Héctor found himself in a completely white room, with nothing in it but his own presence.
“Oh… this can’t be good.”
“Fascinating,” a voice said behind him.
He turned sharply. The void trembled, and a blue presence began to manifest before him—like a silhouette made of liquid light.
“Of all the minds that have passed through here,” the entity continued, “very few possess such a clearly defined internal harmony.”
“Uh… thank you?” Héctor replied, uncertain.
“Yet harmony does not mean there is no wear.”
Héctor exhaled.
“Ah. I get it. The trials… they’re people’s psyches. Damn, I’m really bad at this.”
The blue presence tilted slightly, as if analyzing something invisible.
“It is curious that you say that. Why?”
“I don’t know. I can’t read minds. I have to be careful about what I say and what I do.”
The light seemed to shiver.
“That is… unusual. Why are you afraid?”
Héctor frowned.
“Funny you ask. Could it be because you’re inside my mind and I’m aware of it?”
“That is only part of it. There is something deeper. Why do you carry so much fear?”
Héctor lowered his gaze.
“I’m human.”
“And why do you express it that way?”
The scene changed.
The white vanished. Furniture appeared: a table, a chair, a crooked bookshelf. And beside them, a third figure.
It was him.
But not exactly.
His other self had empty eyes. Not dark—empty. Hollow. As if something more than eyeballs had been torn out. From those cavities, thin black lines streamed downward across his face like spilled ink.
They were identical… except for that.
And for the feeling.
There was something about that version that weighed on the air. Something contaminating.
When the double stepped forward, the white floor blackened beneath his foot, like mud staining a freshly cleaned house.
“What is this?” Héctor asked, stepping back.
“Héctor,” the blue presence said, its tone heavier now.
The scene shifted again.
A memory.
But no one triggered it. Not the blue presence. Not Héctor.
It was the third one.
“I should have known this would happen…” murmured the hollow-eyed Héctor. “I didn’t want to know. I didn’t want to see.”
The world dissolved.
The white mist thinned into a warm Saturday afternoon. The sun sank slowly, bathing the guild’s backyard lawn in calm, golden light.
Héctor sat at the edge of the veranda, gently swinging his legs. Beside him, Viki stared at the sky with that expression she only wore when trying to look carefree.
She wasn’t.
He glanced at her from the corner of his eye and took a breath.
“I found something good.”
Viki turned immediately, a spark lighting her eyes.
“What did you find?” she asked, genuine excitement in her voice.
Héctor hesitated—not because he didn’t know what to say, but because he knew what he was about to propose was delicate.
“I think I can help you control your bloodlust.”
Her excitement didn’t vanish… but it changed. Her shoulders tensed.
“Don’t say it like that,” she murmured. “It’s not something you just ‘control’ like flipping a switch.”
He didn’t take offense. He nodded seriously.
“I know. I’m not saying we eliminate it. I’m saying we reduce the episodes.”
Viki looked down at her hands.
“I don’t want to hurt anyone again…”
She didn’t say it out loud, but they both knew which memory she meant.
Héctor leaned slightly toward her.
“I’ve been reading.”
“About vampires?” she asked, surprised.
“About metabolism, nutrition, and impulse disorders,” he corrected with a small smile.
She gave him a skeptical, almost childish look.
“That has nothing to do with me.”
“It does,” he said calmly. “Your thirst isn’t just ‘hunger.’ It’s a specific biological need. If we understand which component of blood your body requires, we might be able to substitute it.”
“Substitute… blood?”
“Blood contains iron, proteins, glucose, electrolytes, and certain hormones,” he listed, counting on his fingers. “If your body reacts mainly to iron and glucose deficiency, we can try a diet rich in heme iron and controlled supplementation.”
Viki blinked.
“That sounds like a hospital.”
“It’s better that it sounds like a hospital and not like… an accident,” he said gently.
She swallowed.
The wind stirred her hair. For a moment, she looked smaller than she was.
