The vehicle stopped in front of the white walls of the Institute. The energy lines running along the façade vibrated with a low, almost imperceptible hum, like a constant metallic breath. The air around them smelled of ozone, of a freshly activated electromagnetic field. Above the gate, the emblem of the institute shone with silver reflections: a circle divided by a lightning bolt and a leaf, symbol of knowledge and power, of the balance between technique and life.

Helena descended first, her stride firm and unbroken. She did not look back; her presence alone was enough to activate the access scanner. The door recognized her biometric pulse with a faint blue flash. Beside her, Sebastián stepped out without expression. His red eyes adjusted to the change in light, reflecting the metallic silhouettes of the place. He wore the black uniform with gray edges of the Institute, simple but functional, fitting perfectly over his body marked by invisible scars. He walked with the natural ease of someone who does not need to impose himself.

Virka followed him. Her jet-black hair fell over her shoulders, and the dark fabric of the uniform moved with a precision that seemed deliberate. She did not seek attention, but she generated it. Her gaze remained serene, evaluating every space, every point of hidden energy within the walls. Around her, the light dimmed slightly, as if it recognized her.

Valentina came down next, holding her backpack with both hands. Inside it, hidden within a reinforced compartment, Narka rested in its reduced form, barely visible but aware. Its golden eyes observed the surroundings through a small opening in the zipper, understanding more than anyone would have imagined.

The girl took a step forward, lips pressed together, chest slightly raised. There was something new in her, a vibration that mixed expectation with that rebuilt innocence that did not yet know how to show itself. She did not feel fear. She felt a clean, almost unfamiliar emotion: returning to a school. It did not matter that the walls were cold or that the hallways smelled of metal; for her, that place represented the possibility of learning something other than surviving.

Helena handed over the identifiers. Each one bore a digital seal and an internal code linked to their records. The automated guard —a humanoid figure of dark steel with crystal eyes— processed the data with a dry, mechanical sound. On the side screens, each of their profiles appeared.

—Sebastián. Academic level: Tenth A.

—Virka. Academic level: Tenth A.

—Valentina. Academic level: Primary, group 3.

The guard nodded with a robotic movement and extended three physical credentials with an integrated wristband.

—Access granted. Your classrooms have been activated.

Helena watched them in silence. Her face showed no emotion, but her mind calculated variables with precision: routes, distances, possible interferences. Then she turned her face slightly toward Kael, who waited at the edge of the path with the module powered down behind him. He did not speak. He simply lifted his gaze, confirming without words that the balance remained intact.

Sebastián crossed the gate first. The energy of the scanner traveled through his body in a pulse of red light. It did not disturb him. His eyes, with the crimson tornado swirling in each iris, reflected on the dark glass of the entrance. The system recognized him without alarm. The air inside was colder, saturated with contained electricity. Virka passed right after; the scanner flickered, registering fluctuations in her spiritual energy, but it issued no alert. Narka inside the backpack remained motionless, his aura compressed to the point of being imperceptible.

Valentina crossed the door last. Her credential vibrated, and a gentle sound announced her registration. The girl lifted her gaze toward the wide hallways that opened before them: lights on the ceiling like infinite lines, walls of pale white that reflected every step. There were students walking, voices, murmurs, footsteps resonating over the metallic floor. It was a world different from the one she knew, but inside her something lit up. A warm spark that didn't depend on fear.

Helena stopped at the threshold.

—Here is where you separate —she said, without raising her voice.

Sebastián looked at her just slightly, an almost imperceptible movement.

—Understood.

Virka didn't reply; she only turned her head toward him, a fraction of a second, enough for both to understand that the role was assumed.

A holographic assistant appeared in front of Valentina. It was a feminine figure of blue light, with a programmed smile.

—Welcome, Valentina. Your classroom is at the end of the corridor, second level. I will guide you —she said in a soft voice.

