On the Path of Eternal Strength.-Chapter 64 - 62 The core that devoured without breaking

Chapter 64: Chapter 62 The core that devoured without breaking

The silence had not ended. Sebastián did not break it because there was no reason to do so. Cultivation did not demand words, and consciousness did not ask for permission. He was sitting in the middle of the living room, in the same position in which he had closed his eyes, but he was no longer just a solid body sustained by the stillness of the apartment. He was something more. He was an extension, a network without edges, a center that expanded without moving. Within him, the Inverted Origin Core continued to spin. It did not do so with haste or with weight. It did so with purpose. Each rotation did not generate energy; it summoned it. And that call was beginning to receive an answer.

The first thing he perceived was the most obvious: the electricity still running through the apartment, the circuits pulsing behind the walls, the tiny heat of active outlets, the appliances in standby mode, the small sources of mechanical vibration that the house generated to remain alive. All of that he already knew, but now he felt it in another way, as if it were not simply in the environment, but beneath a deeper layer, like a second skin of the world that he had not been able to touch before. His consciousness did not expand the way a radar would. It was not an explosion of senses. It was a calm that unfolded outward, that opened space without cutting it, as if the boundaries between his body and the environment had become porous. It did not invade. It inhabited.

And that room, that extended presence, did not stop. Its radius grew. Fifty meters in all directions. It was not a conscious measurement, but he recognized it. He felt it with an exactness that required no calculation. Each nearby apartment began to reveal itself as if it had never been closed. Not with shapes, but with flows. Electrical energies, internal pressures, temperature, vibrations from motors, air conditioning, minimal thermal currents crossing walls, floors, structures. It was a cartography without lines, built by the subtle movement of everything that exists and does not rest.

Then something different appeared. Sebastián recognized it instantly, not because it was aggressive, but because its weight distinguished it. It was Narka’s Qi. He did not see it. He did not hear it. He felt it. And not as a floating force. He felt it the way one feels the depths of the earth when one descends far enough. It had no shape. It had no edge. It was a mountain without a peak. It was not energy flowing or pulsing. It was mass of existence, breathing slowly from a fixed point. Narka had not changed position. He was still there, sitting a few steps away, watching in silence. But now Sebastián could feel his Qi completely, as if a door had been closed and suddenly opened without a sound. He encompassed it. And he understood it. It was only a fraction of what that being could manifest. And even so... it was more than everything he had felt up to that moment.

It did not frustrate him. It did not humiliate him. It placed him. It reminded him that the path of cultivation was not a straight line nor a staircase toward a final point. It was a construction without end. A constant choice. And Sebastián had already chosen. It did not matter if one day he reached that kind of presence. It did not matter if his Core came to absorb everything that others could not contain. He did not cultivate to go farther. He cultivated to sustain his truth. To embody his purpose. To never deviate.

He had understood it before. But now he reaffirmed it. He did not seek to break the world. He sought to become inevitable. Not through crushing. Not through violence. But through permanence. Through firmness. Through not stopping when everything else collapsed. The Dao of Eternal Strength was not an ideal. It was his way of living. And living, for Sebastián, was advancing. Without glory. Without fear. Without concessions. That was the only destiny he recognized.

The Core heard him. Not with thoughts. With resonance. And because of that, it rotated once more. What had once been perception now became absorption. There was no abrupt change. There were no jolts. The process was as natural as breathing. The electrical energy of the surroundings began to yield. Not like one who surrenders, but like one who recognizes that it no longer makes sense to resist. The thermal currents of the nearby apartments, the mild heat of the resistances, the hum of the structures, the constant vibrations of the building’s mechanical system... everything began to slide toward him. Not all at once. Not as an uncontrolled flow. Like an inevitable decision of the environment to become part of what was already center.

And the Core did not select. It did not reject. It did not analyze. What arrived, it crushed. It broke it down. It converted it. The energy was not stored. It became internal strength instantly. There was no reserve. There was no waste. There was no judgment. Sebastián’s internal mediators no longer filtered like those of a common cultivator. They did not behave like guardians of the flow. They were only channels. Pure transmission networks. They conducted what the Core transformed, without stopping, without interfering, without asking.

Sebastián gave no orders. He did not direct. He only breathed. And everything happened within that breath. His left arm tingled. The spine tightened without pain. The sternum vibrated slightly. Not as a physical reaction, but as a transit signal. The energy passed through. Everything in him opened and reorganized itself to sustain the new structure. Not because it was too much. Because it was different.

He did not feel burden. He felt structure. The body did not burn. It adjusted. The environment did not complain. It yielded. As if everything already knew that its existence was prepared to revolve around that will that could not be ignored. Narka continued observing, unmoving. He did not need to intervene. He knew that this kind of cultivation could not be taught. Only witnessed.