“Héctor… when I get hungry, it’s not just my stomach. It’s like something squeezes my head. Like the smell… gets stronger. Like everyone has a red light over them.”
He listened with absolute focus.
“Then it’s neurological too,” he murmured thoughtfully. “That means we can work on two fronts.”
“Two?”
“Nutritional and behavioral.”
She looked at him, fully engaged now.
“Explain.”
“First: consistent feeding. No waiting until you’re starving. Eat every three hours. Iron-rich foods—well-cooked red meat, lentils, spinach, liver if you can tolerate it… paired with vitamin C for absorption.”
She grimaced at the word liver.
He smiled faintly.
“We can find alternatives.”
“And the second?”
“Self-control training. If we identify early warning signs—changes in smell, pressure in your head—you can remove yourself before losing control. We can also practice gradual exposure: being near stimuli without reacting. Like mental exercise.”
She stared at him.
“And if it doesn’t work?”
That was the real question.
Héctor didn’t look away.
“Then we adjust. We stop improvising. We observe patterns. Write down when it happens, what you ate, how much you slept… If we understand the pattern, we reduce it.”
“You talk like I’m an experiment.”
“You’re not an experiment,” he said firmly. “You’re my friend. And I’m not going to let you feel like a monster for something that’s part of you.”
The words lingered between them.
Viki pressed her lips together.
“Sometimes I feel like I am.”
“You’re not.”
She looked away.
“What if one day you’re not there? What if one day I lose control again?”
He took longer to answer.
“Then we design a safety protocol,” he said at last. “Never alone during critical phases. Warning in advance. And if necessary… we talk to Clementina about medically supervising the supplements.”
She looked startled.
“You’d tell other people?”
“Only those who can help you without judging you.”
Silence.
The sun dipped lower. Orange light edged their faces.
Viki drew a deep breath.
“I’m scared of trying… and failing.”
Héctor slowly extended his hands toward her.
“I’m scared too.”
“Of what?”
“Of not trying.”
The wind moved again.
For a few seconds she hesitated. It showed in the tension of her fingers, in the way her jaw shifted as if holding something back.
Then, slowly, she smiled.
Not wide.
Small. Vulnerable. Real.
She took his hands in hers.
They were cold.
“I trust you.”
Héctor felt the weight of the world grow slightly lighter.
For the first time, the thirst didn’t feel like a sentence.
It felt like a problem.
And problems… could be solved.
Or so he believed.
The scene shattered.
Thunder roared.
The same guild cabin stood before them, wrapped in rain and lightning. Héctor knew instantly which memory this was. His chest tightened.
He closed his eyes.
His other self did not.
The door opened.
The room was violently wrecked. Furniture overturned. Blood on the floor.
At the center: himself, pinned down, Viki above him.
Her eyes were red. Not human. Not rational.
Her teeth were buried in his neck.
The trial… had failed.
Pain returned like a lash.
Candado appeared in the doorway, drenched by rain. The grocery bags fell from his hands. He didn’t hesitate. He grabbed the nearest coat rack and brought it down against Viki’s head, forcing her to release.
“Héctor!” he shouted, dropping to his knees beside him.
But Viki lunged at Candado like a wounded animal. When she tried to bite him, he shoved his fist into her mouth and threw himself backward violently, forcing her to let go. He sprang up and pressed his foot against her throat.
“St… stop…” Héctor murmured, barely conscious.
“What the hell are you doing?” Candado growled.
It wasn’t a question for Héctor.
It was for the friend struggling beneath his shoe.
“Ca… Candado…”
“Back off, Héctor.”
At that moment Clementina, Natalia, Declan, and the twins—Erika and Lucia—burst in.
Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.
There was no hesitation. They rushed to help him.
Clementina knelt beside Héctor. Her eyes scanned with surgical precision.
“His blood levels are critical. He is at risk of severe anemia.”
