The July heat hit the cobbled streets of Seville with an intensity that made the air tremble. It was the year 1871 and Dr. Rafael Montoro was walking along Sierpes Street with his worn-out leather briefcase under his arm, wiping the sweat from his forehead with an already damp handkerchief.

In his years he had served half of the neighborhood of Santa Cruz, from ruined nobles to prosperous merchants. But no patient had ever worried him as much as the Calderón family. The Calderóns’ hacienda stood at the end of a narrow street, protected by high limestone walls that reflected the sun with an almost blinding glow.

Raphael pushed open the heavy wrought-iron door and entered the inner courtyard, where a fountain of Sevillian tiles whispered with the water falling in a monotonous rhythm. The air here was cooler, perfumed by the orange trees that lined the perimeter. “Doctor Montoro, come in, please.

The voice of the butler, an older man named Fermín, echoed from the shadow of the corridor. Don Esteban is waiting for him in the main room. Raphael nodded and followed the butler through corridors decorated with Flemish tapestries and paintings of saints with stern looks. The house had always seemed too quiet, as if the walls absorbed sounds.

Finally they reached the living room, a large room with windows overlooking the back garden. Don Esteban Calderón was standing by the window, looking outside. He was a man in his 50s, tall and thin, with black hair flecked with gray and a neatly trimmed beard. He was wearing a dark suit despite the heat, and his hands, Rafael noticed, trembled slightly when he turned to greet him.

“Doctor Montoro, thank you for coming so quickly.” Esteban’s voice was deep, but tense. They are my daughters, Lucía and Inés. I need you to examine them. Of course, Don Esteban. Rafael left his briefcase on a side table. What are the symptoms? Esteban was silent for a moment, as if searching for the right words.

His eyes, Rafael noticed, were red from lack of sleep. They’re not sick, doctor. At least not in the conventional sense. He paused. They have stopped growing. Raphael frowned. Stopped growing. What exactly does he mean? Lucía is 17 years old. Agnes. 16. But during the last 3 years they have not changed one iota.

They still look exactly the same as they did when they were 14 and 13 years old. Not an inch taller, not one more mature feature. It’s as if time has stopped for them. The doctor felt a chill despite the heat. I had heard of cases of developing glandular problems that could affect growth, but 3 years without any change was extraordinary. I would like to examine them, if possible.

Stephen nodded and led Raphael up a marble staircase to the second floor. The footsteps echoed in the eerie silence of the house. They came to a dark wooden door at the end of the hallway. Esteban touched softly. Lucía, Inés, Dr. Montoro has come to see them. The door slowly opened, revealing a spacious room, bathed in the filtered light of lace curtains.

Two young women were sitting on chairs by the window embroidering. When they looked up, Rafael felt his heart race. they were identical in their frozen youth. Lucia, the eldest, had dark brown hair pulled back into a simple bun and her green eyes looked at him with a mixture of curiosity and resignation.

Agnes, next to her, shared the same delicate features, though her expression seemed more distant, as if she were looking at something no one else could see. Good morning, doctor,” Lucia greeted in a soft but clear voice. “I suppose he comes to study our peculiarity.

Rafael approached carefully, aware that he had to proceed with delicacy. With your permission, I would like to do some basic tests, check your pulse, auscultate your lungs, measure your height and weight. Over the next hour, Rafael conducted a thorough examination. Everything seemed normal. regular pulse, clear breathing, normal reflexes.

But when he compared his measurements to the notes he had taken 3 years ago during a routine visit, reality hit him like a fist in the stomach. The figures were exactly the same, down to the last millimeter, to the last pound. That night, in his modest office near St. Francis Square, Raphael opened his personal diary and began to write with a trembling hand by the light of an oil lamp. July 4, 1871.

I have witnessed today something that defies all medical logic. The Calderón sisters, Lucía and Inés seem to have been suspended in time. I can’t explain it with the science I know. Don Esteban shows signs of deep anguish, but there is something else in his eyes, something that resembles fear or guilt. I must investigate further.

The next morning, Rafael returned to the Hacienda a Calderón, this time uninvited. I needed answers. Fermín, the butler, received him with surprise. The gentleman does not expect it, doctor. I know, but I have some pressing questions. It’s about the health of young ladies. Fermín led him back to the living room, where Don Esteban was reviewing some documents.

When he saw Rafael, his face hardened. Dr. Montoro, I did not expect your visit. Don Esteban, I need you to be honest with me. Rafael stood firmly. Have you subjected your daughters to any experimental treatments? Any special medicines? Any unconventional procedures? Esteban’s face paled, but his voice remained firm.

I don’t know what he’s talking about. The sisters have not changed in 3 years. That is not natural. If there’s something you’re not telling me, I need to know so I can help you. Stephen rose sharply, knocking over his chair. My family has suffered a lot, doctor. My wife died 4 years ago and now my daughters are like this.

I don’t allow him to come to my house to make accusations. Rafael took a deep breath trying to stay calm. I am not accusing, Don Esteban, but as a doctor I have the obligation to seek the truth. If there is a medical explanation, a cure, I must find it. There is no cure. Esteban’s voice broke slightly. What is done is done.

Before Raphael could answer, a high-pitched scream rang out from the top floor. Both men ran to the stairs. They found Inés in the corridor trembling violently, her eyes bulging and her hands clutching her head. “It hurts, it hurts a lot!” she shouted between sobs. “I feel like I’m being emptied inside.”

Lucía had come out of her room and was hugging her sister trying to calm her down. “Sh, Inés, it will pass. It always happens. Rafael knelt next to them, taking Inés’ pulse. He was accelerated, erratic. The young woman breathed heavily, as if the air were not enough. How long has it been like this?, he asked Lucía. It started a few months ago. It gives it every two or three days, lasts a few minutes, and then calms down.

And you, Lucia, experience these episodes too. She nodded slowly. Yes, but mine are different. It doesn’t hurt physically. It’s more like I’m losing pieces of myself. Memories, sensations. Sometimes I don’t know who I am. Rafael felt a knot in his stomach. Whatever was happening to these young women, it was getting worse.

Don Esteban, I need to talk to you privately now. In Esteban’s study, surrounded by ledgers and business maps, Rafael confronted Father with ironclad determination. If you don’t tell me the truth, I’ll go to the authorities right now. Your daughters are hurting, and you know it.

Esteban sank into his chair, burying his head in his hands. For several minutes he said nothing. Then, in a barely audible voice, he began to speak. After my wife Beatrice died, I went mad with grief. The girls were all I had left, and I was terrified of losing them too. A man came to see me, a certain Count of Monteal Alegre.

He said that I belonged to a society that could help me, that could protect my daughters from any disease, from any harm, even from death itself. Rafael felt that the world was leaning around him. What kind of society? They called it the brotherhood. Aristocrats, scientists, powerful people. They said that they had found a way to stop time, to preserve life indefinitely. That’s impossible.