And Sebastián... sought nothing more than that. Presence. Purpose. Permanence. Everything else was consequence. The apartment did not change. But the energy was no longer the same. Because for the first time, the world did not surround him: it recognized him.

Time became unnecessary. Sebastián did not perceive it, and his body, alien to any need for pause, remained rooted in the process of absorption. Outside, the city turned without awareness of its core, but within the invisible radius that encompassed fifty meters all around, everything that could be classified as energy—electrical, thermal, vibrational—was slowly absorbed by the center that claimed it without words. The Inverted Origin Core continued spinning with the implacable calm of something that did not need understanding, only function.

Sebastián’s consciousness did not float. It did not wander. It did not dream. It was firm, anchored in that single purpose: to devour the environment. Every cable beneath the ground, every active resistance, every minimal vibration of a distant compressor, everything responded to that silent mandate. There was no force. There was no push. Only obedience. Nothing in him trembled. No muscle tensed. And yet, his entire body was now an active structure, in the midst of a continuous process of transmutation.

Narka remained at his side. Silent. Small. Immutable. He watched him without intervening. He knew that this way of cultivating, different from everything known, could be dangerous if it escaped control. But that was not the case. He saw it clearly. Sebastián was not forcing himself. Nor was he pushing beyond his reach. He was only allowing. Only directing. Only sustaining. The Core, for now, responded with obedience. Narka released an imperceptible sigh, one that was not of exhaustion, but of certainty. There would be no outburst. There would be no fracture. Sebastián could continue. And therefore, he could withdraw.

He rose, crossed the space with slow steps, emitting no sound at all, and headed toward the hallway. There, beyond the door, Valentina and Virka were resting. Narka did not cross the threshold. He sat in front of it, like a guardian who did not need to move to remain alert. He closed his eyes. His body, still reduced, seemed motionless, but his interior activated with the precision of an ancestral machine. And then, he too began to cultivate.

He did not use the Inverted Origin Core. He did not absorb electricity, nor artificial heat, nor energy processed by human systems. He took the energy of the world, drawing it directly from existence, without foreign mediators. Environmental energy, the essence of the surroundings, the natural vibration of living matter—all of it flowed toward him in an orderly, constant manner, without hindrance. He did it faster than Sebastián, with less effort. But his process did not interrupt that of the boy. The routes did not cross. Each sustained his flow without disturbing the other.

And although no one said it, it was evident that Narka’s range far exceeded Sebastián’s limit. It encompassed everything. And more. But it was not a competition. It was not a comparison. It was balance. One devoured what could not be used. The other refined what had always been available. Neither imposed. Neither demanded. They only cultivated. And the night advanced with them.

The hours dissolved without leaving a trace. The outer darkness began to lighten slightly, as if the sky felt it was no longer necessary to hide anything. Inside the apartment, nothing moved. The sleeping figures remained calm. Objects did not tremble. The energy, however, continued to flow. The entire apartment had become a circuit. Silent. Discreet. Perfectly functional.

Then, on the edge of dawn, the first alteration appeared.

A faint, distinct sound marked the change. It was not a crash. It was not an emergency alarm. It was a programmed signal, part of the building’s intelligent system. A gentle alert, designed to awaken without violence. A low-frequency vibration that activated the apartment’s internal sensors, a kind of automatic reminder. But it was enough to alter the balance.

Virka opened her eyes instantly. She did not startle. She did not rise abruptly. She simply awoke with full awareness, as if she had never slept. Valentina took a few seconds longer. Her body moved among the blankets, barely stirred by the signal. Narka, who was no longer in deep cultivation, rose with the same calm with which he had begun. He did not cross the door. But he positioned himself in front of it, like a firm shadow, ensuring that no one else entered. He knew that this room was now a refuge, and he would not allow it to be disturbed.

Sebastián opened his eyes as well. His Core did not shut down. It only reduced its intensity. The flow of energy diminished with precision, as if it recognized that it was no longer time to devour. He had cultivated for hours, absorbing everything he could within that range, without interruption, without deviation. His breathing remained deep. His body still vibrated with the accumulated energy. But he was awake. And present.

A few minutes passed. Then, Óscar appeared.

Not in a hurry. Not in alarm. He walked barefoot, with his hair tied in his usual bun and a loose, histrionic-inspired pajama—navy blue fabric with small chaotic symbols spinning like notes of a disjointed melody. He stopped when he saw Sebastián sitting in the middle of the living room, still surrounded by a different air, denser, firmer.

—Was that your fault? —he asked, as if he were asking about a burned-out lightbulb.

