The guard repeated the gesture, this time with greater firmness. His companions began to move almost imperceptibly, closing angles around the group.
It wasn't a direct threat.
It was protocol.
Adrián slowly raised both hands, showing calm. Then he spoke in the broken language he had learned through mistakes and tense glances.
"Entry… we pay."
The guard inclined his head slightly.
Confirmation.
Adrián then slipped his hand inside his jacket.
Morales tensed his shoulders, ready to intervene if things went wrong.
But Adrián didn't draw a weapon.
When his hand emerged, he held a small blue stone.
The gem caught the light of dawn as if it contained frozen water inside. It wasn't just shine. It was depth. A shifting blue, alive, like a silent storm swirling beneath the surface.
It did not exist in Eldoria.
Not in its mines.
Not in its markets.
And that… made it invaluable.
Adrián said nothing for several seconds. He let the silence do its work.
There were universal truths that survived in any civilized world.
Humans liked shiny things.
And the more unique they were… the more valuable.
The lead guard narrowed his eyes. His posture changed slightly, a subtle shift of weight.
He was no longer looking at Adrián as a foreigner.
He was evaluating him as a merchant.
Adrián slowly extended his hand, showing the gem without giving it away.
"Pay… entry… all," he said, gesturing toward the group.
The guard answered with several quick sentences. Adrián didn't understand every word, but the tone was clear.
Doubt.
Contained greed.
Authority trying not to look impressed.
One of the soldiers whispered something into the leader's ear. Adrián recognized a word repeated twice.
"Rare."
And another.
"Real."
He smiled to himself.
Negotiation open.
Adrián rotated the gem between his fingers, letting the light run across its facets. It wasn't accidental. It was technique: display value without surrendering it.
Entrepreneur to the bone.
"Only… passage," he said. "No trouble. Trade… possible."
The guard stared at the stone for long seconds. Then he spoke again, pointing at the size of the group, the city… and raised three fingers.
Three payments.
Adrián shook his head gently.
He raised one finger.
Then pointed to the gem.
Then to the gate.
Silence.
The crowd was beginning to watch with more curiosity than fear. Necks stretched, murmurs spreading slowly through the people like creeping fire.
The guard took a deep breath.
He was calculating.
Accepting the offer meant breaking protocol.
But it also meant possessing a unique object, something that could raise his status within the guard.
Adrián knew it.
He always did.
Finally, the guard extended his hand.
Adrián placed the gem on his palm.
The soldier held it as if it weighed more than it should. The blue reflection crossed his eyes and something changed in his expression.
Respect.
Ambition.
Dangerous curiosity.
Then he made a short gesture toward the gate.
Entry granted.
When the group passed through the walls, Morales released the breath he had been holding.
"How much was that worth?"
Adrián looked at the city unfolding before them: crowded streets, towers rising between smoke and voices, banners marking invisible political territories.
"In our world… a few thousand euros."
Morales whistled.
"Damn."
Adrián shook his head slightly.
"Here… it could be worth much more."
Nara, still clinging to his arm, looked at him curiously.
"Why risk something so valuable?"
Adrián watched the soldiers on the walls, the merchants shouting prices he couldn't understand, the city breathing power and conflict.
Then he answered with absolute calm.
"Because in any world… money doesn't just buy things."
He paused, as if already drawing an invisible map of influence and risk.
"It also opens doors."
The inn smelled of damp wood, cheap spices, and accumulated exhaustion. It wasn't luxurious, but the walls seemed solid and the roof didn't threaten to collapse, which—given their past weeks—already counted as a luxury.
The innkeeper placed two keys on the counter.
"Two rooms. As requested."
Adrián reached out to take them—
but another hand, faster, closed around one of the keys.
"No," Nara said.
The innkeeper blinked in confusion. Adrián sighed before even looking at her.
"Nara…"
"I don't want a room alone."
Adrián turned slowly toward her, measuring every word.
"You need to rest. And so do I."
"I can rest with you."
The innkeeper cleared his throat, pretending to organize some scrolls that clearly didn't need organizing.
Adrián leaned slightly closer, lowering his voice.
"Don't you understand the danger you're in?"
"Yes," Nara replied without hesitation. "That's why being with you is safer."
Adrián shook his head in frustration.
"No… that's not the danger I'm talking about."
Nara stared at him silently for a few seconds. Her eyes—always too direct—searched his face as if looking for something she already knew.
Then she smiled faintly.
"I know."
Adrián frowned.
"What do you know?"