Rafael could hardly believe what he was hearing. And you believed them. He was desperate. Tears ran down Esteban’s cheeks. They showed me things, doctor, experiments. A man who was 90 years old, but looked like he was 40. A woman who had survived an illness that should have killed her.

And then they offered me the treatment for my daughters. What treatment? Stephen was silent for a long moment. I don’t know exactly. They came here to the house, brought a machine, something I had never seen. They said it was the work of a brilliant inventor who had developed a method of cell regeneration.

The girls were subjected to the process and it worked. At first, Rafael sat heavily trying to process the information. And the price, there is always a price. Esteban closed his eyes. They asked me to hand over someone, someone young, healthy. They said it was necessary to feed the process. I found a boy on the docks, an orphan that no one would miss. They took him away.

Horror took hold of Rafael. What did he do with him? I don’t know. I never asked, but since then the machine is in the basements of this house constantly running and my daughters, my daughters are trapped. Rafael got up trembling with anger and disgust. You have committed a monstrous crime and your daughters are paying the price.

I know. Esteban screamed. Every day I see what I’m doing to them, but if I stop the machine they’ll die. That’s what they told me. They’re connected to it in some way I don’t understand. I need to see that machine. I can’t allow that. If you don’t show it to me, I’ll go to the police right now and tell them everything.

Esteban looked at Raphael with eyes full of despair. Finally he nodded. Come with me, but what you see you can never forget. The two men descended a staircase hidden behind a bookshelf in the study. The stone steps were damp and slippery. The air grew colder and heavier with each step.

At the bottom of the stairs, a metal door blocked the way. Esteban took a key from his vest pocket and opened it with trembling hands. What Rafael saw on the other side would change his life forever. The underground room stretched out before them like an unholy catacomb.

The light from the oil lamps that Esteban lit revealed a large space with a thick ceiling, the damp stone walls covered with a greenish patina of moisture. But it wasn’t the architecture that made Raphael feel his legs falter, but what occupied the center of the room.

The machine was an abomination of burnished metal and glass. Copper tubes intertwined like arteries, connecting several glass cylinders filled with an amber liquid that pulsed with a luminescence of its own. The central mechanism consisted of a series of gears and valves that moved in a hypnotic rhythm, emitting a low, steady hum that Rafael felt vibrating in his bones.

But what really chilled the blood in his veins was what he saw at the far end of the room. There was a glass chamber about the size of an upright coffin. Inside, floating in a viscous liquid of the same amber color, was the body of a child. Rafael approached slowly. Each step required an effort of will.

The boy looked about 12 or 13 years old with dark hair floating around his pale face. His eyes were closed and for a moment Rafael thought he was looking at a corpse, but then he saw the slight movement of his chest, the almost imperceptible throbbing of oatmeal in his neck. “My God,” Rafael whispered. “He’s alive.

Esteban’s voice barely sounded hollow. empty. The brotherhood calls him the prince of stone. Her life energy powers the machine and the machine keeps my daughters in their current state. Raphael turned sharply to Stephen. Do you have any idea what you’re saying? He is describing scientific vampirism. He is draining this boy’s life to keep his daughters suspended in time.

I had no choice. Esteban collapsed against the wall, sliding until he was sitting on the cold floor. When I accepted the deal, I didn’t fully understand what it entailed. I thought it would be a one-time procedure, an injection, or an elixir. I didn’t know it would require continuous sacrifice.

Raphael walked over to the glass chamber, examining it more closely. There were inscriptions engraved on the metal surrounding it. And symbols that I did not recognize. At the base he found a bronze plaque with an engraved name, Iváñes device, prototype I. Property of the Styx brotherhood. “Ibáñez,” Rafael murmured. Who is Iváñez? The inventor replied Esteban in a broken voice. Leonor Ibáñez.

She was a brilliant woman, a scientist who worked secretly in Seville. He developed this technology to try to save his own son, who was dying of a degenerative disease. But before he could complete his work, the brotherhood stole it from him. And what happened to her? Disappeared.

Some say that the brotherhood eliminated her so that she could not reveal her secrets. Others believe that she fled devastated by what her invention had become. Rafael touched the glass of the camera, feeling its strangely warm surface. The child inside did not react to his presence. And this child, who is he? His name is Thomas. He was the son of Leonor Ibáñez. The horror of the revelation hit Rafael like a wave.

The inventor had created the device to save her son and the brotherhood had turned that same child into the human battery that powered their evil system. This is monstrous beyond comprehension. Rafael turned away from the camera feeling nauseous. How can he live with himself knowing this? I can’t.

Esteban screamed with tears streaming down his face. Every night I dream of the moment I handed that boy over. Every morning I wake up knowing that my daughters are alive just because another child is slowly dying. But if I stop the machine, if I release him, Lucia and Agnes will die in a matter of hours. The sisterhood made that very clear to me.

Rafael began to walk back and forth, his medical mind struggling to find a solution. There must be a way to reverse the process. If this woman, Leonor Ibáñez designed the machine, she must have left notes, plans, something explaining how it works. The brotherhood took everything.

They searched his lab and confiscated all his documents. And where is that lab? It was in the Triana neighborhood, near the river, but it was sealed after his disappearance. No one has been there in years. Rafael made a decision. Then I’ll go get him. There must be something they’ve missed, some clue that will help us understand how to free both Tomás and his daughters without killing them all in the process. It’s too dangerous, Esteban warned.

The sorority has eyes everywhere. If they find out you’re investigating, they’ll remove you without hesitation. Then I’ll have to be discreet.” Rafael headed for the stairs. In the meantime, don’t tell anyone I was here and for God’s sake, keep an eye on your daughters. If your symptoms get worse, message me right away.

That same night, Rafael crossed the Guadalquivir River to Triana, walking through narrow streets lit only by gas lanterns. The neighborhood was known for its potters and gypsies, for the flamingo that gushed from the taverns and the smell of wet clay that permeated the air. He found the building, according to Esteban’s directions, a three-story house with the windows covered and a door sealed with rusty chains.

Rafael looked around, making sure no one was watching, and then used a crowbar he had brought with him to force the chains. The door opened with a creak that echoed in the night. The interior was pitch black. Rafael lit a flashlight and walked in closing the door behind him. The air was stale, laden with dust and neglect.

The light of her flashlight revealed a hall with furniture covered by white sheets, now gray, from the passage of time. She climbed the stairs carefully. Each step creaked under her weight. On the second floor she found what must have been Leonor’s home, a living room with books scattered everywhere.

some opened as if their owner had had to leave in a hurry. Rafael examined the titles treated in medicine, physics, chemistry, biology. There were also notebooks full of calculations and extraordinarily detailed anatomical drawings. But the real laboratory was on the third floor. The room was spacious, with large windows that during the day would have flooded the space with light.