Valentina tightened the strap of her backpack. Narka released a faint vibration, a silent signal of approval. The girl nodded with restrained enthusiasm and followed the figure, without fear, with steady steps.

Sebastián watched her for an instant, without any visible expression, but with that gaze that registered everything. He didn't stop her nor speak to her. It wasn't necessary. She knew she was safe. And he knew that she knew.

Helena checked the data one last time on her device.

—Tenth A is in the north block. Class begins in six minutes. Do not be late.

Virka and Sebastián nodded. They walked down the corridor. Their steps were different but synchronized: his, dense, grounded; hers, silent, feline, barely brushing the metal. The students passing through the hallway moved aside instinctively, without understanding why. Something about their presence reminded them of danger and calm at once.

Upon reaching the classroom, the system recognized their credentials and opened the door with a soft hum. Inside, thirty students were already seated. The noise decreased instantly. The teacher —a woman with gray hair tied back and artificial eyes— lifted her gaze from her panel.

—Come in. New entries —she announced, without stopping her digital writing.

Sebastián entered first. The classroom light reflected in his eyes, and for a moment the murmuring faded. Virka walked in behind him, her shadow overlapping his. They took the empty seats in the last row, side by side. No one spoke. No one knew them, but everyone felt them.

On the monitors, data, formulas, and diagrams on energy control were projected. The teacher's voice filled the air with technical explanations, but Sebastián wasn't fully listening; he was measuring the environment, the energy flows, the architecture of the electrical channels beneath the floor. Virka, meanwhile, observed the students' expressions, the minimal movements of their hands. She understood better through gestures than through words.

In the opposite block, Valentina was entering her class. The desks were smaller, the lights warmer. The children talked amid soft laughter, and she, for the first time in years, allowed herself to smile. The holographic teacher directed her to her seat. Narka settled quietly inside the backpack, watching the scene through the zipper. It was aware that the calm of that place was fragile but necessary.

The clock marked the exact hour. The doors of the Institute closed, sealing off the outside world. In the skies above the campus, the watchtowers emitted control flashes. Everything seemed in order. But beneath the stillness, between the conduits of the main system, something breathed differently: a current of irregular energy, like a voice without an owner, preparing to awaken.

The day had begun.

And although silence reigned in the classrooms, the real movement was only just beginning.

The sound of the automatic doors sealing was left behind. The main hallway of the Institute stretched into endless lines of white light and steel. The footsteps of Sebastián and Virka echoed like measured pulses amid the constant murmur of other students. Everything had an order, a geometry. Chance did not exist within those walls.

The air was colder than outside; it smelled of polished metal and detergent. Voices, filtering through the high ceilings, dissolved before they could form echoes. In that environment, their presence seemed to alter the density of the place. Not because they stood out visibly, but because they moved with a calm that did not belong to the others.

An instructor with a tablet approached them.

—Initial assignment: physical education. North block, mid level —she said without expression.

Her eyes did not linger on them. She pointed the direction with an automatic gesture and continued on her way.

Valentina, farther behind, held the strap of her backpack with both hands. Her white hair moved with each step, reflecting the hallway light. The child assistant called her from the side corridor.

—Group 3, south classroom. Come with me, please.

She nodded and began walking. Before turning the corner, she glanced back briefly: she saw the backs of Sebastián and Virka moving away, straight, without pause. She did not feel fear. She felt a clean, expectant emotion she did not remember. Narka, hidden inside the backpack, remained silent.

The mid-level sports field was outdoors, surrounded by metal bleachers and a gray rubber track. A teacher waited standing, a whistle hanging from his neck. He was a tall man, broad-shouldered, with the look of someone who carried chronic exhaustion.

—Line up in rows —he ordered without raising his voice.

The students obeyed clumsily. Sebastián and Virka took their place at the end, without seeking position. The breeze lifted fine dust over the pavement. The sky had a dull white tone, as if the morning had stopped in a midpoint of the day.

