On the Path of Eternal Strength.-Chapter 71 - 69 The Closing of the Event

The antiques auction never stopped.

From the outside, from any observation point that was not Sebastián’s interior, nothing had occurred outside the normal margins of the event. The hammer continued marking time. The figures kept appearing. The pieces continued entering and leaving the spotlight with the same silent discipline as always. For the hall, for the private cameras, for the manager, there was no break. The world kept moving forward with its logic intact.

In private chamber number five, Sebastián remained seated with his back straight and his hands clasped in front of him. He had not changed posture since before. There were no residual gestures, no external signs of what he had gone through. The canvas was no longer in his field of vision. For everyone else, it had been just another painting, already awarded and removed. For him, what had occurred was sealed exclusively within him, contained, without any external manifestation whatsoever.

Virka continued observing the development of the auction with serene attention. Narka rested on the table, motionless, with that dense stillness he acquired when processing information that should not be verbalized lightly. Valentina, for her part, had moved toward the side window of the private chamber, placing her hands against the tempered glass while observing the movement of the venue with silent curiosity.

The antiques continued to parade.

Ceremonial jars of clay hardened through vanished techniques, with cracked surfaces that were not wear but functional design. Metallic containers with barely visible inscriptions, written in alphabets that did not survive their peoples. Small chests sealed with primitive but ingenious mechanical locks, impossible to reproduce with modern exactitude. Ritual instruments whose function could no longer be defined with certainty, but whose use had left clear marks of intention.

Each object was different. None repeated. None tried to impose itself beyond its own history.

The bids were measured. Ordered. The block of antiques fulfilled its function: lowering economic violence without losing symbolic density. Sebastián did not participate. Virka did not either. The warehouse administrator remained upright, attentive, with her professional expression firmly composed, even as part of her attention remained trapped in what she had heard before, in words she must not repeat.

The rhythm held for several more adjudications.

Then, the manager did not announce a change.

He did not declare a new section. He did not raise his tone. He did nothing that indicated a rupture. He simply waited for the last piece to be removed and, when silence returned to its operational state, he spoke.

—The next piece continues within the block of antiques —he said.

Two assistants stepped forward with a simple display tray, without special reinforcements, without mobile display cases. Resting upon it was the figure.

It was small.

It measured exactly 34.5 centimeters: compact, portable, designed to fit into two hands if necessary. Its scale alone did not command respect. It was not designed to do so.

The form represented an upright humanoid being, standing, with its wings closed, folded forward, wrapping the body like a rigid mantle. It was not a defensive or ceremonial posture. It was absolute containment. The wings did not protect something fragile: they concealed.

The material could not be defined with a single word. At first glance it appeared to be glass, but not transparent or uniform. Internal layers refracted the light irregularly, returning soft, iridescent reflections that recalled the conceptual glow attributed to the soul in ancient treatises. It did not emit light. It did not absorb it. It responded to the environment without interacting with it.

The level of detail was unsettling for such a small piece. Every fold of the wing was worked with symbolic precision, not anatomical. The transitions between surface and void obeyed a logic that did not imitate any known living body. It was not realism. It was representation of concept.

The manager waited a second longer than usual before speaking.

—Antiquity with no record of origin —he announced—. Dating impossible. Composite material.

The side screens displayed minimal information. No name. No author. No assigned period. Only a broad classification, deliberately vague:

Major antiquity.

The hall did not react immediately. Not out of disinterest, but because the piece did not shout its importance. It did not need to.

In private chamber five, Narka reacted instantly.

—That is not a common statue —he said, with a tone he rarely used for objects.

Sebastián barely turned his head. Virka focused her gaze on the figure. Valentina stepped away from the window without saying anything.

—What is it? —Virka asked, directly.

Narka remained silent for a few seconds. Not for drama. For honesty.

—It is a representation of an Elazria —he replied—. Of an ancestral being... or perhaps primordial. I cannot state it with certainty.

The word primordial did not resonate in the hall. It resonated among them.

—Everything I know —Narka continued— comes from fragmented records, even among those of my own category. They are entities that do not manifest as gods nor as common beasts. They represent fundamental aspects of the universe. The Elazria is the representation of the spiritual energy that originates from every soul.

Sebastián listened without interrupting. There was no visible tension in his posture, but his attention was completely focused.

—There are recurring references —Narka added—. Eight beings that appear again and again, different depending on the era and the civilization.