Now the light of Raphael’s lantern revealed workbenches covered with scientific instruments, microscopes, test tubes, precision balances. On the walls were diagrams and diagrams drawn directly on the plaster, equations that Rafael could barely begin to understand.

And in the center of the room, on a large table, he found what he was looking for, a black leather notebook with the initials Li engraved in gold on the cover. Raphael opened it with trembling hands and began to read. March 15, 1867. Thomas is getting worse every day. The doctors have told me that he has perhaps 6 months to live. I cannot accept it. I will not lose my son. I have dedicated my life to science.

Now science will give me back my son. April 2, 1867. I have made an extraordinary discovery. The body’s cells have an internal clock, a mechanism that regulates their aging and death. If you could access that mechanism, reset that clock, you could stop or even reverse the degenerative process. June 20, 1867.

I have built the first prototype. It works with a bioelectrical energy source, a field that can synchronize with a patient’s cellular rhythm. Initial tests with animal tissues are promising. Rafael turned the pages quickly absorbing information. Leonor Ibáñez had been a genius ahead of her time by decades, but she had also been a desperate mother and that desperation had led her to dangerous territories.

January 3, 1868. I need a more powerful power source. The device requires a stable and continuous bioelectric field. I have considered using multiple galvanic batteries, but the power is insufficient. I need something alive, something with its own natural bioelectric field. Here Leonor’s writing became more erratic. The lines were shaking. February 10, 1868.

Today some men came, they called themselves the Brotherhood of Styx. They knew about my work, I don’t know how. I was offered unlimited funds, access to resources I could never get on my own. In return, they wanted my device once it was complete. I declined his offer. My work is for Thomas, not to satisfy the vanity of immortality-obsessed aristocrats. February 15, 1868.

They’re back. This time they did not come to negotiate. They took my plans, my notes, all my equipment and they took Tomás. They said they would use it as the heart of their machine, that their son would feed their dream of eternal life. I tried to stop them, but there are too many. They are too powerful. Rafael felt tears streaming down his cheeks as he read the latest journal entries.

February 20, 1868. I’ve tried to go to the police, but no one listens to me. Brotherhood has influence everywhere. I have tried to recover Tomás on my own, but his headquarters is guarded like a fortress. I am alone and without resources. March 1, 1868. I have made a decision.

If I can’t destroy the guild from without, I’ll destroy it from within. I have agreed to work for them. They have returned Tomás to me, or at least allow me to see him in his glass prison. They say that as long as I cooperate they will keep my son alive. They’re using my device for their first experiments. two girls, the daughters of a merchant named Calderón.

The Father sold their souls for the promise of eternal youth. April 15, 1868. I’m building a second device, one that the brotherhood doesn’t know about. I hide it here in my old lab. It is a key, a way to disable the system without killing the connected victims. But I need time to complete it and time is the only thing I don’t have. The brotherhood suspects me.

The last entry was dated April 20, 1868, almost 3 years ago. They are constantly watching me. I know they will make their move soon. I’ve hidden the deactivation device in the place where it all began, where Tom used to play when he was little. If anyone reads this, if anyone wants to do the right thing, look in Maria Luisa Park, under the old oak tree, near the duck pond.

There they will find salvation or at least the possibility of it, that God forgives what I have created and that he protects my son. Rafael closed the notebook. His mind was working at full speed. Leonor had built a way to deactivate the machine without killing its victims, but she had managed to finish it before it disappeared and would really still be in María Luisa Park.

After 3 years, there was only one way to find out. Dawn painted the sky of Seville with orange and pink tones when Rafael arrived at María Luisa Park. The park, a gift from the Infanta María Luisa Fernanda de Borbón to the city, was an oasis of greenery in the midst of the urban bustle. At this early hour, only a few gardeners and early risers walked along its paths.

Rafael walked in a hurry, but trying not to attract attention, Leonor Ibáñez’s notebook hidden under his coat. Her eyes searched for the old oak tree near the duck pond that the inventor had mentioned. He found it in a secluded corner of the park, a majestic tree with a trunk so wide that three men could hardly wrap their arms around it.

The nearby pond reflected the light of dawn and some ducks swam lazily on its surface. Raphael knelt beside the exposed roots of the oak tree, beginning to dig with his hands. The land was wet and cold. He sat for several minutes, his fingers hurting against stones and roots until he finally touched something metallic.

He carefully removed a metal box sealed with wax. The surface was rusty but intact. Rafael opened it with his heart beating strongly. Inside was a device the size of a book built with the same aesthetics as the machine in the Calderóns’ basement. precision gears, small crystals, copper wires. Next to it was a yellowish envelope.

Rafael opened the envelope and unfolded the letter inside. Whoever finds this, my name is Leonor Ibáñez. If you’re reading this, then I’ve failed in my attempt to destroy the Styx brotherhood from within. Or maybe I’ve died trying. This device is a master key to my original invention.

It can disconnect the regeneration system without causing lethal shock to the connected subjects. But you must follow the instructions exactly. First, the device must be connected to the central core of the main machine. You’ll recognize the core. It is the cylindrical chamber with electromagnetic fields. Pulsating.

Second, activate the device by turning the main dial three times clockwise. This will initiate a gradual disconnection sequence that will last approximately 6 hours. Third, during those 6 hours, subjects will experience a traumatic awakening. Your bodies will begin to process years of stopped aging in a compressed period.

They will need constant medical care, fluids, nutrients, pain medication. Fourth and most important, the subject who serves as the power source, my poor Tom, must be released from his camera immediately after activating the device. Your body has been drained for so long that your recovery will be the hardest. He may not survive, but at least he will die free.

If you have the courage to use this, God bless you. And if you see my son, tell him that his mother never stopped fighting for him. Leonor Rafael put the letter and the device in the inside pockets of her coat. He had what he needed, but now came the most dangerous part, convincing Esteban Calderón to let him use the device, knowing that this would mean the death of status.

suspended from his daughters. When Rafael arrived at the Hacienda Calderón around noon, he found the house plunged into controlled chaos. Fermín received him with a pale face. Drctor Montoro, thank God that he is here. The young ladies are worse, much worse. Rafael climbed the stairs two by two. In the sisters’ room she found a scene that made her blood run cold.

Lucia was in her bed convulsing violently while two maids tried to hold her down. Inés was in a corner huddled against the wall, hitting her head repeatedly against the plaster, while muttering incoherent words. Inés, stop.

Rafael ran towards her, putting his hand between her head and the wall. The young woman had a lost look as if she did not see him. They are emptying, emptying, emptying. He repeated like a mantra. Don Esteban entered the room. His face was a mask of despair. It started two hours ago. Nothing calms them down. What’s happening to them, doctor? Rafael checked Lucia quickly.