She tilted her head slightly, that wild naturalness she never fully lost.
"That you wanted my body from the moment we met… beast."
Silence fell like a slab of stone.
The innkeeper, though he didn't understand a word, recognized that universal tone: a couple arguing. He decided to focus with exaggerated interest on polishing a glass that was already spotless.
Adrián closed his eyes briefly, as if counting to ten in his head.
He didn't answer.
He simply took one of the keys and walked toward the stairs.
Nara followed.
The room was small but clean. Two beds separated by a low table, a narrow window, and an oil lamp casting trembling shadows along the walls.
When the door closed, the silence became uncomfortable.
Nara remained standing, eyes lowered. Her heart beat too fast. Heat rose to her face, burning her cheeks. Her hands nervously played with the edge of her fur dress.
Adrián placed his coat over a chair, avoiding looking at her more than necessary.
"Sleep in that bed," he said, pointing to the one near the window.
Nara nodded without raising her gaze.
The lamp was extinguished soon after.
The night passed in heavy silence, broken only by restrained breathing and the occasional creak of wood.
Adrián did not approach.
Not once.
At dawn, the door opened with a sharp bang.
Nara stormed out of the room, brow furrowed and steps tense.
She was furious.
And she didn't understand why.
She knew she should feel relieved.
She knew it had been the right thing.
She knew he had respected a boundary she herself hadn't even known how to express.
And yet something inside her chest burned with a confusing mixture of wounded pride, frustration… and a disappointment she was teaching herself to deny.
During the following days, Adrián walked more than he spoke.
While the rest of the group tried to adapt to the city, he observed. He analyzed markets, trade routes, prices, gestures, silences. Eldoria was not a backward world… it was simply a world evolving in another direction.
That made it dangerous.
And full of opportunities.
Nara followed him.
At first out of inertia… and anger.
She walked half a step behind, arms crossed, looking everywhere except at him. When Adrián stopped to observe a stall, she pretended to examine something else—fabrics, unknown fruits, cheap amulets.
"You can stop following me," he said one afternoon without looking at her.
"I'm not following you."
"You've been denying it for three hours."
Nara snorted and turned her face away.
"Someone has to make sure you don't sell our organs for coins."
Adrián laughed briefly.
He didn't answer.
Ideas began to appear one after another.
But they all died at the same point.
Money.
Then he smiled.
Nara noticed.
And that unsettled her more than any monster she had seen in Eldoria.
Adrián didn't start with fire.
He started by walking.
For days he inspected the riverbanks, letting grains run through his fingers. Not all sand worked. Most was too dark, too coarse… too alive, saturated with minerals he didn't recognize and that reacted unpredictably.
Nara crouched beside him one morning.
"It's sand."
"No," Adrián replied, letting the grains fall slowly. "It's potentially money."
She looked at him, confused.
She grabbed a handful, imitating him.
"Money? I only see sand."
"That's the mistake some people make… they lack vision."
Nara let the sand fall. She pretended disinterest.
But she stayed close.
Until Adrián found a pale stretch, fine as bone dust.
He let it slide between his fingers.
He smiled.
Nara tilted her head.
"That smile always ends badly for someone."
"Usually for others," he replied.
She rolled her eyes… though a small smile betrayed her.
He paid children from the lower districts to transport small sacks.
Never all to the same place.
Never on the same day.
"For fine ceramics."
"For glazes."
"For academic experiments."
Small coins.
Simple orders.
Kind looks.
Nara watched from a corner.
"You're using them."
"I'm employing them."
"They're children."
"They're children who can eat today."
She didn't respond.
But that night she left an extra ration of bread in the bag Adrián had prepared for one of them.
He said nothing.
The fire came later.
Not in a single forge.
Not in a single furnace.
Adrián visited potters, blacksmiths, and metalworkers like a man evaluating exclusive restaurants. He observed the color of flames, the behavior of coal, the sound of compressed air, the way heat warped metal, clay… and artisanal pride.
Nara began asking questions.
First a few.
Then too many.
"Why that furnace and not the other?"
"Why do you watch the smoke?"
"Why do you smell the ashes?"
Adrián looked at her once, surprised.
"Because smoke lies less than people."
She fell silent.
Processing.
Here he tested sand with plant ash.
There, sand with powdered lime.
Further away, only sand… and patience.
Each experiment looked independent.
Each craftsman believed he had been hired for a different whim.
No one understood they were building a single secret.
Nara began to suspect it.
"You're building something big… aren't you?"
Adrián raised an eyebrow.
"I'm building something expensive."