Sebastián did not repeat it. He did not need to. His silence was acceptance. His step, approval.

The Institute’s doors were already open.

And when they stepped outside, they did not do so as three figures escorting a girl.

But as a family walking toward a different day... one where strength was not measured in combat, nor in medals, nor in marks... but in the ability to walk together toward the unknown, without getting lost.

The Institute was left behind. Not only as a structure, but as a vibration that was beginning to fade in the air. With each step, the polished marble stopped seeming like ground and returned to being what it never was: stone without history. The artificial sea surrounding the complex continued to emit its light, almost perfect breeze, with its clean scent and its programmed waves... but it was no longer convincing. Not for them. The world behind the glass was left encapsulated, like a sealed capsule they did not need to return to.

They walked without haste. Óscar went slightly ahead, not setting the course with authority, but like someone who simply avoids interrupting a step that has already been decided.

—We’re going to take a bus —he said then, turning his face toward Valentina—. It’s like a big car... very big. With many people inside. It’s not like a normal car. It’s... different. But safe.

Valentina did not stop. Nor did she raise her voice. She only turned her face toward him, with the full attention of children who have not yet learned to pretend interest. Her answer was clean:

—I’ve never gotten on one.

Óscar smiled to the side, and in a softer tone, asked:

—Then how do you come to the Institute?

The girl straightened a little, as if that answer deserved to be said with her whole body.

—With my dad. And my mom. In a car. We always go together. Uncle Narka also comes —she said with a bright certainty, as if it were a sacred truth—. He’s always with me. Always. Sometimes Miss Selena also comes... and Mrs. Helena. But only when there are important things.

She did not say it with superiority. Nor with the clumsy innocence of someone who thinks herself special. She said it with certainty. Like someone naming the fundamental pieces of her world. Names that, for her, were not just people. They were pillars.

Óscar did not respond immediately. Nor did he note anything down. But the name “Uncle Narka” was etched more strongly than all the previous ones. Not because it sounded strange... but because of how she had said it. Always. And that “always” carried weight.

He briefly lifted his gaze. His eyes searched, unhurriedly, for Sebastián’s. Then Virka’s. Neither looked away. Neither explained. Neither justified. They only answered with their presence... and with that kind of silence that makes it clear there are things that are not shared. Because they do not need to be shared.

Óscar understood it. He accepted it. And he did not insist.

—So —he said after a few seconds—, this is going to be quite an adventure for you. For your parents too. Are you ready?

Valentina did not answer right away. She stopped for a second. Inhaled. And lifted her face with a dignity so pure that no adult could imitate it. Her lips curved into a smile that did not ask for validation.

—Yes —she affirmed—. We can handle this. And more things too.

The sentence was not exaggerated. It was simple. It was total.

—Perfect —Óscar murmured—. Let’s go then.

And they walked. Not like an improvised group. Not like a squad. They walked as what they were: a family that did not yet know how that word was written, but was living it with every step.

The city began to change around them. The towers near the Institute, rigid and full of sensors, were left behind. The dome maintained its solar projection, but the temperature dropped slightly. Wide streets, artificial trees, floating advertisements... everything continued its course without caring who passed through there. But they did not walk like the rest. They were not programmed. They did not follow routes.

Valentina began to sing.

It was not a decision. It was not a performance. It was a natural outburst. The melody was childish. The words spoke of the sun, of the clouds, of how the sky laughs when it plays at hiding among the buildings.

She sang for herself. But her voice filled the air.

Óscar listened for a few seconds, and then, without asking permission, joined in. His voice was not harmonious, but it was not false either. It went with hers. That was enough.

Sebastián, without altering his pace, let a murmur come from his throat. It was not a note, it was a vibration that accompanied. Virka, on the other side, hummed without moving her lips, as if the melody floated through her aura.

The song was not perfect. But it was real. And that made it powerful.

They walked like that. Between songs and silences. Between a world that did not understand them and one that had not yet been created.

The bus station was not far. But the destination did not matter either. What mattered was that stretch. That moment. That badly sung song that united what no doctrine nor training field could ever achieve.

A child can sing.

An adult can accompany.

But only a family walks like that.

______________________________________________________________________

END OF Chapter 59

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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Thank you for walking by my side.

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