His pulse was erratic. His body temperature fluctuated wildly between hot and cold. The symptoms didn’t make conventional medical sense, but Rafael knew exactly what was causing them. The machine in the basement was failing. Don Esteban, I need to speak with you now in private. In the study, Rafael took out Leonor’s device and placed it on the desk. I have found this.

It is by Leonor Ibáñez, the true inventor of the machine. he can disconnect the system without killing his daughters or Tom in the process. Esteban looked at the device with a mixture of hope and terror. Are you sure it will work? No, completely, Rafael admitted. But her daughters are deteriorating anyway.

The machine wasn’t designed to run indefinitely, it’s failing, and when it completely collapses, it will kill everyone connected to it. Instantly. This is our only chance. And what will happen to Lucía and Inés? They will begin to age again. The process will be painful and require intensive medical care, but they will survive.

They will have a chance to live normal lives, to grow, to be free. Esteban sank into his chair, burying his face in his hands. I’ve been a monster, I know. I have convicted an innocent child to keep my daughters in a timeless prison and now he tells me that it was all useless from the beginning. What he did was terrible, Rafael said firmly.

But you have a chance to do the right thing now. Let him use the device, free Thomas, give his daughters the opportunity to truly live. Esteban looked up. Tears ran down his cheeks. Do. Do what you need to do. Rafael and Esteban descended into the basement.

The hum of the machine was now irregular, interrupted by metallic clicks and squeaks. The amber liquid in the cylinders pulsed erratically and Rafael noticed that there were cracks forming in some of the glass tubes. “He’s on the verge of collapse,” Rafael murmured. We don’t have much time. He approached the central core, a cylindrical chamber surrounded by slowly rotating magnetic rings.

Following Leonor’s instructions, he connected the device to a series of terminals at the base of the core. His hands trembled as he turned the main dial three times clockwise. The device came to life with a soft hum. Blue lights began to flicker on its surface. Immediately the behavior of the machine changed.

The irregular hum softened, becoming a descending tone like a bell that stops vibrating. That’s it, Rafael said. The process of disconnection has begun. It will last 6 hours. Now we need to free Thomas. They approached the glass chamber. For the first time he had seen the boy, Rafael noticed a change in his expression.

His eyelids trembled as if he were about to wake up from a deep sleep. “How do we open this?” asked Rafael. Esteban pointed to a lever on the side of the camera. The sorority showed me how, in case of emergency, but they warned me never to do it. “Well, now it’s an emergency. Open it.” Esteban pulled the lever.

The amber fluid began to drain through ducts at the base of the chamber. When the level dropped low enough, the glass front door opened with a hiss of pressurized air. Tomás Ibáñez fell forward and Rafael caught him before he hit the ground. The boy was cold and soaked. His skin had a sickly shade of bluish-white.

Rafael laid him on the ground and began to check him. Weak but present pulse. Shallow breathing, severe hypothermia. I need blankets, hot water and all the lamps I can find,” Rafael ordered. Fast. While Esteban ran upstairs, Rafael worked on Tomás, rubbing his limbs to stimulate circulation, tilting his head back to ensure that the airways were clear.

The boy groaned softly, a sound that was almost imperceptible, but which filled Rafael with hope. Come on, boy, come back with us. Your mother did not abandon hope in you. I won’t either. For the next few hours, Rafael divided his time between the basement, taking care of Tomás and the second floor, monitoring Lucía and Inés.

The sisters were experiencing exactly what Eleanor had predicted, a traumatic awakening. Their bodies, frozen in time for 3 years, began to process that lost time. Lucia was the first to wake up completely. She opened her eyes with a scream, arching her back as waves of pain swept through her.

What? What’s happening to me? Your body is remembering how to live,” Rafael explained administering the pain aid. “You’ve been suspended for 3 years, now you’re coming back.” “Coming back.” Her eyes filled with tears. For what? To be a monster like my father. To be human. Rafael took his hand to have a real life, a chance to grow and experience everything that has been stolen from you.

Inés woke up shortly after, but her condition was more worrying. He had been banging his head for so long that he had a serious contusion. I was delirious talking to people who weren’t there, seeing things that no one else could see. The child in the glass I see. He’s calling me. He says he wants to go home. Inés, look at me. Rafael held his face in his hands. There’s no one calling you.

You’re safe. The child is also safe. We took it out. It’s going to be fine. But Inés didn’t seem to hear him. Her eyes looked past Rafael to something that only she could see. As night fell, Rafael descended back into the basement. The machine had almost completely silenced itself.

The glass cylinders no longer pulsed with light, and the gears had stopped. Leonor’s device had done its job. Thomas lay wrapped in blankets next to one of the lamps. Raphael knelt beside him and was amazed to see that the boy’s eyes were open, staring at him with an intensity surprising for someone who had been suspended for so long. “Can you hear me?” asked Rafael softly.

Thomas’ lips moved, but no sound came out. Rafael offered him water, helping him to drink small sips. Slowly. You’ve been asleep for a long time. Tomás swallowed with difficulty. Then he tried to speak again. This time his voice came as a hoarse whisper. Where is my mother? Rafael felt his heart break.

How to tell this child that his mother had disappeared? probably killed by the same organization that had enslaved him. “Your mother was very brave,” Rafael said, choosing his words carefully. She fought for you to the end and thanks to her you are free now. Tears ran down Thomas’s cheeks. I know. I felt it when I was in the glass. I felt everything.

I felt the girls connected to me. I felt how my life fed theirs and I felt my mother looking for a way to save us all. She succeeded. Rafael squeezed the boy’s hand. You are free. The girls are free. Now you just need to rest and recover.

But Thomas shook his head weakly, “No, it’s not finished. The brotherhood will come when they discover that the machine is disabled, they will come to restore it or destroy all evidence.” Rafael felt a shiver of fear. The boy was right. The brotherhood would not allow their experiment to be exposed. “So, we need to be prepared,” Rafael said as he stood up.

“We need evidence, testimonies, something that can be used against them.” He rushed up to Stephen’s study, where he found the man sitting in the dark, staring into space. Don Esteban, I need you to tell me everything you know about the Styx brotherhood, names, meeting places, other experiments, everything.

Esteban looked up slowly. If I do that, they will kill me. And probably you too. Probably, Rafael admitted, but if we don’t, they will continue to do this to other people. Other children will be kidnapped, other families will be manipulated. You have a chance to redeem yourself, even if only partially.

Stephen took a deep breath, then nodded. Very well. I’ll bring my documents. Over the next few hours, Esteban revealed everything he knew. The Styx brotherhood was larger and more powerful than Raphael had imagined. It was not just a group of eccentric aristocrats, but an organized network with members in the highest spheres of government, science, and the Church.

