Date: May 21, 2027
At first glance, nothing had changed.
The breakfasts were still lukewarm.
Axel insisted on using more honey than necessary. Dana concentrated on building towers of cookies before eating them.
Alma continued with her usual routine: feeding the children, checking messages, looking at the time with that absent expression that seems unwilling to ask too many questions.
And Iker… Iker was still the son who "had returned."
But only he knew the truth: he was no longer there. Not really.
480 kilometers away, on an island without tourists, without roads, without maps...
the real story had begun to be written.
Tzabek Island.
Erased from the records, forgotten by political agendas, discarded by the laws of the market.
But at its core... alive.
That night, while the children were asleep and Alma was knitting silently in the living room, Iker entered the study and locked the door. The monitor came on without needing to touch it. The Eidolon interface emerged elegantly, projecting a white halo on the wall.
"What is the current status of the island?" he asked bluntly.
"Favorable climate. Solar power stabilized. Landing zone operational. Initial Core One infrastructure ready for activation," the voice replied without emotion, but with the firmness of a cosmic operator.
Iker nodded.
"Initiate phase one. I want an automated assembly factory. Only two types of androids: builders and security.
Nothing else.
24-hour shifts. No external communication. No breaks.
The island must become completely autonomous."
"Order executed. Phased production activated. Replication phase scheduled: three eight-hour shifts."
Estimate: 40 construction-type androids and 10 security-type androids per week.
Start: immediate.
The plans unfolded before him like a silently beating heart.
The factory wouldn't be built on the surface. It wouldn't be visible from drones or satellites.
Everything would be buried in the island's rocky core, camouflaged under tropical vegetation and volcanic rocks.
A sanctuary of steel and precision.
Each android would have minimal programming:
lift, assemble, transport, repeat.
No voice.
No error.
No identity.
"Prepare the layout for the mansion," Iker said, rising from his seat. "Or rather... the command center."
Eidolon unfolded the first sketches.
It wasn't a dwelling.
It was a statement of power.
Curved lines, tinted glass, living roofs with solar panels, atmospheric sensors at every corner.
Inside: reinforced tunnels, isolated laboratories, tactical control chambers, closed networks with no outside access.
—Estimated construction time: between three and five months.
Variables considered: current number of operational units, replication speed, climate, and adjustments for mechanical wear.
Iker closed his eyes.
Five months.
Five months of patience. Of acting. Of pretending.
Five months of living with a mask while his true face rose on the other side of the ocean.
For the next few days, the routine continued unabated.
Iker left early.
He said he was taking online classes, working on programming projects.
Alma didn't contradict him. She just watched.
Sometimes, he came back with dried mud on his boots.
Or with minor cuts on his hands.
She watched... and said nothing.
But on Tzabek Island, things were very different.
There, human time didn't exist.
Only production phases.
Every eight hours, a new generation of androids emerged from the underground factory.
Designed with surgical precision:
— Frictionless hydraulic joints
— Dual solar cells
— Encrypted, self-healing memories
— Adaptive thermal and environmental sensors
Nothing was decorative.
Everything was functional.
Structures began to rise under the protection of dense vegetation.
First the factory.
Then the foundations of the command center: structural graphene piles, sealed tunnels, shielded energy cores.
And above them, the skeletons of the skyscraper that would never be seen from the sky.
From the outside, the island was still a virgin paradise.
Inside... it was the womb of a silent civilization.
Iker was beginning to notice the wear and tear of pretending to be normal.
Not from physical exhaustion.
But from the emotional disconnection of existing in two worlds at the same time.
He watched Alma as she prepared lunch.
The way she paused for a few seconds between movements.
The way she looked at him without confronting him... but still analyzing him.
One morning, while she was pouring coffee, she asked:
"Have you gone back to work with your father?"
Iker looked at her briefly.
He took a sip without sugar.
He replied calmly:
"No. I'm trying something... on my own."
She said nothing.
But she lowered her gaze, as if something inside her would have preferred a more elaborate lie.
Perhaps—he thought—silence was the best protection.
No one should know.
Not yet.
And so, the weeks passed.
The androids built.
The plans expanded.
The tunnels multiplied.
The island pulsed.
Not with blood.
But with codes and metal.
A civilization was born in secret.
A city buried beneath a natural paradise.
A story no book would write… until it was too late.