On the Path of Eternal Strength.-Chapter 70 - 68 Baptism before the Ancient Eye

the exact moment when the auction ceased to be a formality and became a confrontation. Only a denser stillness, as if the air had understood that it should no longer move without permission.

—Piece one of three —said the manager, his voice calibrated, firm, professional—. Large-format crystalline core. Base price: ten million units.

The figure hung suspended for an instant, projected on the side wall. On the lower level, no one raised a paddle. Not out of respect. Out of instinct.

In private chamber number five, Sebastián did not change posture. He did not look at Virka. He did not look at Valentina. He did not look at the administrator. The hidden panel of the table activated with a minimal gesture.

—Fifteen million —announced the system.

The effect was immediate.

The manager did not raise his voice, but he did straighten his back a little more before repeating the figure. His eyes, trained to reveal nothing, lingered a fraction of a second longer on the curtain of chamber five.

—Private chamber five opens the bidding at fifteen million units.

On the lower level, the silence closed like a trap. The hands that still held paddles lowered them without a sound. No one raised one again. The message was clear: this no longer belonged to them.

Private chamber one responded almost immediately.

—Twenty million.

Two followed without delay.

—Twenty-five.

Three.

—Thirty.

The rhythm became mechanical, precise, almost academic. The figures rose in increments of five million, and the manager announced them with the same neutral voice, as if reciting a list that did not belong to him. However, something had changed. Each time chamber five intervened, confirming without hesitation, the manager adjusted the pause before the announcement ever so slightly. An imperceptible gesture. A recognition that was not meant to be noticed.

—Thirty-five... forty... forty-five...

One of the chambers withdrew in silence. The curtain did not move, but the system registered the withdrawal. The manager announced it without emphasis.

—Private chamber seven withdraws from the bidding.

Virka watched without blinking. There was no tension on her face. Only attention. Valentina, seated beside Narka, looked at the projected figures as if they were something abstract, still unable to comprehend their scope, but aware that each number was a step toward something irreversible.

—Fifty million —said chamber four.

Sebastián responded without delay.

—Fifty-five.

The manager repeated the figure, and this time his gaze returned, inevitably, to chamber five. Professional. Impeccable. But no longer indifferent.

—Sixty million —announced Sebastián.

The number fell with weight.

Two more chambers withdrew almost at the same time. The manager nodded slightly before informing.

—Private chambers two and nine abandon the bidding.

The rhythm changed then.

Private chamber eight did not follow the progression.

—Eighty million.

The silence was different this time. Longer. More conscious. The manager waited an additional second before announcing the figure. Not out of doubt. Out of calculation. Out of respect for the impact.

—Private chamber eight raises the bid to eighty million units.

His eyes returned to chamber five. Not to pressure. To observe.

Sebastián did not move.

—Ninety million.

There was no visible reaction on his face. No variation in his breathing. The manager announced the figure with absolute clarity, but this time he did not hide the preceding pause.

—Private chamber five responds with ninety million.

From that moment on, the hall understood that it was no longer witnessing an ordinary auction.

The figures kept rising. Not by fives. Not by tens. Sometimes twenty. Sometimes thirty. Each announcement was slower. Heavier. The private chambers began to fall one by one. Not with dramatic gestures. With prolonged silences that the system translated into withdrawal.

—Private chamber six withdraws.

—Private chamber one withdraws.

—Private chamber four withdraws.

The manager maintained his composure. Back straight. Voice firm. But his eyes no longer pretended neutrality. They moved between the two remaining curtains: five and eight. Each announcement confirmed that he was witnessing something that escaped the house’s usual logic.

—Four hundred million... five hundred... six hundred...

Valentina stopped looking at the figures. She looked at Sebastián. She did not know why, but she understood that he was the center of it all. Narka remained motionless, vibrating with a contained intensity.

—Eight hundred million —announced chamber eight.

The manager swallowed before repeating the figure. It was the only human gesture he allowed himself.

Sebastián did not respond immediately. Not because he hesitated. Because he measured.

—Nine hundred and one million —he finally said.

The figure did not explode. It settled.

The manager announced it with a firm, clear, definitive voice.

—Private chamber five offers nine hundred and one million units.

The silence that followed was not expectant. It was resolute.

Several seconds passed. Chamber eight did not respond.

—Final call —said the manager, maintaining protocol—. Any higher offer?

Nothing.

—Awarded —he concluded—. Crystalline core one to private chamber five.

There was no applause. There was no relief. Only the certainty that something had changed forever.