The Count of Montealegre is only an intermediary, Esteban explained. The real leader is someone they call the architect. No one has seen his face. He directs everything from the shadows. And what exactly are they looking for? Only immortality. Not only that. They seek absolute control over life and death. Leonor’s machine is just the beginning.

They have other experiments underway. Ways of transferring consciousness from one body to another, of erasing memories, of chemically manipulating emotions. They want to be gods. Rafael wrote furiously in his notebook documenting everything. Where are they headquartered? In an old monastery near Carmona.

It is officially abandoned, but the brotherhood secretly restored it. It is where they carry out their most dangerous experiments. A high-pitched shout from the second floor interrupted their conversation. Raphael and Stephen ran upstairs, finding one of the maids in the hallway, pointing towards the sisters’ room with a terrified face.

There are men, hooded men trying to get in through the window. Raphael entered the room and saw exactly what the maid had described. Three figures dressed in dark robes were trying to force the window from the balcony outside. “The brotherhood,” exclaimed Esteban. “They’re already here.” Rafael closed the door of the room with the latch and ran towards the sisters.

Lucia was sitting on her bed, pale, but conscious. Inés was still in a semi-deranged state of delirium, muttering incoherently. We have to get them out of here, Rafael told Esteban. There is another way out. The service staircase in the west wing leads directly to the stables. The sound of glass breaking made everyone turn around.

The hooded figures had broken the window and were beginning to enter. Rafael could see that they were wearing white porcelain masks with serene painted expressions, which made them even more disturbing. “Take the girls,” Rafael ordered the maids. “Don Esteban, take them up the service staircase. I’ll distract you.

“But Doctor, now Esteban and the maids began to help the sisters to their feet. Lucía could walk with support, but Inés had to be carried. As they left through the back door of the room, Rafael took an oil lamp and threw it at the first intruder who entered through the window.”

The lamp crashed against the man’s chest, spilling burning oil onto his robe. The intruder screamed and stumbled backward, knocking over his companions. But Rafael knew he had only gained a few seconds. He ran out of the room and down the main staircase, hoping the intruders would follow him instead of going after the sisters. Sure enough, he heard heavy footsteps behind him.

Rafael left through the main gate of the hacienda and headed out into the street. It was nearly midnight, and the streets of the Santa Cruz neighborhood were almost deserted. He ran toward the Plaza del Salvador, his lungs burning with the effort. He looked back and saw three figures following him, moving with a speed and coordination that suggested military training.

Rafael wasn’t a young or athletic man. He knew he couldn’t outrun them. He turned sharply into a narrow alley, nearly tripping on the uneven cobblestones. The alley opened onto a small courtyard with a fountain in the center. Rafael hid behind the fountain, trying to catch his breath. The footsteps of his pursuers echoed in the alley.

Rafael saw them enter the courtyard, moving cautiously, their heads turning to locate him. “Doctor Montoro,” one of them said, his voice muffled by his mask, “you can’t escape. The Stygian Brotherhood has eyes everywhere. Hand over Leonor Ibáñez’s device, and perhaps we’ll let you live.” Rafael didn’t reply.

His hand searched his coat for the device he’d connected to the machine, but realized he’d left it in the basement. All he had was Leonor’s notebook. “I don’t have it,” he said finally, stepping out from behind the fountain with his hands raised, and even if he did, he wouldn’t give it to her.

The man who had spoken removed his mask, revealing a middle-aged face with scars crisscrossing his left cheek. “We admire your courage, Doctor, but you are interfering in matters you do not understand. The work of the brotherhood is too important to be halted by an idealistic physician.” “I understand perfectly,” Rafael replied firmly.

I understand that you are torturing innocent children to satisfy your sick obsession with immortality. I understand that you have destroyed lives and families in the name of your perverse science. Science has no morals, Doctor, only purpose. And our purpose is to elevate humanity beyond its biological limitations, at the cost of destroying humanity itself.

Rafael spat on the ground. “They’re not scientists, they’re monsters.” The man smiled coldly. “Then he’ll die like a foolish idealist.” He gestured, and the other two approached Rafael. But before they could reach him, a figure leaped from a window overlooking the alley, landing between Rafael and his attackers. It was Tomás Ibáñez.

The boy stood there, still wrapped in the blankets Rafael had given him, but in his hands he held an iron bar he must have taken from the hacienda. Despite his obvious physical weakness, there was something in his eyes, a fierce determination that stopped the members of the brotherhood in their tracks. “Stay away from him,” Tomás said, his voice trembling but defiant. “I won’t let you hurt any more people because of me.”

The scarred man looked at the boy with a mixture of surprise and what might have been respect. Tomás Ibáñez, the stone prince. You should be dead, or at least unable to move. How is this possible? My mother designed the machine, Tomás replied, and part of its design was to protect me even while I was being used. She knew that one day someone would try to free me.

She prepared me for this moment. Rafael stared at the boy in amazement. Despite having been in suspension for years, Tomás spoke clearly and displayed an understanding of the situation that defied his apparent age. The machine didn’t just keep me alive, Tomás continued. It taught me. My mother programmed knowledge into my mind, information about the Brotherhood, about their plans, about how to stop them. I know everything. The man’s face hardened.

Then you are even more dangerous than we thought. We cannot allow you to live. He lunged forward, drawing a knife from his robes. But Thomas, despite his weakness, moved with surprising speed, striking the man’s wrist with the iron bar. The knife fell to the ground with a metallic clang.

Rafael took advantage of the distraction to grab one of the other attackers, slamming him down with his full weight. He wasn’t a fighter, but desperation gave him strength. They fell together to the ground, rolling on the cobblestones. The third member of the brotherhood went for Tomás, but the boy swung the iron bar in a wide arc, striking him in the ribs. The man fell with a cry of pain.

“Run!” Tomás shouted. “More of them, they’re coming.” Rafael staggered to his feet and grabbed Tomás’s hand. Together they ran out of the courtyard, back toward the main streets, where there were more people, more witnesses, more security. Behind them they heard angry shouts and the sound of more footsteps approaching.

They ran for what seemed like an eternity, turning corners at random, crossing squares, until they finally reached the area near Seville Cathedral. Here, even at midnight, there were guards and night watchmen. The brotherhood wouldn’t risk acting openly in such a visible place. Rafael leaned against a wall, gasping for air. Tomás stood beside him, trembling with exertion, but still standing.

“Thank you,” Rafael said between breaths. “You saved my life. You saved me first,” Tomás replied simply, “and you saved those sisters. It’s the least I can do, but how did you know where to find me and how are you even standing? You should be dying. I know it.” Tomás smiled weakly, and he probably is.

But my mother designed the machine to give me one last reserve of energy when I was freed. Enough to do what I must do. And what is it that you must do? Tomás’s eyes turned serious, older than his childlike face suggested. Stop the Brotherhood, destroy all their research, make sure no other child is used the way I was. Rafael placed a hand on the boy’s shoulder. You can’t do that alone.