Candado bared his teeth—not in fear, but in fury—at the beast he still considered a friend.
“PIO!”
“Y-yes…” Natalia answered, shaken by the scene.
“Subdue her.”
“But I—”
“SUBDUE HER!”
Natalia extended her hands. A faint gravitational glow emerged from her fingers. Viki stopped moving. It was as if the weight of the world crushed her into the floor.
Candado released her throat and moved to Héctor. He pushed the twins aside firmly and lifted him into his arms.
He looked at Natalia.
“Hold her like that until I get back.”
Then to Declan.
“If she gets tired, supply her with energy.”
“Understood,” they both replied.
“You two call the others. It’s urgent,” he ordered the twins. “I’ll return as soon as I can.”
They nodded.
“Clementina. With me.”
“As you command.”
And they stepped out into the storm.
Candado was running with Héctor in his arms. Rainwater mixed with blood streamed down his clothes. Héctor heard the voices as if they were underwater.
Fragments.
Estimated time. Blood loss. Probabilities.
“I shouldn’t have said that…” murmured the hollow-eyed Héctor in the present. “I shouldn’t have proposed something like that without knowing what she truly was. I was arrogant. I caused this.”
“Enough,” Héctor said in the mental chamber.
He looked at the blue presence.
“Make it stop.”
The entity watched him in silence.
“I am not doing anything. This is you.”
“No. That’s not true.”
The blue presence began to distort.
Its edges tightened, darkened… and took on human shape.
Dark brown hair. Hard gaze. Rigid posture. A beret.
Candado.
“I told you this would go wrong.”
Héctor stepped back, startled.
“You’re not him.”
But the scene was already shifting.
The white vanished.
They were now in Candado’s room. The cluttered desk. Open books. A lamp casting cold light over the center of the space. Night outside the window.
The presence dissolved.
The memory took control.
Candado stood against the wall, arms crossed. Héctor spoke with that contained, almost overflowing enthusiasm.
“I don’t know, Héctor. It’s not that simple. Yes, it has theoretical foundations—but it’s not linear,” Candado said firmly.
“Why not? She’s like us.”
Candado raised an eyebrow.
“Yes, she thinks, talks, and says stupid things like any person. But she’s a vampire. She needs blood. It’s not an immediate problem because I can supply her if necessary.”
Héctor shook his head.
“But I’m telling you, with iron-rich foods, proteins, and micronutrients similar to those in blood, she won’t need it. Blood isn’t magical. It’s liquid tissue. If we replicate its components—”
“Héctor.”
The tone wasn’t aggressive.
It was heavy.
“There are thousands of foods that contain water.”
Héctor frowned.
“And?”
Candado pushed off the wall and walked to the desk. He picked up a half-empty bottle of water and held it up.
“This is water. H?O. Simple. Essential.”
He set it down. Then he pointed at an apple in a painting of Natalia hanging nearby.
“This has water.”
He grabbed a cookbook and pointed at the dishes pictured inside.
Bread.
“This too.”
Then at a plate of food.
“All of this contains water.”
He turned back to Héctor.
“But when you’re thirsty, you don’t say, ‘I’ll eat bread because it has water.’ You don’t chew an apple expecting it to replace drinking.”
Héctor fell silent.
Candado continued.
“Because water isn’t just a component. It’s a specific structure. An exact proportion. A direct form of assimilation. You can obtain water indirectly, yes… but it doesn’t replace drinking it.”
He stepped closer.
“Now think about blood. It’s not just iron. It’s not just protein. It’s an entire system. Cells, plasma, hormones, chemical signals. Maybe her body isn’t seeking iron. Maybe it’s seeking the complete structure. Maybe her biology doesn’t function like ours. Do you think I haven’t looked for other options? She needs blood. The good thing is, it doesn’t necessarily have to be human.”
Héctor pressed his lips together.
“But if we reduce the deficit, we reduce the impulse.”
“Reduce,” Candado repeated. “Not eliminate.”