He enumerated without raising his voice.

—Thaeraun. Qilin. Feralis. Phoenix. Dragons. Leviathans. Behemoths. And the Elazrias.

Virka barely frowned.

—How dangerous would they be... if we were to encounter one?

Narka did not respond immediately. When he did, his voice was lower.

—In our current state... —he made a brief pause— we would disappear. With a gesture. Or with less.

Virka exhaled slowly.

—Then we are insignificant.

There was no irony. Only cold assessment.

Sebastián nodded.

—In Draila —he said— I faced a being with dragon blood. It was not like fighting the Profaned. The pressure was total. Until now, no other confrontation has made me feel anything similar.

Narka did not contradict him.

Throughout the entire conversation, Valentina had not taken her eyes off the statue. She was not observing the wings nor the material. She was observing the whole. Something in that figure had captured her attention from the very first instant, without reasoning or fear.

—I want it —she said.

The phrase was not loud. It was not timid. It was simple.

The warehouse administrator, who had been listening with a concentration improper to her role, reacted by pure professional reflex. Her finger pressed the button before her mind processed the gesture.

The bidding signal activated.

The manager announced the opening bid with the same neutral voice as always, without altering the rhythm of the auction.

Only then did the administrator realize what she had done. She straightened her back immediately, recomposed her expression, and returned to the neutrality that defined her. She did not apologize. She did not explain anything. Her face once again became that of an impeccable assistant, even as inside she tried to put in order everything she had just heard.

Sebastián did not reprimand her. Virka did not comment. Narka returned his attention to the statue, silent.

The auction had not ended.

The opening bid remained suspended for just an instant, the precise amount of time for the system to accept the signal emitted from private chamber five. The manager did not react immediately. He did not raise his gaze nor seek to confirm the origin of the bid. He did not need to. The front panel had already registered the entry.

—Bid accepted —he announced in the same neutral tone—. We continue.

The figures began to rise with measured speed. There was no disorder. There was no haste. Each increment was clean, exact, as if the statue dictated the rhythm and not the buyers.

One million.

Two million.

The chairs on the lower level remained in absolute silence. No one raised a paddle. No one feigned interest. Not out of immediate fear, but because the object had already surpassed the category in which ordinary spectators allowed themselves to participate. That was not an antiquity to display. It was a statement.

In private chamber five, the administrator watched the panel without moving her face. Her posture was impeccable. Her breathing, controlled. Her thumb rested near the button, without touching it yet. Sebastián gave her no instruction. Virka did not speak either. Narka continued analyzing the statue, as if the bidding were distant noise not worthy of attention.

Three million.

The figure appeared on the side wall without sonic accompaniment. The manager continued narrating with absolute professionalism, but his gaze —barely perceptible— began to return again and again to the sector corresponding to chamber five. Not out of curiosity. Out of calculation.

Four million.

It was then that the signal appeared from another direction.

—Private chamber eight —the system announced.

The increment was immediate.

—Four million five hundred thousand.

In chamber five, no one needed an explanation. The gesture was clear. It was not a casual bid. It was not artistic interest. It was provocation.

Virka reacted first.

Her body did not move, but the change was evident. The temperature around her dropped slightly, as if something internal had tightened. Her eyes fixed on the panel, and for an instant hostility crossed her expression without disguise.

—They’re looking for trouble —she said, without raising her voice—. After the Cores, this is not casual.

Sebastián did not respond immediately. Not because he did not understand, but because that did not deserve an emotional response.

—Let them look —he said finally—. As long as they don’t act, they don’t exist.

Virka pressed her lips together. The idea of “not existing” applied to an enemy did not reassure her. She tolerated it.

Narka, for his part, did not take his attention off the statue even when the figure changed again. For him, the auction was secondary. What mattered was what that figure represented and why it was there.

Valentina, on the other hand, had changed.

Since the bidding had begun, her posture had become rigid. She no longer swung her legs. She no longer looked around. Her eyes were locked on the statue with an intense, almost obsessive concentration, improper for her age. She did not seem anxious. She did not seem impatient. She seemed aligned.

Four million eight hundred thousand.

Chamber eight intervened again, this time without delay. The figure rose with clear determination, devoid of doubt.

—Five million —the manager announced.

The silence that followed was different. Not expectant. Tense.