“You’re just a child.” “I’m a child with the secrets of the brotherhood in my head,” Tomás replied. “My mother gave me a weapon; now I must use it.” Before Rafael could respond, a bell began to toll in the distance, then another, and another.

Soon, all the city bells seemed to be ringing in alarm. “What’s happening?” Rafael murmured. A night watchman ran past them shouting, “Fire! There’s a huge fire in the Santa Cruz neighborhood!” Rafael felt his blood run cold. The Calderón estate. Tomás and Rafael ran back toward Santa Cruz, joining a crowd of people either heading toward the fire or fleeing from it.

The night sky was illuminated by an orange glow that grew ever brighter. When they reached Calderón Street, Rafael saw his worst fears confirmed. The hacienda was engulfed in flames. Columns of fire erupted from every window. The heat was so intense that they had to keep their distance. “No!” Rafael shouted. The Esteban sisters tried to run toward the house, but Tomás grabbed him. “You can’t go in there, you’ll die.”

But they’re inside. Look, Tomás pointed to the side of the building. There in the stables. Rafael followed the boy’s gaze and saw a group of figures at the entrance to the stables. Esteban was there, and with him were the maids, holding Lucía and Inés, who were safe. Rafael ran toward them. Tomás followed closely behind.

Esteban, covered in soot and coughing from the smoke, was unharmed. Dr. Montoro, thank God I thought I was okay. What happened? Esteban looked toward the burning house, his eyes filled with tears. They came while we were escaping. They set everything on fire.

They said they couldn’t allow the evidence of their failed experiment to come to light. Rafael stared into the flames, feeling a mixture of horror and rage. The machine was in there, being destroyed along with any physical evidence of the brotherhood’s crimes. “The basement,” Tomás said suddenly. “The machine is in the basement, built of stone.”

The fire won’t destroy it completely; there will be remnants. But by the time we can access the basement, the brotherhood will have sent someone to make sure nothing is left. Rafael argued. “So we need to secure the site now,” said a voice behind them.

They turned and saw an older man dressed in a municipal police uniform. It was Commissioner Rodrigo Vargas, a man known in Seville for his incorruptibility. “Commissioner Vargas,” Rafael greeted him. “It’s not luck that you’re here, Dr. Montoro.” Vargas stared at the burning building. “I received an anonymous message an hour ago telling me to come here, that I would witness a serious crime.”

Can someone explain to me what the hell is going on? Rafael and Esteban exchanged glances. This might be their only chance. Commissioner, what I’m about to tell you will sound unbelievable, but every word is true. For the next hour, while firefighters battled to control the blaze, Rafael and Esteban told Commissioner Vargas everything. Tomás added details only he knew, information about other Brotherhood experiments, names of members, locations of their secret facilities. Vargas listened to everything in silence, his expression becoming increasingly serious.

“Each time, it’s grim. This is monstrous,” he finally said. “If it’s true, we’re talking about a conspiracy involving some of the most powerful men in Andalusia.” “It’s true,” Rafael insisted, “and we have witnesses: the Calderón sisters, Tomás Ibáñez, Don Esteban himself.” The testimony of a man who admits to committing a crime isn’t exactly reliable.

Vargas pointed out. And the sisters, well, I’ve seen their condition. I don’t know if a judge would accept their testimony. So, what do you suggest? Rafael asked, frustrated. Do we just let the sisterhood continue with its atrocities? Vargas rubbed his face wearily. I didn’t say that, but we need to be smart about this.

If we go directly against such powerful members, without solid evidence they’ll crush us. We need physical proof, documents, something irrefutable. “I know where they are,” Tomás said. Everyone turned to the boy. “My mother showed me everything on the computer. I know where the brotherhood keeps its main files.”

In the abandoned monastery near Carmona, as Don Esteban said. But there’s more. They have a second location in Seville itself, beneath the old synagogue in the Jewish quarter. That’s where they keep the records of all their members and their financial transactions. Vargas leaned toward the boy. “Can you take us there?” Tomás nodded, though Rafael noticed the boy trembling with exhaustion.

I can, but we must go soon. Once the brotherhood realizes I escaped and that you’re involved, Commissioner, they’ll move or destroy everything. Vargas looked up at the sky, where the first light of dawn was beginning to tinge the clouds gray. Very well. I’ll gather my most trusted men.

We’ll go before noon. I’m coming with you, Rafael said. And me too, Esteban added. Vargas looked at them both sternly. Don Esteban, you’ll stay here with your daughters. They’ve been through enough trauma. Dr. Montoro, we’ll need you to evaluate any medical evidence we find.

But they both had to understand, if this went wrong, we could all end up dead. Or worse. At 10 a.m., a group of eight men met discreetly in an alley near the Jewish quarter. Commissioner Vargas had carefully selected his team: young police officers with no connections to the local aristocracy, men he could trust. Rafael was there with his medical bag.

Tomás was wrapped in a dark cloak that concealed his frail condition. The boy led them through narrow streets and alleyways that led to an old stone building, partially in ruins. “Here,” Tomás whispered, “the entrance is underneath.” They descended some worn steps that led to what appeared to be an abandoned cellar.

But Tomás approached a specific wall and pressed a series of stones in a particular pattern. With a soft click, a section of the wall slid aside, revealing a dark passage. “How do you know this?” Vargas asked, astonished. “My mother discovered it while working for them,” Tomás replied.

He showed me everything through the machine, every memory, every secret he had learned. They lit flashlights and entered the passage. The air was damp and smelled of ancient earth. The tunnel descended at an angle, taking them deeper and deeper beneath the city. After several minutes of walking, they reached an iron gate secured with an intricate lock.

Tomás studied the mechanism for a moment, then began turning the dials in a specific sequence. The lock opened. Behind the door was a surprisingly large room, well-lit by gas lamps. The walls were lined with shelves filled with files, boxes, and ledgers.

There were also display cases with specimens preserved in jars, some of which made Rafael feel nauseous. “Good heavens,” Vargas muttered, looking around. “This is like a scientific catacomb. Start documenting everything,” Vargas ordered his men. Photographs, inventories, take notes on everything you see. Rafael approached one of the filing cabinets and began reviewing the documents.

What he found was even worse than he had imagined. There were records of dozens of experiments, each involving human victims: children bought or kidnapped, homeless people no one would miss, even prisoners donated by corrupt officers. “Commissioner, you need to see this,” one of the policemen said, holding up a ledger. “These are payments.”

There are names here: judges, government officials, even a couple of bishops. Vargas picked up the book, his eyes scanning the pages. His face turned a deep red with rage. These bastards have bought off half the city. Tomás had walked to the back of the room, where there was a smaller door. He opened it and called for Rafael.