Silence.
Candado lowered his voice slightly.
“Your idea isn’t stupid. It’s logical. It has a foundation. But you’re assuming her condition is linear. Deficit, supplement, solution.”
He held Héctor’s gaze.
“And we don’t know if it works that way.”
Héctor didn’t look away.
“So what? We let her depend on you forever?”
That sentence struck something invisible.
Candado didn’t respond immediately.
“No,” he said at last. “But we’re not turning her into an experiment because of your optimism.”
“It’s not optimism. It’s an attempt.”
“It’s hope.”
Héctor stiffened.
“And that’s bad?”
Candado shook his head.
“No. But when hope ignores biological limits, it becomes pressure.”
He stepped closer, now at eye level.
“If it fails, you don’t fail. She does. And she already carries enough guilt.”
The room fell silent.
Héctor looked down.
In the present mental space, the edges of the scene began to darken.
The memory-Candado’s voice continued:
“Not everything that can be broken into parts can be rebuilt the same way. The water in fruit does not replace a glass. The iron in a lentil may not replace living blood. There are differences we don’t see because we’re not vampires.”
Héctor drew a deep breath.
“But if we never try, we’ll never know. Please. You have to trust me.”
Candado studied him.
And for the first time, his expression wasn’t hard.
It was tired.
“Fine. Then try,” he said. “But understand that you’re not dealing with equations. You’re dealing with someone who is afraid of herself.”
The scene froze.
The hollow-eyed Héctor appeared again and whispered:
“I was arrogant. I thought I could help her. I thought I could heal her.”
The memory unraveled.
Candado’s room evaporated like dust.
Now they stood in a hospital.
The smell of disinfectant was almost tangible. White ceiling lights fell over a motionless figure in a bed. A monitor emitted a steady, rhythmic beep.
Héctor lay there. Pale. Weak. A thick bandage wrapped around his neck.
His eyelids trembled before opening slowly. The light hurt at first. Everything was blurred.
The first shape he recognized was his mother.
And behind her, standing still as a shadow—
Candado.
When Héctor’s vision focused, his mother embraced him immediately.
“Héctor!” she sobbed, covering his face with kisses and tears. “I thought—”
She couldn’t finish.
He tried to lift an arm but barely managed to move his fingers.
Candado left the room without saying a word.
Minutes later, his friends began to enter the room. Clementina. Anzor. Lucas. Natalia. Declan. Walsh. The twins. And the rest.
All of them wearing restrained expressions that shifted into visible relief when they saw him conscious.
There were smiles.
There were tears.
There was life.
But when Héctor searched the faces—
She wasn’t there.
Hours passed.
The visits thinned out. Night deepened. Eventually, the room fell silent.
Just him and Candado.
Candado sat by the window, staring outside. He didn’t look tired. He didn’t look relieved.
He looked… hardened.
Héctor spoke, his voice rough.
“How long?”
Candado didn’t turn.
“One week.”
Héctor blinked.
One week.
One week lost in darkness.
He swallowed.
“I didn’t see Viki.”
Silence.
“She wasn’t invited,” Candado replied coldly. “She’s no longer in the province.”
Something cracked inside Héctor’s chest.
“Where…?”
“South. One of my family’s properties.”
Candado finally stood and approached the bed.
“Pio will go with her in a few days. She asked for it.”
“How long?” Héctor asked, almost breathless.
“Fifteen months.”
The world shrank.
“I… I don’t… Why?”
Candado looked at him directly. There was no visible rage in his eyes.
There was resolve.
He stepped closer and placed both hands firmly on Héctor’s shoulders.
“This is for her good. And yours.”
Héctor shook his head weakly.
“This is my fault…”
Candado held his gaze.
“It is.”
The silence grew heavy.
“It’s your fault,” he continued without raising his voice. “You caused this. I warned you. You didn’t listen. And look what happened.”
He leaned in slightly.
