The screen floated in front of him like an open window to the world he had secretly created.
On Tzabek Island, dawn painted the skyscraper's glass with golden reflections.
The cameras showed a tower of more than forty floors, with elevated platforms, autonomous internal corridors, and underground levels where the android factory hummed tirelessly.
Eidolon spoke in his usual calm, efficient tone.
—Final phase completed. Command center operational. Assembly factory at 97% efficiency. Habitat stations ready for human use. Perimeter security active. Total energy autonomy.
Iker didn't respond. He just closed his eyes for a moment.
After months of planning, meticulous work, emotional isolation... the core of his empire was ready.
And that meant only one thing: he had to close the remaining chapter.
His family.
That afternoon, the air on the farm smelled of damp grass and old earth.
Leandro Ayala, his father, was waiting for him in the office. He hadn't seen him in weeks. He hadn't called him. And he didn't ask why Iker had asked to speak to him in person.
The old businessman greeted him with a curt gesture.
"At least you have the decency to introduce yourself. Why is that?"
Iker carefully closed the door. He walked to the center of the office and didn't sit down.
"I've come to inform you that I'm leaving the farm."
"Not out of a fit. Not out of anger."
"Because I've built something of my own. And it's time to live on my own foundations."
Leandro watched him silently. Then he narrowed his eyes.
"Have you built something? With what money? With what partners?"
"Without your resources. Without your connections. Without your permission."
"And I don't need your approval. I just wanted you to know."
The silence deepened.
But Iker remained firm. There was no aggression in his voice, only certainty.
Leandro stood up slowly, as if the conversation made him uncomfortable... but also intrigued him.
"And where will you go?"
"To a place where my last name isn't a shadow or a lever."
"A place where my children grow up without owing favors to anyone."
His father studied him for long seconds. And although he didn't smile or soften, his eyes revealed a different spark... curiosity? Discomfort? Respect?
"So you're not one of me anymore," he said finally.
"I never was. But now I have something better: leadership."
Iker took a step back.
"Thanks for the roof... until now.
I don't need more."
And without waiting for an answer, he left.
That night, in the lab, Alma was waiting for him.
She didn't ask how the conversation went.
He just approached, took her hand, and asked in a low voice:
"When are we leaving?"
Iker looked at her, felt the weight of the months on his shoulders... and finally let go.
"Tomorrow."