The scent of roasting meat filled the night air.
The flames of the parrillada crackled, reflecting in the relaxed, attentive eyes of those present.
On the top floor of the Command Base, the pool area had been transformed into an improvised sanctuary of fellowship.
—
Camila commanded the grill with mastery.
Between perfect cuts, light jokes, and stories from her youth in Buenos Aires, she made the atmosphere feel like a distant home, even amid the silent war surrounding them.
Helena passed around glasses of wine.
Nikita playfully demonstrated self-defense moves, using Patricia as a volunteer—drawing laughter from all.
Marie, more reserved, curated the music through an old device retrieved from the Resource Room.
Amina and Samantha animatedly discussed ancient history and the small mysteries of time.
Claudia observed everything in silence, as usual, but this time, there was a discreet smile on her face.
—
Kael, sitting slightly apart, watched.
It was strange for him.
And yet, necessary.
He looked at these women and saw more than agents.
He saw a future.
—
At one point, Patricia raised her glass:
— To the living.
— To those who walk without knowing where.
— And to those who choose to resist anyway.
Everyone toasted.
The clinking of glasses echoed softly under the starry sky of the alternative dimension.
—
As the night deepened, serious conversations began to emerge.
Helena proposed that the Clan begin to plan:
More specific training programs.
Rotating reconnaissance missions with rest cycles.
The creation of a permanent small intelligence unit within the Base.
Marie suggested opening a cultural wing to study human behavior across eras, aiding future infiltrations.
Samantha wanted to build a secret archive of recovered artifacts.
Camila, of course, wanted more parties.
Every idea, no matter how simple, planted seeds.
—
At the end of the night, Kael finally approached the group.
Without a word, he sat beside them.
Simply listening.
Sometimes, leading is just staying close.
And there, beneath stars that belonged to no known world, something was born that even the Abyss could not erase:
The spirit of a Clan.
The spirit of the Stone.