“I had to remove her from all of us. I was close to beating her senseless. I was close to expelling her from the guild.”
A surge of anger flooded Héctor. He tried to sit up, to grab Candado by the collar, but his arms barely obeyed him.
“Do you feel anger? Helplessness? Frustration?” Candado asked in a rough whisper. “Welcome to my world.”
“Bastard… She—” Héctor muttered.
Candado didn’t react to the insult.
“What? She had no responsibility? Don’t be na?ve. You’re both responsible. These are the consequences of your actions.”
His voice dropped further.
“You almost died.”
The monitor ticked upward slightly.
“I had to intervene to prevent something worse,” Candado added. “You have no idea how close she was to crossing a line she could never return from.”
“I didn’t ask for your help,” Héctor whispered resentfully.
Candado closed his eyes for a second.
“I’m going to ignore the stupidity of what you just said. You’re hurt. And confused.”
He opened them again.
“But I’ll repeat it: this happened because you decided to play with something you didn’t fully understand.”
He straightened.
“Nothing will change my decision. She will stay there. She needs distance. She needs training. She needs containment. If she cannot control her thirst, then she is a danger to everyone.”
He paused.
“And you will be out of the guild for a month. Until you are fully recovered.”
He turned.
Walked toward the door.
Héctor’s voice stopped him.
“Do you think Gabriela would have allowed this? Do you think she’d be proud of you for making these decisions?”
Candado froze.
The name fell like a stone into water.
He didn’t turn around.
His shoulders tightened slightly. The silence stretched for several seconds.
“I don’t know,” he answered at last.
His voice was no longer firm.
It was honest.
And he left the room.
The monitor continued its steady, cold rhythm.
The hospital room dissolved.
They returned to the white space. Only three figures remained: Héctor, the blue presence… and his hollow-eyed double.
The double murmured, his voice fractured:
“He was right… I only said Gabriela’s name to hurt him… I knew exactly where to strike… I didn’t want to hurt him… I didn’t want her to leave…”
The guilt wasn’t theatrical.
It sounded ashamed.
The hollow-eyed Héctor began to fade slowly, like ink dissolving in water.
But the black stains on the floor remained.
They were no longer small.
They were wide.
“Why did you do that?” the blue presence asked.
Héctor didn’t answer immediately.
“I wanted to save her.”
“Why did you want to?”
“I… don’t know.”
The blue light flickered.
“Why are you lying?”
Héctor inhaled deeply. There was no air there—but the gesture remained.
He exhaled.
“I was angry. I said something cruel. I knew it was cruel. He didn’t deserve it.”
“Why did you go for something so personal?”
Héctor lifted his gaze.
He didn’t avoid it.
“Because I knew it would work.”
Silence.
“I wanted him to doubt. To hesitate. To feel what I was feeling.”
The presence did not respond. The scene shifted.
The hospital.
Héctor in bed.
Candado leaving through the door.
“That was my fault,” Héctor said.
The scene shifted again.
The attack. The bite. The blood.
“And that was my fault too.”
Everything returned to white.
But the stains remained.
Darker now.
“I know exactly what I did,” Héctor continued. “Did my thoughts waver after what happened? Yes. Did I doubt my ideas? Yes. Did I abandon what I believed was right? No.”
He walked toward one of the stains.
It no longer looked like a stain.
It was a dark pool.
“I know my strengths… and my limits. My fears. My flaws.”
He stopped at the edge.
“I’m not innocent. But I’m not a monster either.”
And he stepped into it.
Darkness swallowed him.
It wasn’t empty.
It was full of memories. Voices. Mistakes. Arguments. Moments where he spoke too much. Thought too much. Didn’t think enough.
He walked within that blackness.
He trembled.
But he did not retreat.
“My morality wasn’t the culprit,” he said firmly. “I wanted to help. My methods were flawed. I was arrogant to underestimate the variables. But I didn’t act out of selfishness.”
He stopped.