Doctor, come see this. Rafael entered what appeared to be a private laboratory. There was a central table with surgical instruments, some still stained with dried blood. But what caught Rafael’s attention was a series of photographs pinned to a board on the wall. They were portraits of men and women of different ages, each labeled with names, dates, and notes.

Rafael recognized some Sevillian aristocrats, wealthy merchants, and a famous poet who had supposedly died young. “They’re members of the brotherhood,” Tomás said. Each one had received some kind of treatment. Some were successful; others—he pointed to some photos with a red X marked on them. Not so much.

In one corner of the board, Rafael saw a larger photograph. It was of a middle-aged man with piercing eyes and an expression of supreme confidence. Underneath, someone had written “The Architect.” True identity unknown. “Even here they didn’t know who he really was,” Rafael murmured. “My mother found out,” Tomás said gently. “She spent months investigating.”

The architect is… But before he could finish, a loud crash echoed from the tunnel. Shouts, gunshots, the sound of a fight. Vargas ran toward the main door. They’ve found us. Get ready. Hooded figures began to enter the tunnel, but this time they were carrying firearms.

The police responded, and the small underground space became a war zone. “Take all the evidence you can!” Vargas yelled as he fired his revolver. “We can’t let them get to the files.” Rafael grabbed Tomás and shoved him behind a heavy bookcase for protection. A bullet whizzed past his head, hitting the stone wall and sending splinters flying. “There are too many of them!” one of the police officers shouted. “We can’t hold them off.”

Tomás broke free from Rafael’s grip and ran to the center of the room. His eyes quickly scanned the space. Then he went to one of the gas lamps. “Doctor, Commissioner, get out now. I’m going to seal the tunnel.” “What? How?” Rafael shouted. “My mother taught me. There’s a main gas valve. I can create an explosion that will collapse the tunnel. But it will kill you.”

Rafael tried to reach the boy, but more shots forced him to duck. “I’m dying, doctor,” Tomás cried. And Rafael saw that it was true. The boy was paler than ever, bleeding from the nose, trembling violently. The energy my mother left me is dwindling. At least let me do something useful with the time I have left.

Vargas understood what the boy was planning. “Everyone withdraw, go through the service tunnel.” He pointed to a side entrance that Rafael hadn’t noticed before. The police officers began to withdraw, carrying all the documents and evidence they could. Rafael froze, staring at Tomás. “I can’t leave you,” Rafael said, tears welling in his eyes.

“Your mother entrusted you to my care, and you freed me,” Tomás replied with a weak smile. “You gave me the opportunity to do something important. Don’t take that away from me, Doctor, please.” Vargas grabbed Rafael by the arm. “We have to go now.” Heartbroken, Rafael let Vargas drag him toward the service tunnel. As they ran, he heard Tomás’s voice shout one last time. “This is for you, Mom.”

And then the world exploded in fire and noise. The blast shook the foundations of the Jewish quarter. Buildings trembled, windows shattered, and a column of dust and debris erupted from the old synagogue like a gray heiser. Rafael and the others barely made it out of the service tunnel before it collapsed behind them, sealing forever what remained of the brotherhood’s secret archive.

Rafael collapsed in the street, coughing from the dust that filled his lungs. Around him, people ran in panic, shouting about earthquakes and the end of the world. But Rafael could only think of Tomás Ibáñez, a boy who had sacrificed his life to expose the truth. “Dr. Montoro,” Vargas’s voice pulled him from his grief. “I am sorry for your loss, but the boy did not die in vain.”

We have enough evidence to proceed against several members of the brotherhood. Rafael looked up, wiping the tears and dust from his face. Several, and the rest. The architect Vargas pressed his lips together. The architect is still a ghost, and many of the more powerful members—well, the evidence we have against them is circumstantial. Expensive lawyers could make it disappear.

So, was all this for nothing? Rafael’s voice was full of bitterness. No. Vargas placed a hand on his shoulder. We have seriously wounded the brotherhood. We destroyed its main archive. We eliminated its ability to operate openly in Seville, and we have enough to arrest and prosecute the Count of Montealegre and several others.

It is not a complete victory, but it is a start. During the following weeks, Seville was rocked by a series of arrests and scandals. The Count of Montealegre was captured trying to flee to France and was brought to trial on multiple charges of kidnapping and murder. Several lower-ranking officials of the brotherhood were also arrested, but the most powerful members remained untouchable, protected by layers of plausible deniability and political connections.

The trial of the Count of Montealegre was sensational, filling the pages of every newspaper, but it ended unsatisfactorily. The Count was found guilty of some minor charges and sentenced to only 15 years in prison. Rafael testified at the trial, as did Esteban Calderón and Lucía.

Inés was too mentally ill to testify. The traumas she had experienced had left her in a permanent state of confusion. She was admitted to a private sanatorium where she could receive constant care. As for Lucía, she began to recover slowly. Her body resumed its natural aging process, aging three years in a matter of months.

It was a painful process, both physically and emotionally, but she faced it with surprising strength. One afternoon in October, two months after the fire at the Calderón ranch, Rafael visited Lucía at the new house her father had rented near the Plaza de España. Don Esteban had sold everything that remained of his business to pay off his daughters’ debts and medical expenses.

Lucía was sitting in a small garden reading a book. Rafael noticed with satisfaction that her face had matured. Her features were more defined. She no longer looked like the frozen 16-year-old girl, but a young woman of her actual age. Dr. Montoro greeted him with a smile. “What a pleasure to see you, Miss Calderón.” Rafael sat down in a chair next to her.

“How are you feeling today?” “Better every day,” she replied, closing the book. “The pains have lessened, and my mind feels clearer. It’s as if I’m waking from a long, hazy dream. I’m glad to hear that.” Lucia was silent for a moment, gazing at the flowers in the garden.

“I’ve been thinking a lot about Tomás,” he finally said, “The boy who died to save us. Sometimes I feel his presence as if part of him is still connected to me. Does that make sense?” Rafael considered the question carefully. For three years, his life had been literally connected to Tomás’s. It wouldn’t be surprising if some kind of residual link remained, but I think what he feels is more than that.

I think it’s a matter of gratitude and responsibility. Tomás gave you a second chance at life. Now it’s up to you to decide what to do with that opportunity. “I want to do something important,” Lucía said with determination. “I can’t be a doctor like you. My education is too outdated, but I can help in other ways.”

I’ve been thinking about working with orphaned children, giving them a safe home. No one else should suffer like Tomás did. Rafael smiled. I think that’s a wonderful idea. And you, Doctor, what will you do now? Rafael sighed deeply. Continue documenting everything that happened.

I’ll write the whole story in my journal so that one day, when the political climate changes, the truth can come out in full. Do you think that day will come? It has to, Rafael replied. The brotherhood may be wounded, but it’s not dead. They’ll continue to operate in the shadows, seeking new ways to pursue their sick obsession. And when they do, someone will need to be ready to expose them again.