The teacher checked his stopwatch.

—We start with warm-up jogging. Five full laps. No stops.

The whistle cut the air.

Bodies began to move, some with enthusiasm, others with laziness. The group stretched into an uneven serpent. Sebastián advanced with a steady rhythm, neither fast nor slow. He didn't need to adapt to anyone. His breathing was a soundless line. Virka followed him, just one step behind, her hair brushing her shoulders. Her movements seemed measured, almost ceremonial.

By the time they finished the first lap, sweat already marked the other students' faces. They remained the same. Not because they wanted to prove anything, but because effort was something they knew too well. The teacher looked at his stopwatch and then at the two of them, without comment.

The exercises continued: push-ups, balance drills, short sprints. Sebastián executed each one with functional precision, as if his body knew the exact limit and always moved one millimeter before reaching it. Virka, for her part, showed no exhaustion; her movements were controlled, elegant in their minimal violence. Neither spoke. Neither needed to.

The rest of the class watched them from the corner of their eyes. In an environment where most competed to stand out, their absolute indifference created a different kind of respect.

In another section of the field, the laughter of primary school children broke the monotonous rhythm of whistles. Valentina ran across a blue track, surrounded by small classmates who played at jumping hoops and throwing balls. Her white hair swayed, shining under the light. She stumbled, fell, laughed. The teacher ran toward her, but Valentina was already on her feet. Her breathing was fast, her face bright, and the smile did not fade.

Inside the backpack, Narka watched her silently, seeing the tremor of her body shake the fabric. It didn't speak, but in its mind that joy carried a weight only centuries can understand. It was not simple happiness: it was repair.

A fence separated the primary field from the mid-level field. During the break between exercises, Sebastián drank water, lifted his gaze, and by chance or instinct, saw her. Valentina, on the other side, laughing with her hands on her knees. For an instant, the general noise disappeared. His gaze stopped there. He didn't smile, but in his expression there was a slight relaxation, an internal breath. Virka, standing beside him, noticed the change. She didn't ask. She simply followed his line of sight, saw the girl, and lowered her gaze in silence.

The whistle sounded again.

—Last set —announced the teacher—. Group sprints.

He arranged them in groups of three. Sebastián and Virka were paired with a thin, nervous boy. At the start, the boy stumbled; Sebastián extended a quick hand, stabilizing him without altering his own pace. There were no words. They kept running until the finish line. They finished first. The teacher watched them, noted the result, and only murmured:

—Good.

The rest of the class finished exhausted. Red faces, shirts stuck to their bodies. Sebastián and Virka sat at the edge of the field, breathing with the same calm as at the beginning. The breeze carried the smell of warm rubber.

On the other side, Valentina sat with her group. Her hair was stuck to her forehead and her hands were stained with dust, but she kept laughing. The teacher took attendance, ended the session, and the children began gathering their things. She hugged her backpack carefully; she felt the faint movement of Narka inside and whispered softly:

—It was fun.

The afternoon began to fall.

The mid-level students headed toward the locker rooms. Sebastián and Virka walked together without speaking. In the hallway, the others instinctively moved aside; not out of fear, but because of that firm presence no one could name.

Upon exiting, the sun passed through the Institute's windows with an amber color that painted everything in a silent glow. The general murmur mixed with the sound of automatic doors and fans. Valentina appeared at the end of the corridor with her backpack on. She walked slowly, tired but content. When she saw them, she raised her hand in a small gesture; Sebastián looked at her and nodded once. It was enough.

The rest of the day passed among simple tasks, without incidents.

The final bell echoed throughout the building. The students dispersed, the light shifted in tone, the noise diminished until it became mere breathing.

Sebastián and Virka returned to their assigned dormitories. Valentina was guided to hers, where the other children talked about their day. Narka remained still, listening to the heartbeat of the place, as if the Institute itself breathed in dreams.