And there were still two left.

The silence following the awarding of the first Mother Core was neither celebrated nor lamented. It settled. Like an invisible slab being carefully placed over the hall. The manager remained standing at the center of the anteroom, back straight, hands clasped in front of his body. There was no tension in his posture, but there was a sharpened attention, now directed not at the removed display cases, but at the figures that still floated in everyone’s mind.

In chamber five, the warehouse administrator took a short step toward the table. She did not interrupt. She waited for the breathing of the space to stabilize before speaking.

—The award has been confirmed —she said, in a neutral voice—. Nine hundred and one million units.

She activated the hidden panel and the figures unfolded only for them. Sebastián did not lower his gaze; he already knew the result. Even so, the administrator continued, because that was her role.

—Your initial capital was one hundred fifteen thousand ten million units. After this operation, the remaining gross balance is one hundred fourteen thousand one hundred nine million.

Valentina listened to the numbers without fully understanding them. They were too large to have shape. Virka did not react. Narka vibrated once, briefly.

—In addition —the administrator continued—, ten percent of the bid is immediately reversible through the channels of the Crimson Empire.

She pressed another point on the panel.

—That is equivalent to ninety million one hundred thousand reusable units during this same auction.

She closed the panel gently.

—Current operating balance: one hundred fourteen thousand one hundred ninety-nine million one hundred thousand units.

Sebastián nodded once. There was no relief in the gesture. Only confirmation. Virka understood without words. Valentina looked at Narka, searching for something she did not know how to name.

In the anteroom, the manager cleared his throat slightly. It was not nervousness. It was protocol.

—Before continuing —he announced—, the house has decided to adjust the sale modality.

The hall responded with a more attentive silence. Not expectant. Precise.

—Given the value reached by the first piece —he continued—, the two remaining Cores will be offered as an indivisible lot.

He made an exact pause. Calculated.

—The base price will be twenty million units. All bidding will be considered per core. The final amount will always be double the announced figure.

He explained no further. He gave no examples. He did not ask whether it was understood. The system had already accepted the rule.

In chamber five, the administrator inclined her head slightly toward Sebastián. He did not respond. Narka understood immediately. Virka as well. Valentina felt the air tighten again.

—We begin —said the manager.

This time, chamber five was not the first.

—Forty million.

The figure appeared immediately, doubled in the total projection. The manager’s voice announced it without surprise, but his eyes shifted precisely toward the corresponding curtain.

—Private chamber eight opens the bidding.

There was no movement on the lower level. No one breathed louder. This had not belonged to them for quite some time.

Sebastián waited a full second before responding.

—Fifty million.

The total adjusted. The manager announced the figure with the same tone, but the cadence had changed. Slower. Heavier.

—Sixty million —replied chamber eight.

—Seventy —responded Sebastián.

The figures began to grow with contained violence. Each announced number dragged double its real weight. The other private chambers did not intervene. Some curtains remained motionless. Others vibrated slightly before the system registered the withdrawal.

—Private chamber three withdraws.

—Private chamber six withdraws.

The duel was laid bare.

—One hundred million —said eight.

The manager announced the figure and, for the first time, confirmed the total value aloud. It was not necessary, but he did it.

—Two hundred million in total.

In chamber five, Valentina opened her eyes a little wider. She was beginning to understand that this was not a game.

—One hundred twenty —responded Sebastián.

The manager maintained his composure, but his eyes no longer pretended neutrality. He knew he was witnessing something that should not be repeated frequently.

The figures continued to rise. One hundred fifty. Two hundred. Two hundred fifty. Each announcement was slower than the last. Each withdrawal of a chamber resonated like a dull echo.

—Private chamber one withdraws.

—Private chamber four withdraws.

Only two remained.

—Five hundred million —said chamber eight.

The total doubled in silence. The manager swallowed before announcing it. Not out of fear. Out of respect for the magnitude.

Sebastián did not respond immediately. He looked ahead. Not at the figure. At the destiny that it opened.

—Six hundred —he said.

The air seemed to tighten to the limit of audibility.

—Eight hundred —insisted eight.

The manager announced the total with a firm voice, but he no longer accelerated. Each word weighed.

Sebastián closed his eyes for an instant. Not to doubt. To measure.

—One thousand one hundred million.

The number fell like a sentence.

The manager announced it with absolute clarity. He did not repeat the total. He did not emphasize it. The hall understood.

Several seconds passed. Chamber eight did not respond.

—Final call —said the manager.

Nothing.

