The steam was thicker now. It did not fall, it did not float: it slid along the walls as if breathing from the foundations of the place. The group moved forward behind Lea without breaking the silence that seed to have made a pact with the surroundings. Each step was a contained gesture. Each breath, a tacit agreent with the intangible.
Curved corridors, doors that opened with proximity sensors, floors that dampened the echo so that intimacy would have no witnesses. The heat was stable, human, not suffocating. Everything was calibrated so that the skin would forget the harshness of the world, at least for a mont.
The first to stop was Óscar.
Lea turned with a minimal movent, signaling with her open palm toward a door with a dark tallic edge, which slid aside upon detecting her presence. Behind it, the interior of the n’s bath was revealed: spacious, divided by light gray stone panels that offered privacy without confinent. The floor was covered with non-slip tiles of smooth texture, and the air, heavy with warm humidity, did not sll of chemicals or perfus, but of wet rock and pure steam.
There were n moving in silence: so still wearing their robes, others already bare to the waist, seated at the edge of small private pools embedded in the floor. Each one had a retractable tal plate with an illuminated number. So opened, others closed. Soft light filtered in from slits in the ceiling, simulating a perpetual dawn.
Óscar scanned the place with his eyes. He did not seem impressed. Nor indifferent. He simply chose. He walked toward one of the more secluded pools. The plate displayed the number 100.
It was empty.
He pressed the button. The hatch slid open without a sound. He went in.
The interior was even more intimate. The stone ford a semicircle, and the water emitted slow steam that clung to the walls without saturating them. Óscar set the towel aside, undid his bun with a single hand, and let his hair fall like a damp shadow over the nape of his neck. Then, with a fluid movent, he removed the robe, folded it carelessly, and entered the water.
He did not make an exaggerated gesture. He simply exhaled, deep, as the heat ran through his body as if soone were undoing his joints one by one. He closed his eyes. He rested his back against the stone. His feet floated. His face remained calm, but not empty. It was the kind of silence that is not earned through external stillness, but through being alone in a place that demands no posture.
Outside, the others continued.
The path went on, and the surroundings began to change.
The floor ceased to be stone and beca dark wood, polished with veins that absorbed the reflection of the lights. The steam grew denser, rising from small grilles carved with precision, as if the building’s breathing had beco feminine. There were new fragrances: eucalyptus, sandalwood, sothing citrus in the background. It was not perfu. It was design.
Lea walked ahead with steps that left no trace. The white curtains hanging at the sides stirred as they passed, as if parting with respect. Finally, she stopped.
The door in front of her was different.
Dark glass, without transparency, frad by reddish wood carved by hand. It had no handle, only a lateral slit of light that marked its boundary. At the center, a plaque with curved calligraphy: Steam Zone — Female Sector 2.
Lea turned toward Virka.
—This is your bath —she said.
Virka nodded. She did not ask anything.
Before entering, she turned toward Valentina.
—I’ll see you later —she said, in that tone of hers that was not dry, but not sweet either.
Valentina took her hand for a second, then let it go.
—Bye, mom —she replied, raising her little hand in a small, complete, perfect gesture.
Virka returned an almost imperceptible nod. Narka, still hidden beneath the robe, did not move. But his presence was a firm weight beside her body, as if he were part of her spine. When Virka entered the bath, the door closed without a sound.
And Valentina stayed there, beside Lea.
Without fear. Without haste.
Waiting for her mont.
The door closed behind Virka with the muffled whisper of steam sliding against tempered wood. Inside, the air was thicker, more alive, more intimate. The world ceased to have straight corners and beca a space of contained heat, of mingled breaths, of bodies breathing as if they shared a single invisible source.
Everything was lined with polished wood. There was no ceramic or tal. Only warm planks, smoothly carved, impregnated with ancient steam. At the center, a small basin of volcanic stone with a wooden ladle dripped slowly over black stones that exhaled white clouds as if they were crying toward the ceiling. The towels hung on dark hooks, folded with precision. A rectangular window let in a soft, directionless light, filtered through mint leaves hung like an aromatic altar.
There were five won already inside.
Five older ladies, each with her robe carelessly tied, seated on the wooden benches like those who no longer need to prove anything. They laughed without raising their voices. One of them had her eyes closed and seed to speak without addressing anyone. Another moved her hands to the rhythm of a story that was not being told. All of them were comfortable. All of them were at peace. And when Virka entered, they looked at her as if they had been waiting for her without knowing it.
—Oh, look at her! —said one, with silver hair gathered in a braid—. What a beautiful girl.
—Young lady, co, co —added another, with round cheeks and a warm voice—. Don’t stay standing there like a statue. You co here to lt.
—That’s right —said a third, winking—. To sweat sorrows, not to carry them.