Night fell over the windows. Outside, the campus lights flickered with perfect order. Inside, each one rested under the built calm of that day.

Nothing extraordinary had happened, and yet something invisible had taken root: the sensation of belonging, of occupying a space without having to fight for it.

It had been a normal day. And because of that, a day impossible to forget.

Night settled over the Institute like a new skin.

The campus lights remained on, floating between glass and steel like white insects trapped in their own reflection. The hallways were almost empty, but not mute: the machines breathed, the sensors murmured with their blue flashes. It was the kind of silence that belongs to places that never sleep.

Sebastián was sitting on the edge of his bed, back straight, hands resting on his knees. The room was small, neat, impersonal: a bed, a desk, a lamp that adjusted its light intensity according to the occupant's breathing.

His folded uniform rested on the chair.

Through the window, the sports field could be seen, now empty, with the white lines glowing faintly under the night lighting.

Suddenly, a sharp tone cut through the calm.

The announcement system activated with a dry click, and a female voice, neutral and perfectly modulated, filled the dormitories:

—Attention, students.

The weekend reinforcement program is now available.

Students who wish to remain at the Institute for Saturday's complementary classes must confirm their attendance before twenty-two hundred hours.

Those who do not participate will be transported tomorrow to their assigned residences.

There was a pause, and the voice continued, without any emotion:

—Available modules include: general academic reinforcement, foundations of applied technology, introduction to comparative religions, advanced social dynamics, and physical training supervised by Professor Rakzar.

Primary-level activities will include adapted recreational programs.

The announcement ended with a faint hum, and silence returned to fill the air.

Sebastián did not move.

He only turned his head toward the window. The lights of the field flickered, reflected in his red eyes. The rotating glow within his irises seemed slower, as if measuring the rhythm of the voice that had just faded. There was neither interest nor disinterest, only registration. He stored every word the way one stores the direction of a strike: not out of curiosity, but instinct.

In the adjacent room, Virka sat on the floor, her back against the wall, her hair falling over her shoulders. The dim lamp light made the metallic edge of the folded uniform in front of her shine. She listened to the entire announcement without moving.

Her gaze did not leave the floor.

The name "Rakzar" echoed in her mind with a silent resonance, without emotion. She knew what it implied, and for that very reason she did not need to think about it. She closed her eyes for a few seconds, breathed deeply, and let the air fade inside her chest. She did not sleep. She simply waited.

In the children's block, the atmosphere was different.

The lights were softer, the tones warmer. The walls had illustrations of animals and constellations. Valentina was sitting on her bed, legs crossed, her backpack resting in front of her. Inside it, Narka remained silent, wrapped in the dimness.

The announcement's voice still echoed through the speakers.

The girl lifted her head toward the ceiling grille where the sound had come from.

—Can we stay, Narka? —she whispered.

The creature's shell emitted a faint golden glow from the small opening.

It did not respond with words, but the vibration was clear, almost human: approval.

Valentina smiled. It was a small smile, restrained, but genuine. She stood up and walked to the window. From there, she could see part of the field and the lights of the main building. Everything looked huge, perfect, distant. She clenched her hands tightly; she didn't want to leave yet. She wanted to stay and learn, even if she didn't fully know what.

In the hallway, the speakers repeated the notice:

—Confirmation of stay available until twenty-two hundred hours.

Students who remain will receive breakfast before seven.

The digital clocks above each door showed 21:12.

Some dorms began to fill with murmurs; groups of students discussed the possibility of staying, others talked about Rakzar's classes, others about Saturday excursions. For a moment, the Institute seemed like a place full of life again.

Sebastián stood up.

He walked to the panel beside the door and pressed the confirmation button. The screen displayed a green light.

He didn't do it out of interest or duty; simply because staying was part of the path he had already chosen.

Silence settled back into the room after the system's click.

Virka, in her room, did the same.