Sebastián did not answer. Not with words. He only looked at him. His body was still in a cultivation position, but he was no longer immersed. Óscar did not insist. He rubbed his eyes, stretched his arms, and muttered something under his breath before letting himself fall onto the sofa as if dawn were just a minor inconvenience.

Then, the door opened. Virka was the first to come out. She did not walk like someone just awakened. She was ready. Her hair tied back, her eyes firm, her presence as sharp as ever. Valentina followed her. Slow. Barefoot. Sleepy but without fear. She walked close to her, still not letting go of her backpack, still with her eyes half-closed from sleep. Both left the room without noticing Narka, who remained on the other side of the door, without crossing it, watching from the shadows.

The four gathered in the living room. Óscar observed them without losing his mocking attitude, but he did not mock them. He seemed to understand, in his own way, that something had shifted during the night, even if he could not explain it. No one spoke. No one asked. There was no need.

The night had ended.

The cultivation, for now, had ended as well.

But what they had gained within that silence... would not leave.

The silence had not fully returned, but it floated among the bodies like a discreet mist. The living room held itself in that pause that demands no explanation: Sebastián still seated, with his torso firm and his gaze absorbed; Virka at his side, upright, present, watchful without needing to assume a stance; Óscar on the sofa, arms crossed with a neutral expression, as if waiting for someone else to say what he was not going to say; and Valentina, among them, barely awake, with her eyelids half-lowered and the breathing of someone who has not yet fully left sleep behind.

The light of dawn began to filter its first reflections through the corners of the curtains. The apartment, still in shadow, clung to the shelter of the night as if it did not want to surrender. No one spoke. No one moved. And it was she, the smallest one, who broke the stillness.

—What was... that noise? —Valentina murmured, without opening her eyes completely, her voice dragged down by drowsiness.

She did not ask it in fear. She asked it like someone who is not fully awake yet, but wants to know if it is safe to close their eyes again. No one answered immediately. Virka glanced at her from the corner of her eye. Sebastián shifted his gaze slightly toward her. And it was Óscar who smiled first. Not mockingly. Tenderly.

—What you heard —he said, in his softest voice, the one that sometimes slips out when no one expects him to be kind— was the hive signal. A common alarm that goes off when there’s a brief power cut. Nothing serious happens. It just notifies. And then... everything goes back to normal.

He spoke as if he were explaining it to a creature from another world. As if he knew his words did not need technical precision, but a warm tone. Valentina nodded slowly, without saying anything. Her head felt heavy. Her eyelids too. And when Óscar added with a hand gesture:

—You can go back to sleep. Don’t worry. Everything’s fine now.

She simply nodded again, without uttering a word. She turned halfway around with that slowness only a child’s body has when it is about to surrender once more to sleep. She walked alone down the hallway, dragging her feet without making a sound, her backpack still hanging from one arm. No one stopped her. No one escorted her. There was no need. It was a small moment, but sacred.

When she reached the room, she did not turn on the lights. She did not push the door. She simply entered as if it had always been her home. And there, in the settled penumbra, she saw him. Narka had not moved. He was still seated facing the wall, like a contained stone, like a figure that had never left sleep. But Valentina recognized him. Not as a beast. Not as a protector. She saw him with the eyes of a child who does not distinguish between what is alive and what is safe. She did not think. She did not hesitate.

She approached in a straight line, without sound. She crouched clumsily and took him into her arms as if he were a plush toy, not a guardian capable of shattering worlds. Narka did not resist. He made no sound. He did not become heavy. He let her lift him. And when Valentina returned to the bed, she carried him with her as one carries a certainty.

She did not lie down immediately. She sat first, placed Narka at her side, and then settled in her own way, dragging the blanket with slow movements, fitting her small body against the reduced colossus without any kind of fear. She curled up in silence, her head resting against his side, and closed her eyes. There was no word. There was no sigh. Only the return to rest.

Narka, from his stillness, did not change posture. But his body did not reject that contact. He did not interpret it as an offense. He allowed it. Because he understood that, at least for that night, his only function was to be there. Silent. Present. Unalterable.

And so, while in the living room the day began to settle in and they maintained their composure without the need for conversation, in that silent room, Valentina fell asleep again. This time, without worries. This time, without running from anything.

Óscar, still wearing his loose, histrionic-inspired pajamas —navy blue fabric with small chaotic symbols spinning like notes of a disjointed melody—, had leaned halfway against the back of a chair. His hair was tied in the same messy bun as always, and his eyes had not lost that glint somewhere between calculation and carelessness.

—So... —he finally said, like someone tossing a rope into a bottomless well—. What was that power cut about, huh? I already checked everything. Aside from that burned-out lightbulb I mentioned earlier, everything’s normal... except that for a moment the system detected an overload as brief as it was intense.