“I acted out of hope.”
The blue presence appeared within the darkness.
“Do you think you can heal the world with hope?”
“No.”
The answer was immediate.
“I think I can contribute.”
“Do you think you can save people?”
“No.”
“Then what do you believe?”
Héctor lifted his head.
“I believe I can bring out the best in them. Not create something new. Not impose anything. Draw out what’s already there.”
The darkness began to shift.
The blue presence multiplied and assumed new forms.
First, Adolf Hitler.
Then, Joseph Stalin.
Then, Harry S. Truman.
Gustavo Díaz Ordaz.
Pol Pot.
And others.
They were not caricatures.
They were human figures.
“Even them?” the entity asked.
Héctor looked at them. Not with admiration. Not with indulgence.
With gravity.
“Yes. Even them.”
Then another figure appeared. One he had not expected.
“Even me, right?” asked a figure shaped like Candado, with his voice.
Héctor shook his head.
“No… he’s not… he has nothing to do with this.”
“Isn’t that na?ve?” the blue presence asked.
“No.”
He stepped closer to the figures.
“Recognizing that they were human does not absolve them. It’s the opposite. The fact that something in them might have been salvageable does not mean it was salvageable in time. Some people cross thresholds where the only moral act left is to stop them.”
“Then why am I standing among them, Héctor?” asked Candado.
“Yes, Héctor,” the blue presence added. “And him… what is he?”
“ENOUGH!” Héctor shouted.
The presence fell silent.
“If we turn them into abstract monsters, we stop analyzing them as people. And if we stop analyzing them as people, we stop understanding how they got there.”
The figures did not disappear.
They only listened.
“Dehumanizing the responsible party is convenient,” Héctor continued. “Because then evil feels external. Something that simply ‘appears.’ Something that couldn’t happen here.”
He looked at the entity.
“But it can.”
He gestured toward the figures.
“All of them were once children. Once powerless. They were not born tyrants.”
“That does not answer whether they possessed goodness.”
Héctor held the gaze.
“The capacity to choose always exists. The fact that they did not use it does not mean it wasn’t there.”
“So everything reduces to circumstances?”
“No. Circumstances influence. They do not determine.”
The darkness trembled.
“We don’t ask to be born. We don’t choose our parents. Our country. Our language. We are thrown into the world. But within that narrow margin… we choose.”
The figures began to fade slowly. Candado’s shape started dissolving as well.
“When we say ‘they are monsters,’ we free ourselves from collective responsibility,” Héctor added. “Societies create conditions. But decisions remain individual.”
He looked at his own hands.
“I made decisions. I was wrong. I am not a victim of fate. I am responsible for my actions. Someone could have died. I could have died. I could have caused an atrocity.”
The blue presence watched him in silence.
“And you still believe everyone has something salvageable?”
Héctor answered without hesitation.
“Yes. But salvaging something does not erase consequences.”
The darkness began to lighten.
“A person can possess the potential for goodness and still commit atrocities. Both can coexist. What we cannot do is pretend one cancels out the other. We can forgive, we can hate, we can create and destroy, we can forget, we can remember. All of us can do something.”
Light gradually returned.
They were back in the white chamber.
The stains were still there.
But they were no longer spreading.
“This is who I am,” Héctor said.
It did not sound heroic.
It sounded aware.
“I am not perfect. I am not a redeemer. I am not an absolute judge. I am someone who tries… and who takes responsibility when he fails.”
The blue presence approached.
“So you do not seek to save the world?”
“No.”
“Do you seek to understand it?”
“And to act within what I can.”
Silence.
The stains began to lose density.
They did not vanish.
But they no longer seemed threatening. They were part of the floor.
Part of him.
This time, Héctor did not step back. He walked toward his hollow-eyed self.
He stopped in front of him.
“This is not an enemy,” he said softly. “You are me. And I am you. You are not an external error. You are part of me.”
The other did not respond.
But neither did Héctor retreat.