She pressed the button without lifting her eyes from the floor. The green light illuminated her face for an instant.

Then the room returned to dimness.

In the children's block, Valentina raised her hand when the instructor walked down the corridor asking who wished to stay.

—I do —she said with unexpected firmness.

The woman wrote her name on the list without surprise.

—All right. Tomorrow you'll be in the recreation and reading group.

Valentina nodded, gripping her backpack strap.

Inside, Narka remained still, but the feeling it projected was warm, as if all the air around her had softened.

Outside the windows, the night thickened.

The wind moved the branches of the few trees in the central courtyard.

The Institute's lights flickered at perfect intervals, like a mechanical heart.

In Sebastián's dormitory, the clock marked 21:58.

The confirmation screen blinked once, registering the names of those who had decided to stay.

The system's voice sounded again, now softer:

—Confirmation closed.

The Institute will remain in night mode until six in the morning.

Rest well, students.

The final tone was long, almost musical.

Then, everything became still.

Valentina lay down with her head resting on her backpack.

The weight of Narka beneath the fabric was familiar and comforting.

Before closing her eyes, she looked toward the window.

The glow of the exterior lights reflected in her differently colored pupils.

She didn't think about the next day, nor the classes.

She only felt that she belonged.

Virka did not sleep.

From her bed, she watched the ceiling and listened to the distant footsteps of the guards. The air smelled of electricity and detergent. Everything was too clean, too orderly.

In her mind, the name Rakzar remained latent, like a line drawn in the dark.

Sebastián did not sleep either.

His eyes remained open, fixed on the faint light filtering through the crack of the door.

He wasn't thinking about the immediate future nor the past.

Only about the stillness of the present, that calm that always precedes something one does not see coming.

The Institute rested on its own breathing, like a sleeping animal.

Nothing seemed to move.

And yet, somewhere within its walls, a small vibration ran through the system's energy lines, barely perceptible, as if something—far from everyone's awareness—had begun to awaken.

The Institute slept under its own artificial breathing, a constant heartbeat of systems in repose. The lights of the main hallway had dimmed to a faint glow, filtering only slightly through the cracks of the doors. The air carried that mechanical scent of places that never fully stop. There were no voices, no footsteps, only the murmur of sensors continuing their blind vigilance, the hum of artificial climate correcting the temperature, the slow digestion of a system that simulated sleep without knowing it.

Sebastián lay motionless on the bed, but his eyes held no sleep. Fixed on the ceiling, open, without the slightest blink. His body rested without resting. He felt no anxiety, but rest was foreign to him. The fibers of his being, shaped by combat, did not understand the luxury of surrender. He was a silent machine waiting for something older than duty. Something more intimate than purpose. The silence did not suffocate him, but it did not sustain him either.

He sat up. The movement was exact, unhurried. The floor touched the soles of his feet with the familiarity of an eternal companion. He stood without a sound and walked toward the door. His shadow stretched as he passed under the frame; the hallway lights turned on at his passing, reacting with preprogrammed obedience, unaware of whom they served.

He had no destination. Only an internal direction that depended on neither maps nor routines. With each step, the Institute seemed to yield space to him, as if it knew it should not interrupt this night. The cameras registered him, but did not alert. The doors did not open; they were already open. The nighttime air brushed his skin like a warning without language.

Turning into a side corridor, he stopped. In front of him, in the middle of the hallway, Virka was also walking. It was not surprise. It was recognition. Her steps were just as silent, just as precise. She wore a dark gray, neutral set—the kind of clothing the Institute provided for indoors. Her loose hair seemed to absorb the diffuse ceiling light. They looked at each other. Neither spoke. Neither needed to. It was not decision nor coincidence. It was the inevitable meeting itself.