In chamber five, the administrator sensed the moment before anyone spoke. Her other hand, without leaving the bidding panel, moved discreetly toward the internal communicator. Her fingers sent a coded signal to the pawn house staff.

Not an order.

A precaution.

Request for complete data from private chamber eight.

Identification of participants.

Backup channels prepared.

Containment protocols ready only in extreme case.

Everything was done without altering her expression.

Sebastián noticed it. He did not stop her.

—Five million to private chamber five —the manager confirmed—. Any counteroffer?

Time stretched.

Chamber eight did not respond immediately. There was no signal. There was no increase. Only a calculated void, as if on the other side something more than money was being evaluated.

Virka kept her gaze fixed. Not out of fear. Out of challenge.

Narka inclined his head slightly, as if he had finally reached a conclusion that did not yet need to be shared.

Valentina did not blink.

—Five million... —the manager repeated— ...going once.

Nothing.

—Going twice.

The tension did not come from the figure. It came from the decision to yield.

—Sold —he finally said—. Private chamber five.

The hammer came down without dramatism.

The statue was removed with the same care with which it had been presented. No reaction swept through the hall. No murmurs. For most, it had been just another antiquity sold for a considerable sum.

In chamber five, no one celebrated.

Virka relaxed her shoulders slightly, without fully abandoning the tension. Sebastián remained impassive, as if the outcome had been inevitable from the beginning. Narka closed his eyes for an instant, brief, like someone sealing an internal record.

Valentina, on the other hand, exhaled slowly.

The administrator withdrew her hand from the internal communicator only when she received confirmation of receipt from the staff. Everything was archived. Everything was ready. Just in case.

The auction moved forward.

But the message had already been sent.

The hammer came down one last time for the statue, and the dry sound closed a cycle that did not require applause. The manager did not allow the silence to turn into commentary. He waited just long enough for the piece to be removed from the visual focus and, with the same sobriety with which he had conducted the entire evening, raised his gaze toward the set of private chambers.

—With this —he said— the antiquities section is concluded.

There was no relief. There was no dispersion. The hall did not breathe differently. The true reason many were there had not yet been spoken.

The lights changed. It was not a blackout nor a theatrical effect. It was a correction of temperature and contrast, a technical adjustment that hardened the contours of the space. Several rows on the lower level began to rise in silence. Not all of them. Only those who knew how to read the protocol. Within seconds, the visible attendance was reduced to a fraction. Those who remained were the ones who did not need instructions to stay.

—The auction now enters its final phase —the manager continued—. Nuclear energy sources.

No objects were moved to the center. There were no physical display cases. Instead, the side walls activated and projected technical images: internal cross-sections, containment schematics, stability readings, verification seals. Nothing decorative. Nothing didactic. Cold, certified information, sufficient for those who knew how to interpret it.

—For security reasons —he added—, no source will be physically exhibited. The images correspond to verified records. Delivery will be carried out later, via armored transport, in a staggered manner and directly to the destinations designated by the buyers.

In private chamber five, Sebastián did not move. It was exactly what he had expected.

Valentina, on the other hand, was not looking at the projections. Since the statue had been adjudicated, her attention had not fully returned to the rest of the hall. She remained seated, her body still, her eyes fixed on a point that was no longer there. She did not seem distracted. She seemed absorbed. As if something from the winged figure had adhered to her thoughts and would not let go. The noise of figures and technical terms passed around her without touching her.

The first projection filled the entire front wall.

—Sealed Fission Cores — Ancient Generation —the manager announced.

The schematics showed compact reactors, of robust design, with redundant containment layers and passive safety systems. Old technology for some, but irreplaceable for its stability.

—Controlled fission reactors —he continued—. Extremely stable. Estimated service life: centuries. Designed to operate without constant human supervision. Proven use in cities, fortresses, industrial complexes, and large-scale military applications.

The initial figures appeared without dramatism. The private chambers responded almost in unison. The bidding rose with measured speed, without direct confrontations. It was a valuable block, but not exclusive. Sebastián let the administrator act. He did not need to intervene yet.

The first block was awarded to chamber five without final resistance. Several chambers withdrew before the price crossed a comfortable threshold. That was not where the fight would be fought.

The second projection replaced the first.

—High-Density Fission Cores.

The schematics were more compact. The power, greater. The warnings, more visible.

—Reduced design —the manager explained—. Energy capacity far superior to its volume. Increased risk in case of failure. Not recommended for civilian environments without backup infrastructure.