—Awarded —he concluded—. Double lot to private chamber five.

There was no reaction. There was no victory. Only the certainty that something greater had just fallen into the hands of someone who knew what to do with it.

And the auction, far from ending, had just revealed its true face.

The manager waited a few seconds after the awarding of the double lot. Not to allow reactions, but to close them. When he spoke again, his voice no longer carried the weight of economic confrontation, but the precision of someone who reorders a world that had been on the verge of slipping off its axis.

—With this —he announced—, we bring the section of rare minerals to a close.

There was no response. The hall accepted the closure as one accepts a well-executed sentence. The metal display cases were withdrawn with the same discipline with which they had been brought in. The front space was left clean, bare, as if nothing extraordinary had occurred there minutes before. But the air did not forget.

—The auction continues immediately —the manager went on— with the antiquities section.

The word fell differently. It did not promise immediate power, but accumulated history. Memory. Residues of eras that no longer existed.

The first pieces did not alter the general pulse. Ancient crafts, carvings from extinct civilizations, ritual instruments without active function. Beautiful objects, valuable, but comprehensible. Sebastián observed without intervening. Virka recognized lost techniques without issuing judgment. Valentina leaned forward on more than one occasion, drawn by shapes she did not know how to name. Narka remained attentive, silent, recording without comment.

The bids were moderate. Orderly. The world returned, for a moment, to seeming normal.

Then the painting arrived.

It was not announced with emphasis. The manager did not raise his voice or add qualifiers. He simply allowed the curtain to open and the canvas to be placed on the central stand, supported by an ancient frame with simple lines.

It was white.

Not a luminous white, but a contained white, with gray shadows that seemed to exist only to prove that depth was still there. At the center, a beautiful woman was seated on a twisted tree, leafless, on the summit of an isolated hill. A hat covered the left half of her face. The right side was exposed.

Only the eye.

The pupil was vertical and elongated. Golden. Incandescent without emitting light. Within the iris, ten mobile runes revolved in concentric orbits, slow, constant, like crests that did not obey external time.

—Piece number... —the manager paused slightly— ...forty-two. Ancient painting of indeterminate provenance. No confirmed dating. Intact pigments. No detectable energy emission.

The screens displayed minimal information. There was no history. There was no author’s name. Only a technical note: age not determinable.

Sebastián felt the attraction before understanding it.

It was not a violent impulse. It was an internal adjustment, as if something within him had recognized a familiar frequency. His eyes fixed on the canvas and, for an instant that did not exist for anyone else, the outside world lost definition.

The manager announced the base price. There was a brief bid. Sebastián intervened without thinking. No one competed with force. The painting was awarded without noise.

At the very second the gavel sealed the sale, the canvas absorbed him.

There was no flash. There was no sound. Sebastián simply ceased to be in chamber five.

Inside the painting, everything was the same as depicted. White. Gray. Absolute silence. The twisted tree, the hill, the motionless air. The woman was in front of him, seated, without changing posture. She did not speak. She did not breathe. She did not move.

The eye observed him.

At first, nothing happened.

Then, slowly, the woman’s face began to lose coherence. The features softened until they became unrecognizable. Not through damage, but through irrelevance. Beauty ceased to be necessary. The face dissolved into undefined lines until only the eye remained.

The gold intensified.

The runes rotated with greater precision.

And then, the Crimson Baptism was revealed.

It did not emerge from Sebastián by his own will. It was exposed.

Red and black stains began to rise from him, not as energy, but as existential residue. Deformed, alien faces, laden with agony, guilt, sadness, and condemnation —echoes of Draila, not of Sebastián— manifested on the surface of the pictorial space. They did not scream. They existed.

The painting did not collapse.

It resisted.

The stain advanced only until it covered half of the canvas, exactly the space that corresponded to Sebastián. The rest remained intact. White. Contained. Dormant.

The eye continued to observe. It did not judge. It did not attack. It showed the truth, but imposed a limit. The painting was capable of sustaining that. Of containing it without disappearing.

Sebastián understood.

It was not his soul that he was seeing there. It was the mark. The Crimson Baptism. The inherited condemnations. The price of Draila. What he carried, not what he was.

The eye did not close.

The outside world returned abruptly.

Sebastián was once again seated in chamber five, in exactly the same posture. No one had noticed his absence. The canvas, before everyone, now displayed a subtle but undeniable difference: the right half was stained red and black, halted like a contained wound.

The auction continued.

But the painting was no longer just an antiquity.

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END OF Chapter 68

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