Episode 114 - The Castle
Here's the English translation of the new passage:
That morning, Walter arrived early at Sofía's mansion.
He walked straight in.
Without knocking.
He went up the stairs and opened the door to Titus's room without much
Titus was barely waking up.
He shifted a little in bed, still half asleep.
"What…?"
He didn't finish the sentence.
Walter was already on top of him, tossing a pile of blueprints onto his chest.
"Look at this."
Titus blinked, confused, trying to focus.
"What is this?"
Walter smiled.
"Our clubhouse."
Titus looked at him.
"Our… clubhouse?"
"Yes."
Walter took one of the blueprints and spread it open in front of him.
"Everything is here."
"What do you mean, everything?"
"The plans for what we're going to build."
Pause.
"On the land."
Titus sat up a little more.
"For… everyone?"
"For the whole clan."
Silence.
Titus looked at the papers again.
"But how…?"
He frowned.
"How did you do this so fast?"
Walter shrugged.
"You know."
Pause.
"Money buys everything."
Titus lowered his gaze and began to review more carefully.
His eyes widened a little.
"This isn't…"
He turned another page.
"This isn't a building."
He looked up.
"This is a castle."
Walter smiled wider.
"Of course."
"It's the clan's fortress."
He sat on the edge of the bed.
"Medieval castles were fortified for a reason."
"In case they were attacked."
Pause.
"And this has to be big."
He pointed at the blueprints.
"Dining halls."
"Bedrooms."
"Rooms for you."
"Rooms for me."
"Maternity wards."
"Nurseries."
"Workshops."
"A gym."
"Practice halls."
He breathed, excited.
"We're also going to have to form a squad of soldiers to guard everything."
Titus kept looking.
Processing.
Walter continued.
"And that's not all."
"I'm going to add technology."
"Thermal sensors."
"Night vision."
Titus raised an eyebrow.
"We can already do all that without technology."
Walter waved his hand.
"Let me do it."
Pause.
"It's my castle."
He corrected himself.
"Our castle."
He looked at him, more serious.
"I've always wanted to build something like this."
Silence.
Titus watched him for a few more seconds.
Then he exhaled.
"Alright."
Pause.
"Whatever you say, Walter."
He got out of bed.
"Let me take a shower."
"Get dressed."
"And we'll go to school."
He walked toward the bathroom, still half asleep.
"And you…"
He looked at the blueprints again.
"Keep building your little castle."
Walter smiled, returning to the blueprints.
As if he were already building it in his head.
And this time…
It wasn't just an idea.
It was the beginning of something real.
---
Let me know if you'd like me to improve the prose style in English as well, or keep it as a direct translation.
Titus said goodbye to all the kids.
The moment wasn't long. It lasted barely as long as a held breath, as a few exchanged glances that weighed more than any words. But it was clear enough for everyone to understand that something was changing. It wasn't just any goodbye, nor a normal pause between classes. There was an intention behind it, something Titus didn't fully explain, but that everyone could feel in the air — dense and cold as the morning fog.
"I can't stay to talk right now," he told them, with a calm that was almost unsettling. "I have something to do… just with Sara and Walter."
The atmosphere grew heavier. As if someone had lowered the pressure of the sky. The voices from the courtyard, the murmurs of other students — everything seemed to drift a few meters away.
Melanie, Cristo, and Sofía fell silent. It wasn't an empty silence. It was full of what they didn't dare say. You could see in their eyes that they wanted to speak, that they wanted to stop him, even for a few more minutes. They wanted to ask him questions. They wanted to laugh with him, even if just for a while. They wanted to spend more time by his side, to feel like nothing was breaking. But they didn't. They stood still, arms crossed or hands in pockets, biting back their longing.
Titus looked at each of them. Not hastily. With a brief but sincere pause.
"We'll all talk tomorrow."
It wasn't an empty promise. There was an anchor in his voice. But it wasn't enough either. Everyone knew it. Tomorrow might be another day, but it could also be the beginning of a distance no one wanted to name.
