Episode 113 - Failure Has a Price
Among the hundreds of saltwater channels that scar southern Chile, hidden between fog, wind, and currents that seemed endless, stood an island that no common map recorded.
Friendship Island.
Hidden from ordinary human sight.
There, at the edge of everything, rose the territory of the Two Moons Clan.
The cold was perpetual.
The wind struck the wooden and metal structures with a dry, repetitive, almost hostile pounding. The sky, covered in a heavy gray, seemed unable to fully clear.
Inside one of the main buildings, the atmosphere was different.
Closed. Dense. Suffocating.
A place not meant for living, but for enduring.
The patriarch, Lord Lizmaier, remained seated.
Calm.
He held a hot mate between his hands, letting the steam brush his face as he sipped slowly. There was no hurry in him. No visible tension.
Only patience.
In front of him, a few meters away, two figures hung, partially bound by chains.
Dry blows broke the silence.
One after another.
Without perfect rhythm, but unceasing.
The guards did not speak.
They only obeyed.
The screams were no longer loud.
They had worn out.
The bodies too.
The two scientists — those in charge of Titus's care — were in a deplorable state. Swollen faces, bruised skin, torn clothes. They were not his real parents, but for years they had occupied that place.
And they had failed.
"We… didn't do… anything…"
The voice came out weak, broken.
One of them could barely stay conscious.
"Humans… came…"
Another blow. The body tensed.
"We don't know who they were," the other insisted with difficulty. "They attacked us… we had to hide…"
The patriarch did not raise his voice. He didn't even look directly at them all the time.
He took another sip of mate.
Hot. Slow.
"Humans…?"
He repeated the word as if tasting it.
Not with doubt. With disinterest.
"Interesting."
The guards stopped for a moment, waiting.
"Continue."
The blows returned. Drier. Deeper.
"After that…" one gasped, "we don't know anything…"
"An extraction team…"
Another blow.
"They took us out of there…"
The metal of the chains vibrated.
The patriarch set the mate aside carefully. He leaned forward slightly.
Now he looked at them.
"You were given a simple task."
His voice was low but firm.
"To take care of the subject."
Silence.
"To keep him under control."
Pause.
"To prevent him from gaining independence."
The two could barely respond.
"And yet…"
Another pause, heavier.
"You failed."
One of the scientists tried to lift his head.
"It wasn't… our fault…"
The patriarch watched him without expression.
"Of course."
He leaned back in his chair.
"It never is."
The wind struck the outside more fiercely, as if trying to force its way in. Inside, no one moved without an order.
"The plan was clear," he continued, his voice filling the space again. "Dependence. Control. Bond."
Pause.
"Marriage."
The scientist's eyes opened a little wider.
"The heir," the patriarch continued, "was going to return to us what was taken from us."
Silence.
"Dominion."
No one answered. No one could.
The patriarch picked up the mate again, as if the conversation were nothing more than a pause in his routine.
"And now…"
He drank.
"We have a problem."
He let out a slow breath.
"The subject is making decisions for himself."
He raised his gaze.
"And that… was not in the plan."
The guards stopped again.
The silence fell, denser than before.
"If you are telling the truth…"
Pause.
"We will find those 'humans.'"
Another pause.
"And if not…"
He didn't finish the sentence. There was no need.
He brought the mate back to his lips.
The steam rose in the cold.
In front of him, the bodies barely held themselves up.
And for the first time, the punishment was not the most dangerous thing.
But what would come after.
They walked along the island's shore.
The sea breathed calmly. Small waves lapped at the coast with a soft, constant murmur. The cold cut through the air, clinging to the skin with every gust of wind.
The patriarch marched at the front.
Behind him, a step behind, walked two figures.
Ragnar Varg.
And Matthias Krämer.
Ragnar wore light armor, in shades of brown that blended with the natural color of his fur. His presence was heavy, even in motion. He didn't seem to walk: he seemed to advance like a restrained beast.
Beside him, Matthias.
A long beard, between gray and white, short hair of the same tone. Posture erect, controlled. Alert eyes that measured everything without needing to turn his head.
Both walked one step behind the patriarch.
In silence.
Further back, an escort of six soldiers.
All in wolf form.
Royal guards.
A single mission: to protect the patriarch.
Four carried spears and shields. All wore golden armor that contrasted with their fur — shades of cream and white. They did not speak. They made no sound.
They only followed.
The wind grew stronger.
The patriarch did not stop.
"What do you think… about what happened with the scientists?"
His voice was low but clear.
"The ones who were supposed to take care of Titus."
The silence lasted barely a second.
Matthias spoke first.
"I don't consider it entirely negative."
A pause.
"We are learning something important."
The patriarch did not turn his head.
"What, exactly?"
"The subject's capability."
Matthias kept his pace.
"If that clone is as close to the original as we believe… every deviation is also information."
Pause.
"The more he resembles the original king…"
"The more valuable he is."
The wind cut between them again.
The patriarch fell silent for a few seconds.
Then he spoke again.
"And you, Ragnar?"
Ragnar did not look at him.
His voice came out deeper.
Drier.
"Nothing that isn't natural… interests me."
Silence.
"Everything created in a laboratory…"
Pause.
"Isn't real."
The murmur of the sea grew more present.
"I prefer pure blood."
His words were brief.
"Wolf with wolf."
Another pause.
"No mixing."
The patriarch kept walking.
Without stopping.
"Pure blood…"
He repeated in a low voice.
The wind lifted his coat slightly.
"Interesting."
No one added anything else.
But among the three…
they were no longer just walking along the shore.
They were walking upon an idea.
And not all of them wanted the same thing.