That night, in his office, Rafael opened his diary and began writing the final entry of his chronicle of the Calderón case. October 4, 1871. Two months have passed since the events that changed my life forever. I have witnessed horrors that defy imagination and acts of bravery that restore my faith in humanity.

Tomás Ibáñez, a child who was a victim of the worst kind of exploitation, chose to sacrifice himself so that others could be free. His mother, Leonor Ibáñez, dedicated her genius not to glory or wealth, but to saving her son. And when that was taken from her, she fought to the end to ensure that her invention would cause no more suffering.

The Calderón sisters are now on the road to recovery, though the price has been terrible. Lucía finds purpose in helping others. Inés battles the demons in her mind every day. Their father, Don Esteban Calderón, lives with the guilt of his actions, a burden he will carry to his grave.

As for the Stygian Brotherhood, they have been wounded, but not destroyed. Some of their members have been arrested and prosecuted, but the most powerful remain free, operating in secret. I have heard rumors that they are reorganizing, changing their methods, becoming more cautious. But I have also heard rumors of resistance.

There are others like me—doctors, scientists, people of conscience—who are aware of what the brotherhood stands for and are determined to oppose them. We’ve formed an informal network, sharing information and watching for signs of their experiments. I don’t know if I’ll live to see the day the brotherhood is completely dismantled, but I take comfort in knowing I’ve done my part.

I have exposed the truth, I have saved lives, and I have honored the memory of a brave child who deserved far more than life gave him. If anyone reads this in the future, if they discover this diary in some dusty archive or forgotten hiding place, I ask one thing.

Remember Tomás Ibáñez, remember Leonor Ibáñez, remember that the pursuit of knowledge without ethics, progress without humanity, inevitably leads to monstrosity. And remember that even in the darkest moments there are those who choose what is right, regardless of the cost, so that their sacrifices will not have been in vain. Dr. Rafael Montoro.

Rafael closed the diary and put it in a hidden compartment in his desk. He thought that someday, when the time was right, he would give it to someone who could use the information, but for now he needed to keep it hidden and safe. He stood up and walked to the window, looking out at the lamplit streets of Seville.

Somewhere out there, the Stygian Brotherhood continued its operations, plotting its schemes, pursuing its impossible dream of conquering death itself. But out there were also people like Lucia, determined to do good in the world. People who would remember Tomas’s sacrifice and work to ensure there would be no more victims.

Rafael didn’t know what the future held, but for the first time in weeks he felt something akin to hope. Thirty-four years later, in 1905, the Calderón family’s new hacienda, a modest structure compared to the original mansion, burned to the ground under mysterious circumstances. Lucía and Inés’s bodies were never found in the rubble.

Some said the sisters had died in the fire, their bodies completely consumed by the flames. Others whispered that the brotherhood had returned, taking the sisters away to continue their experiments. But there was a third story, one that circulated in hushed tones among those who knew the truth: that the sisters had faked their own deaths and fled, seeking a place where they could live in peace, free from the legacy of horror that had haunted them throughout their lives. Dr. Rafael Montoro had died two years earlier, in

In 1903, at the age of 74, on his deathbed he entrusted his diary to a young journalist named Antonio Ruiz, instructing him to publish it when he deemed the time appropriate. Ruiz attempted to do so in 1906, but was quickly silenced. His printing press was destroyed.

His writings were confiscated. He himself was found dead a week later, officially a suicide, though those who knew him knew he would never have taken his own life. Montoro’s diary disappeared, presumably destroyed by members of the brotherhood. But the stories persisted.

In the taverns of Seville, in the markets of Triana, people whispered tales about the sisters who never aged, about the child in the glass, about the secret organization that played God. The Stygian brotherhood changed with the times. They abandoned their robes and dramatic rituals, adopting instead the trappings and rhetoric of legitimate science.

They became medical research foundations, pharmaceutical companies, and respected academic institutions, but their core objective never changed: to master the processes of life and death, to extend human life beyond its natural limits, and to achieve a form of immortality.

And in secret laboratories, in facilities protected by layers of shell corporations and confidentiality agreements, they continued their experiments. They no longer kidnapped children from the streets. The methods had evolved. Now they used willing donors, desperate for money, terminally ill patients who signed documents they didn’t fully understand, orphans bought through legal, but ethically questionable, channels.

The face of the sisterhood had changed, but its nature remained the same. And somewhere, deep in the archives of some successor organization, stored in digital vaults protected by military-grade encryption, the records remained. Faded photographs of Lucía and Inés Calderón.

Diagrams of Leonor Ibáñez’s machine. Notes on the stone prince and its extraordinary resistance. Because for the sisterhood, every failure was simply a lesson. Every failed experiment brought them closer to their ultimate goal, and they had all the time in the world, literally, to perfect their craft. The Calderón sisters’ case became an urban legend, a cautionary tale, an unsolved mystery.

Some believed it, most dismissed it as superstition and exaggeration. But those who knew the truth, the descendants of those who had fought against the brotherhood in 1871, the heirs of the vigilance that Rafael Montoro had begun, remained alert because they knew that the brotherhood was still there, stronger and more sophisticated than ever.

They now operated not in damp basements and dark tunnels, but in gleaming, high-tech laboratories, at international scientific conferences, in the corridors of power, where decisions were made that affected millions. The name had changed, the methods had evolved, but the essence remained: the obsessive pursuit of conquering death, regardless of the human cost.

And on dark nights, when the wind howled through the ancient streets of Seville, some said they could hear the echo of a young voice shouting, “This is for you, Mom.” Tomás Ibáñez’s sacrifice had not been in vain. His story, though suppressed and distorted, had planted seeds of resistance that would grow over time.

But the battle was far from over, and perhaps it would never end. Because as long as the fear of death and the yearning for immortality existed, there would always be those willing to cross any moral line to achieve it. The legacy of the Calderón sisters was not a story of ultimate triumph or tragedy, but a warning: that progress without ethics, science without compassion, inevitably leads us down dark paths from which there is no easy return.

And that warning echoed through the years, waiting for those who had the ears to hear and the courage to act, because history in the end never really ends, it just continues, cycle after cycle, each generation facing its own monsters, making its own choices between right and convenient, between humanity and ambition.

And somewhere in the secret archives of the sisterhood, now perhaps called something entirely different, something respectable and corporate, the Calderón sisters’ file remained flagged. Failed experiment, lessons learned, don’t repeat mistakes. But mistakes always repeat themselves, they just change form.

The quest for immortality continues, as old as humanity itself, as perilous today as it was in 1871, when two sisters stopped aging and a child in a glass case paid the price for the dreams of others. This is their story, a reminder, a warning, and perhaps, if we are wise enough, a lesson we will finally learn before it is too late.