Damian simply nodded, accepting. A dry, masculine gesture that said "it's okay, I understand" without needing to open his mouth. He showed that he agreed with what Titus said, though deep down he kept wondering why things had to be this way.
Bruno said nothing.
He just looked at Walter.
It was a direct look, charged, without need for words. As if in that gesture he was saying something he couldn't say out loud. Something between a warning and trust. Something that said: "take care of him, because if you don't, I will." Or maybe: "this isn't just about some land, Walter. It's about all of us."
Walter felt it. The weight of that look brushed the back of his neck, pressed his chest for a second. But he didn't respond. He didn't return the gesture. He just turned his head slightly away, as if the wind had suddenly carried his attention to something else.
⸻
After that, they headed to the warehouse.
The ride was silent. Not a tense silence, but one of those that form when everyone is mentally reviewing what's to come. The car engine hummed low, the tires bit into the damp asphalt, and outside, trees and lampposts flashed by like blinks.
When they arrived, the place was guarded by the duchess's guards. Standing firm at the entrance, alert to any movement, hands resting on their belts and eyes fixed on the horizon. Men and women with rigid postures, used to trusting nothing they didn't already know.
Seeing the vehicle approach, one of them stepped forward. His boots echoed on the pavement. He recognized Titus immediately — it wasn't hard, the boy had a presence that was noticeable even from a distance — and his expression softened just enough.
"Yes, sir. Go ahead."
No further questions. No paperwork. No delay.
Titus crossed the entrance with his car, drove a few meters inside the warehouse before stopping. The engine died with a mechanical sigh.
They got out.
And there they were.
Waiting for them.
Jean Delacroix.
Marc Boudreaux.
Étienne Thibodeaux.
Lucien D'Arbonne.
Titus's four bodyguards.
Steady. In position. Like four pillars holding up an invisible roof. Their dark clothes, their impassive faces, their bodies slightly leaning forward, ready to move at the first sign.
The one who led the four — Jean, with the sharpest gaze and square jaw — stepped forward as soon as Titus got out of the car. He didn't waste time. He positioned himself at his side and began walking next to him, adjusting his pace to the boy's.
Titus moved forward. Sara and Walter did too, flanking him naturally, as if they had already rehearsed that movement.
The other three bodyguards positioned themselves behind, maintaining formation, guarding every movement, every turn of the head, every shadow that moved a few meters beyond.
As they walked, the leader began to speak. His voice was low, measured, unhurried.
"In these 24 hours, we've made quite a bit of progress."
He gestured toward the interior, where the dim light of the warehouse filtered through metal beams and exposed brick walls.
"We've set up a clinic."
They kept walking. They passed by an open door where cots, medical kits, and a nurse folding gauze were visible.
"A kitchen."
The smell of broth and fresh bread floated in the air, warm and comforting.
"A dining hall for everyone to eat."
They continued. Long tables, wooden benches, stacks of plates in a corner. People sitting, some in silence, others talking softly.
"A detention hall."
A brief pause. No further explanation was needed. The tone was enough.
"We also have a small nursery… and a school."
The movement inside confirmed it all. People working. People helping. Women carrying boxes, men moving planks, children running through the aisles with an energy that seemed to defy the weight of the ceiling. Nothing was stopped. Nothing waited. It was a living organism, just awakened.
The guard continued, without slowing down.
"We're getting to know everyone."
He looked toward different groups as they walked, making a subtle gesture with his head.
"Seeing what kind of person each one is."
"And reorganizing them into different areas."
Pause. He breathed.
"So they can help with their gifts… or with what they know how to do."
They kept walking. Boots echoed on the concrete floor. The light flickered in some sections, but no one seemed to notice.
And in that journey…
What had begun as a rescue — hurried, uncertain, full of risks — was already taking the shape of something much more organized. Something with structure. Something that breathed.
Something that, without having fully planned it, was already ceasing to be a promise and becoming a home.