The seats on the lower level no longer existed for this part. Only private chambers remained active.

The figures rose faster. One chamber withdrew. Then another. When the figure crossed a barrier that no longer allowed a comfortable retreat, chamber eight intervened with a sharp increase.

In chamber five, Virka turned her head slightly.

—There they are again.

Sebastián did not respond. The administrator held the pace with surgical precision. The bidding tightened between two clear focal points. The other chambers began to yield, one by one, until the confrontation was defined. Five versus eight.

Narka observed the projections without commenting on the figures. For him, the danger was not in the money, but in what was being sold.

The block was awarded to chamber five after an escalation that made it clear that chamber eight was not testing luck: it was measuring resistance.

The lights changed again.

—Controlled Fusion Cores —the manager announced.

The projections showed closed systems, without free plasma, without external emission. Contained, constant reactions. Continuous energy. Technology impossible to reproduce today.

—Non-explosive —he added—. No external irradiation. Extreme cost. Irrepeatable production.

Sebastián inclined his head slightly. There lay the real interest.

The bidding began high and did not stop. All private chambers participated. The figures crossed thresholds that were no longer spoken aloud. One by one, the chambers withdrew. Some by calculation. Others by real limit.

When the figure reached a point that only two could sustain, the hall no longer needed confirmation.

Five and eight.

The administrator pressed the button with impeccable regularity. With her other hand, she kept the internal channel open. The pawn house staff had already sent confirmation: complete identification of chamber eight in process. Routes, links, contingencies. Not for immediate aggression. In case money ceased to be the only language.

The block was awarded to chamber five after one last rise that forced eight to yield for the first time without subsequent provocation.

The silence that followed was not relief. It was anticipation.

—Hybrid Fission–Fusion Core —the manager announced.

The images showed perfect balance: fission as initiation, fusion as sustainment. Extreme efficiency. Minimal consumption. Longevity designed for empires, not for short projects.

The bidding was brutal.

The figures surpassed what had come before within seconds. Chamber eight re-entered with force, without detours, without pauses. It was an open confrontation. A message.

Virka clenched her jaw.

—They want us to respond.

—Let them want —Sebastián said— it changes nothing.

The block finally fell to chamber five after an escalation that left eight exhausted, but not defeated.

The manager waited. He let the system register the adjudication. Then, without a gentle transition, he displayed the final projection.

—Prohibited Nuclear Cores.

The schematics were different. Red warnings. Multiple seals. Absolute containment protocols.

—Artificial isotopes —he said—. Not existing naturally. Created under irreproducible conditions. Extremely clean and powerful energy. Risk of total contamination in the event of rupture.

The tension became tangible.

—And —he added— nuclear transmutation cores. Progressive reconfiguration. Sustained energy production during the process. Almost indefinite service life.

Narka closed his eyes for an instant. Not out of fear. Out of recognition of the danger.

The bidding was immediate. All private chambers entered. All of them. The opening figure was surpassed in a blink. Billions began to cross the screen without comment.

One chamber fell. Then another. The confrontation narrowed with brutal speed.

Five.

Eight.

The administrator kept her pulse steady. With one hand she bid. With the other she confirmed protocols. The house staff was ready. Not to stop the auction. For whatever came after.

Sebastián did not change posture. Money was a variable. Not an emotion.

Chamber eight launched its final figure. High. Provocative. A final attempt to mark territory.

The response from chamber five was immediate. Precise. Sufficient.

The system registered the adjudication.

—Final block adjudicated —the manager announced—. Private chamber five.

There were no applause. There were no visible reactions. For the hall, everything was over.

Valentina remained silent, her eyes lost in the memory of the statue. Her concentration had not diminished. It had narrowed.

The auction concluded.

And what had been purchased would never be seen in that hall again.

____________________________________

END OF Chapter 69

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.

If this abyss resonated with you,

keep it in your collection

and leave a mark: a comment, a question, an echo.

Your presence keeps alive the flame that shapes this world.

Thank you for walking by my side.

If this story resonated with you, perhaps we have already crossed paths in another corner of the digital world. Over there, they know me as Goru SLG. 𝙛𝓻𝒆𝒆𝒘𝙚𝓫𝙣𝙤𝒗𝙚𝓵.𝙘𝙤𝙢

I want to thank from the heart all the people who are reading and supporting this work. Your time, your comments, and your support keep this world alive.

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