Virka looked at them without expression. Not out of rejection. But because her face did not offer emotions that were not necessary. She assessed the place. The heat. The benches. The won.
And she walked.
She did not ask permission. She did not explain anything. She simply crossed the steam with the sa naturalness with which a beast crosses a forest without fearing the dry sound of a branch. She sat beside the lady with the braid, without avoiding contact. The warm wood did not bother her. The dense air did not weigh on her. She closed her eyes for a second. She breathed. She let the sweat begin to be born at the base of her neck.
The ladies, seeing her settle in, smiled with tacit approval.
—That’s how it’s done —murmured one.
—Like in the old days —whispered another.
They did not know who she was. They did not know what she was. But they knew how to recognize soone who does not fear the silence of the steam. And that was enough.
Narka, still hidden beneath the robe, did not move. He remained in a fetal position, curled into himself among the inner folds of the linen, as if he were in his own spiritual chamber. He sought nothing. Only to resonate with the heat, with the humidity, with the vibration of the air laden with floating minerals. Through Virka’s chest, he felt every change in pressure like a distant mountain murmur. He ditated, not because he needed to understand... but because the environnt was worthy of being felt.
And Virka, seated among unknown ladies, in a bath where her figure stood out like a marble statue among clay jars, did not try to close her body. She did not hunch her shoulders. She did not avoid eyes. She simply was there. Present. In silence. Allowed.
The ladies resud their low-voiced conversations. Sotis they laughed. Sotis they fell silent. The steam hid the contours. The wood creaked slowly. And for an instant —a real one, without poetry— Virka was neither beast nor guardian. Just one more.
A woman seated. Breathing.
Sweating.
Living.
The final stretch felt lighter. As if the steam that had grown dense in the previous corridors now dissipated with respect before what was to co. The walls began to lighten. The dark wood gave way to softer surfaces, cream tones, light oak slats, and simple columns with straight lines. The heat remained, but it did not press. It felt like the embrace of a clean ho, not like the exhalation of a deep cavern.
Lea walked ahead, unhurried. Her steps seed in rhythm with those of Valentina, who continued to clutch her pink shampoo as if it were a freshly plucked flower. Sebastián, behind them, kept his pace. He did not speak. He did not need to.
They turned one last corner.
There, at the end of the corridor, a single door.
Lea stopped in front of it and barely turned her torso.
—This is your bath —she said, with the tone of soone handing over a key that needs no explanation—. It is the last room in the family zone. Completely private. At your disposal.
The door had warm golden details along the edges. They did not shine, they rely caressed the wood with small, gentle reflections. There were childlike drawings carved with precision: an inflatable duck, a smiling fish, a dolphin with simple lines. Everything suggested calm, safety, play at rest.
Lea inclined her head with the sa professional courtesy she had maintained from the beginning.
—Enjoy your ti. I will return when you are finished.
And without waiting for a response, she turned and walked away along the sa path, leaving no trace.
Sebastián and Valentina remained alone in front of the door.
The girl looked at the drawings without saying anything. She observed them with eyes wide open, but without anxiety.
—Let’s go —said Sebastián.
Valentina lifted her head. She did not answer with words.
She simply reached out her hand and gently took his fingers.
He pressed once. Then he opened the door.
The heat ca out like a sleeping exhalation. A warm vapor spilled into the corridor, not violent, not dense. It was the breath of a place that did not need to be kept.
Inside, the room was spacious, with light stone cladding, a high ceiling of wooden slats, and a rectangular pool occupying the center. It was more than a bathtub, less than a pool. The water stead slowly, without bubbles, without sound. Along the edges floated a few objects: a yellow rubber duck, a green turtle, a pink dolphin, a foam ring shaped like a fish. Everything was arranged as if it already knew who would co.
Valentina released Sebastián’s hand only to approach the edge. She leaned a little and examined the floaters carefully.
—Can I use one? —she asked, without raising her voice much.
—Of course —Sebastián replied, as he began to take off his robe—. Whichever you want.
The girl did not hesitate. She took the pink dolphin, lifted it with both hands as if evaluating it, and then carefully set it on one of the side benches, making sure it would not fall.
Sebastián, already without the robe, folded it without ceremony and set it aside. His body, marked, firm, without apparent rest, reflected in the floor tiles like a living statue made of accumulated will. He was not trying to impose himself. He was simply there, absolute.
He moved closer to Valentina.
She turned toward him. Without needing to ask for help, she raised her arms.
He helped her remove the robe with calm movents, without making her feel rushed or ashad. The fabric slid off her shoulders, and the girl held it before it touched the floor. Then, with learned care, she finished taking it off by herself. She folded it as she had seen Virka do and placed it next to the shampoo.
Both were naked. Neither seed to notice it as sothing that should be hidden. Neither spoke of it.