He took one more step and embraced him.
Not dramatically.
With acceptance.
“This is my darkness. My pain. My guilt. My fear. I must not erase you. I must not deny you. If I try to tear you out, I lie to myself. If I deny you, I divide myself. What I must do… is coexist.”
The hollow-eyed Héctor embraced him back. And in doing so, he did not vanish abruptly.
He integrated.
Like a shadow returning to its owner when the light shifts.
The room became white again.
No screams. No expanding stains.
Héctor stood alone.
The blue presence watched him in silence. For a few seconds, there were no words—but something began to be heard.
Not music.
Rhythm.
The pulse of his own breathing.
And Héctor spoke.
Not like someone reciting.
Like someone declaring.
“I walk between reason and compassion.”
He did not say it looking down.
He said it looking forward.
“I am not only logic. I am not only emotion. I live in the tension between both. In a world where almost nothing has a single solution.”
He walked slowly across the chamber.
“I analyze. I compare. I study. I think about politics, society, structures. I see the gears that move people. The causes. The consequences.”
He stopped.
“But I also see the hands. The hands that can change those gears.”
The blue presence tilted its head slightly.
“There is always a line,” Héctor continued. “One I must not cross. I may want to save. I may want to build. But if, in doing so, I destroy what I claim to defend… then I am saving nothing.”
His voice did not tremble.
“Morality is not just cold calculation. It is not a formula. It is not pure efficiency. If I forget that people feel, I become what I criticize.”
He drew a deep breath.
“I am aware of this world. I know it is unequal. I know it can be cruel. I know there are decisions where there is no clean option.”
He lowered his gaze for a moment.
“And even so, I find strength in every second I can choose better.”
He lifted his head again.
“My mind is my tool. My lighthouse. But it can also be my prison if I use it to justify everything.”
He placed a hand over his chest.
“I do not want to justify. I want to understand.”
The white chamber seemed wider now.
“I see how society erodes. How people grow hardened. How power transforms. And every time I make a decision, my soul hesitates. Because being firm is heavy.”
His eyes softened.
“But hesitation is not weakness. It is awareness.”
He stepped toward the blue presence.
“I do not want to heal the world. I do not have that power. I do not want to save everyone. That is not my place. What I can do… is refuse to stop trying to bring out the best in those around me.”
His voice grew clearer.
“To save without wounding. To build without razing. That is the line I must guard.”
Silence.
“I made mistakes. I was arrogant. I was impulsive. I hurt someone who did not deserve it. But recognizing that does not make me despicable. It makes me responsible.”
The blue presence began to dim.
“I am not a hero. I am not a redeemer. I am not an absolute judge. I am a human being who thinks… and who feels. I will make mistakes and continue making them as long as I live.”
One last breath.
“And as long as I have both—reason and compassion—I will keep trying.”
The echo of his words was not grand.
It was steady.
The blue presence closed its eyes and disappeared.
“Your harmony was real… but incomplete. It seems… you still had to accept that you are capable of cruelty.”
“I suppose,” Héctor replied.
“I have seen enough.”
Before Héctor could say anything else, he woke.
“Damn… that was the wildest experience I’ve had in my entire short life,” Héctor said with a nervous smile.
Everyone turned toward him at once, including Hammya. Héctor was standing, still disoriented, his body tense, wearing the expression of someone who had just returned from somewhere he could not fully explain.
He blinked a couple of times, as if checking whether the world was still in place.
Then he looked at the others.
“Oh… hi,” he said, raising a hand. “How did it go for you?”
The absurd normalcy of the question took barely a second to register.
Then everyone in the room burst into laughter.
Héctor walked over to his group.
“So, what’s the news?”
“Sarah and Candado still haven’t woken up,” Declan said.
Héctor smiled.
“It’s fine. They’ll make it.”
“Always so optimistic, Mr. Héctor,” Clementina said.
“I have to be,” he replied with a firm smile.