They walked without prior agreement. Side by side, without touching, without even brushing against each other. But the silence between them was different from the one around them. It was not emptiness: it was shared presence. The Institute around them seemed farther away, as if the corridors stretched only to contain that moment. The lights were softer, the air colder. Distant hums of energy passing through ducts could be heard, but they weren't sound: they were metallic breathing, constant, as if the building itself were sleeping with one eye open.

They turned toward the children's wing. There, the walls were different. Warmer. Soft colors diluted by the dimness. Faint drawings of animals and night skies decorated the walls. The light came from below, not from the ceiling, as if designed not to disturb dreams. In that space, the mechanical felt less severe. More human.

Behind an open door, sitting next to a window, was Valentina. She was speaking softly to the backpack in her lap. Inside, hidden but awake, Narka listened to her with that mineral stillness that never interrupts. The girl lifted her gaze when she felt them. Her heterochromatic eyes shone with a simple, direct emotion. She stood up immediately, as if she hadn't been waiting, yet knew they would come.

—You couldn't sleep either! —she whispered, running toward them.

Sebastián tilted his head just slightly. His eyes did not change, but his attention settled entirely on her. Virka crouched down and brushed a hand through the girl's white hair. It was a brief gesture, but not automatic. One that needed no words to say: I see you, I am here. Valentina nodded with a small, restrained smile. She did not ask for explanations. She did not need them.

They sat together by the window. Valentina in the middle, hugging the backpack in her arms. Virka on one side, Sebastián on the other. Outside, the campus stretched like a board without pieces. The lights remained on, constant, without flicker. There was no movement. No wind. Only the vast presence of structures that seemed to contain the world.

The girl began to speak. In a low voice, but clear. She told them about the games, the colored hoops, the fall that didn't hurt, the smile of the holographic teacher. She spoke with the certainty of someone who, for a moment, does not fear judgment. Virka listened with her eyes fixed on the girl's face, without distraction. Sebastián did not speak, but he heard. The way one hears a distant river after a war. With respect.

Narka didn't move inside the backpack, but through the small opening, its golden eyes reflected the scene. It didn't intervene. It only observed. And in its millennial silence, it understood. That moment wasn't grand. It wasn't historic. But it was true. And for that reason, it was unbreakable.

Time passed. It didn't matter how much. Valentina slowly surrendered to the weight of sleep. She leaned against Virka without asking permission, with the trust of someone who has recognized a safe place. The woman didn't move. She only adjusted her position to hold her better. Sebastián took a blanket from a corner of the cabinet, spread it over the girl with measured slowness, without disturbing the air.

When their eyes met, the distance was gone. Virka looked at him. Her pupils without fixed shape absorbed the dim light. There was a new calm in them, a stillness that is not built with words. Sebastián held her gaze. There was no promise. No future. Only that now, where everything was understandable. She extended a hand, brief, without drama. He did not pull away.

The kiss was slow. Not fragile. Not hurried. Without possession. It was what happens when something stops being silent not from pressure, but because it has found the exact instant in which it must exist. There were no sounds. No exaggerated reaction. Just the emotional weight of a connection that had already lived in silence, finally finding form.

When they separated, the night remained intact. Nothing had changed. And yet, everything had settled.

Sebastián sat up first. Virka lowered her gaze, not out of shyness, but control. Between them, Valentina slept deeply, her expression no longer one of defense, but of peace.

They stayed a few minutes longer. The kind of time that isn't measured, only felt. Then, without a sound, they stood. Sebastián adjusted the blanket over the girl. Virka smoothed the white hair from her face. And together they walked away, moving down the corridor that had brought them.

The Institute breathed with its programmed rhythm, unaware of what had occurred within its walls. The lights flickered once, as if something had touched them from inside. There was no threat. No shadow. Only the invisible trace of something sealed.

A family without a name.

An instant outside chaos.

A heartbeat that needed no witnesses to be real.

___________________________________

END OF CHAPTER 53

The path continues…

New chapters are revealed every

Sunday, and also between Wednesday or Thursday,

when the will of the tale so decides.

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