Valentina took the floater again. She placed it in the water and pushed it a little with her hand. Then she held on to it.
Sebastián went in first.
The water closed over his legs with the softness of a liquid that recognized his shape. He advanced to the center, turned slightly, and extended a hand.
Valentina took it.
The girl’s body floated upon contact, supported by the pink dolphin, by the water, by the firm hand of her father. She settled into the center with a small, toothless smile, the kind that makes no sound but leaves a mark.
And so, for the first ti in many days, they were alone.
Father and daughter.
Without war.
Without questions.
Only water. Ti, in the water, dissolves in a different way.
It does not fall. It does not push. It only spreads. As if each second floated as well, without sinking or touching bottom.
Valentina floated on her pink dolphin, gently turning in the center of the pool. She did not speak. She did not ask for gas. She simply let the water carry her slowly from one side to the other, her arms extended, her wet hair stuck to her forehead. Sotis she closed her eyes. Sotis she looked at the ceiling. Sotis she watched Sebastián, seated against one of the bathroom walls, his body subrged to the chest and his eyes half closed.
Minutes had passed. Or perhaps more.
The silence between them did not weigh.
Until it did.
—Dad... —she said suddenly, in a voice that was not timid, but was soft, as if she feared interrupting sothing bigger than herself.
Sebastián opened his eyes. He did not turn his head. He only looked at her.
Valentina turned a little more on her floater and stayed still, holding the edges with both hands.
—When you and mom have another real daughter... will you still love too?
The question did not bounce in the air. It did not break in the steam. It fell directly onto the water, heavy, real, and sank into the center of the pool, without leaving bubbles.
Sebastián did not answer.
He looked at her. Fixed. Without blinking. Without creasing his face.
Only his eyes changed.
That gaze he had carried forever. The one that seed carved in stone, with no visible emotion, no tremors. But now, more than ever, it reflected sothing deeper. An endless determination, a fire that did not burn, but that never went out. It was not tenderness. It was sothing older. As if every word he was going to say had already been written into his bones before he was born.
Valentina was not afraid.
Not because of the look.
She was used to it.
But sothing inside her did stir. As if that long silence ant sothing she did not fully understand.
She opened her mouth to say sothing.
But Sebastián spoke first.
—Don’t worry about that.
His voice did not change. It did not soften. It did not take on emotion.
But the force with which he said it...
the way the words ca out, clean, without doubt, without pause...
made all the water in the bath seem to stop for an instant.
—You will always be my daughter —he continued—. It doesn’t matter if you weren’t born from . It doesn’t matter if you weren’t born from Virka.
That doesn’t change anything.
Valentina swallowed. She did not speak. She only looked at him. Her eyes were beginning to moisten.
—You have our blood —he said—. Not because we gave it to you. But because you took it. Because you made it yours.
Because you fought for it.
And that... that no one can take away from you.
He fell silent for a mont. He looked at her as if asuring the exact weight of his words.
—It may be that over ti things change —he added—. It may be that not everything is always the sa. People change. For better... or for worse.
But that bond I have with you...
that one does not break.
The girl could no longer hold it in.
Tears sprang forth without sound. She did not scream. She did not tremble. She only cried... like soone who finally understands that sothing is not going to break even if the world collapses.
She pushed herself with her arms. Floater and all, she swam toward him.
And she hugged him.
Clumsy, wet, small, clinging to his bare chest.
Sebastián did not close his eyes. He only raised a hand and rested it on her wet head. He gave her two gentle pats. Then he stroked her. With the sa firmness with which one holds a pillar so that an entire house does not tremble.
—Co on —he said—. It’s ti for the shampoo.
Valentina laughed through her tears, without pulling away completely.
And nodded.
Sebastián lifted her into his arms.
He ca out of the water with her, holding her along with the floater, which bounced against his legs as he walked.
He carried her toward the side area, where the towels, the shampoo, the stone bench were.
He sat her down. She let herself be handled. She was still drying her tears with her fists while holding the dolphin at her side.
He opened the shampoo. He placed a little on his hand.
And he began to wash her hair with firm but asured movents.
He scrubbed from the nape, moving up toward the crown.
He parted the hair from her face with his fingers.
And then, for the first ti in a long ti, both of Valentina’s eyes were exposed.
Brown and blue.
The story of two impossible pasts.
A girl who should not be alive.
And yet... she was there.
She wiped away one last tear.
And smiled.
Not like one who forgets.
But like one who, at last, rests.
_______________________________________________________
END OF Chapter 64
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 comnt, a question, an echo.
Your presence keeps alive the fla 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 as Goru SLG.
I want to thank from the heart all the people who are reading and supporting this work. Your ti, your comnts, and your support keep this world alive.
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