Neither of the other two seemed surprised. Sebastián, still standing, arms crossed and eyes unblinking, was the only one who answered.

—Yes.

A single word. There was no explanation or detail, just an affirmation that closed the subject rather than opening it. Óscar understood immediately that he would get no more. Not a single additional fact. Not a justification. Not even an excuse in disguise. Sebastián had no intention of lying... but neither of sharing.

The boy with the bun let out a light sigh, without annoyance, without resignation. It was the kind of sigh one gives when one understands that they have reached the boundary of what is permitted.

—Alright... —he murmured—. At least nothing exploded. I guess that already makes it a good day for me.

He moved a few steps away, walking until he let himself fall onto one of the sofas with his usual carefree elegance, and then, with the same light voice he used when cooking or talking about the weather, he changed the subject.

—So what are you going to do today? I mean... it’s Sunday. Do you have any plans? Are you going out? Are you going to keep up that mysterious routine of yours?

Virka answered first. Not out of courtesy. But because she had no intention of letting Óscar gain ground with questions wrapped in friendly curiosity.

—What do you want to know for? —she asked, without changing her tone. Her gaze remained fixed, direct, as if each of her words demanded a stance.

Óscar raised his hands, feigning innocence.

—It’s not to follow you. Well, not more than I already have.

Sebastián intervened at that point. He did not raise his voice. He did not harden his expression. But each of his words carried the edge of a firm boundary.

—It was already enough to come all the way here for Valentina —he said—. If we’re going to do things, it’s better that you stop looking for them. Not everything we do is meant to be understood. Much less to be observed.

It was not a threat. It was an invitation to stop playing with fire. A way of setting boundaries without pushing.

Óscar did not flinch. His shoulders lowered slightly, as if accepting a truth he had already anticipated.

—Alright. No problem —he replied, as if he had just been reminded of something obvious—. I’ll have time for that when classes start. School doesn’t forgive. Not the discreet, nor the intense.

That comment did not provoke immediate reactions, but it left a faint sense of premonition in the air. As if he had thrown a stone and was waiting for the sound of water.

—So then... —Óscar continued, slowly rising from the sofa—. To seal this very... vibrant morning, what do you say we all go have breakfast? There are common areas with food on the intermediate floors of the skyscraper. Good view, good coffee, better conversation.

Sebastián looked at him for a second. Virka did as well. Neither seemed truly enthusiastic... but there was no real reason to refuse either.

—Alright —Sebastián finally said—. But just breakfast. Then we’re leaving.

Óscar smiled. Not with triumph. But with that smile of his that seemed to float somewhere between irony and calm.

—Perfect. Then everyone get ready. We’ll meet in the elevator hallway in five minutes.

And so, without further words, each one took their direction. Sebastián walked toward his room, where he knew Valentina was still sleeping, curled up beside Narka. Virka headed to her space, gathering her hair into a high bun as she moved away. Óscar, for his part, stretched as if the day were just beginning, humming a melody that fit nothing... except himself.

But even as the world seemed to return to an ordinary rhythm, the echo of what was left unsaid remained. The devoured energy, the sustained concentration, the Core that had responded without exploding... all of that was still there. Like a latent promise. Like a trial overcome. Like a subterranean pulse that had not yet shown its true face.

Because the inevitable was not what was yet to come... but what had already begun to grow in silence.

____________________________________________

Author’s Words

More than three months have passed since I began writing this story consistently.

Chapter after Chapter, week after week, without long pauses, without excuses.

And today, as I publish this Chapter 62, I see that there are already more than 24,000 views.

Twenty-four thousand.

Among loyal readers who have been with me from the beginning and new ones who have joined along the way.

I don’t know how you got here, but I’m glad you did.

To all of you —those who comment, those who read in silence, those who wait for each Chapter, those who are just beginning—

thank you.

Truly.

Thank you for continuing to read, for allowing me to keep creating.

This project has not been easy. I’ve had many problems in the process of turning this into a book. I still do.

But I keep writing. Not out of obligation.

I continue by choice. 𝒻𝓇𝑒𝘦𝘸𝑒𝒷𝓃ℴ𝑣𝘦𝑙.𝒸ℴ𝘮

By purpose.

Because I want to build a story of my own. One that is worth it. One that demands I improve every time.

And if you are reading this, if you made it this far...

I want to congratulate you as well.

Thank you for getting here.

I wish you happy holidays, whatever they may be.

If you celebrate Christmas, Hanukkah, Kwanzaa, Yule, the Winter Solstice, or if you simply take advantage of these days to rest, read, write, listen to music, or share time with those you love...

I hope you enjoy it.

For my part, I will keep writing.

And hopefully you will stay with me for what comes next.

Thank you for everything.

-Goru_SLG

End of Chapter 62