– CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN –

  FOR MYSELF

  The first thing that returned wasn’t light.

  It was weight.

  A weight inside her chest, a pressure that didn’t say whether it was air, or water, or her own body forgotten by itself. Americ-Ana tried to inhale and felt her throat scrape from the inside, dry, burning, with a strange taste of metal and medicine. Her tongue felt too large in her mouth. Her eyes burned shut, still trapped in a night that refused to end.

  Then a face appeared.

  Very close.

  Cracked by time, wrinkled to the limit of the human, with tubes going in and out beneath the skin, cutting across the cheek, looping around the neck, vanishing behind the ear. The smell of antiseptic and warmed plastic flooded everything at once.

  Americ-Ana tried to draw breath again and panic came first.

  She screamed.

  The sound came out hoarse, short, broken, and it hurt so much that the scream became coughing and the coughing became a moan. Her hands searched for the sheet without knowing where they were and she dragged the fabric up over her chest, pure instinct, the gesture of someone waking in a cage and trying to make herself smaller.

  In the same second the scream died, a joyful blare exploded.

  Metal. Drums. A trumpet. An entire march, loud, alive, far too optimistic to fit inside any place that smelled of medicine. The sound shoved her head into the pillow. Americ-Ana’s eyes flew open and the pain of the light cut through her retinas with violence.

  And then the flashes came.

  One. Two. Three. Ten.

  Bursts of light exploding toward her face, one after another, without pause, without mercy, as if reality were being photographed with a hammer.

  Americ-Ana flinched again, trying to turn her face away, trying to hide in the fabric. The sheet brushed her chin, and the skin of her face didn’t obey properly. Her whole body felt delayed, heavy, distant, as if every command had to travel down a long corridor before it reached the right muscle.

  She blinked, again and again, fighting to focus.

  The fluorescent glare in the ceiling.

  The familiar outline of a wall.

  The scent of her own room, that smell that was neither hospital nor temple, it was SAMKHYA CELL, it was their architecture, the aesthetic sterility of that castle that pretended comfort and delivered control.

  “My room…”

  The words didn’t even come out. They only existed inside her. But the certainty hit with the same force as a punch.

  Americ-Ana opened her eyes wider and the wrinkled, impossible face was pressed against someone.

  A tall man, impeccable, silver hair, a blade’s posture. His gaze cut through the scene without effort, without haste, as if the entire room belonged to him by natural right.

  And pinned to his body, fused to his side, held up by metal and cables, was the woman.

  Maxinne.

  What was left of her.

  One eye gone dark. The other covered by a red screen that pulsed slowly, steady, sick, hypnotic. Thin tubes went into her skin, came out of her skin, crossed her collarbone, vanished into an alloy socket that looked as if it had been stitched into the body of President CEO Magnum.

  The contrast was an aesthetic blasphemy. A man frozen in time and a dying woman kept upright by technology and cruelty.

  Americ-Ana went breathless, not from lack of oxygen, but from pure shock.

  The marching band still played.

  And that was when she saw the rest.

  The room was packed to bursting.

  Too many people, too many faces, too many eyes. Drones hovered low, humming, lenses tightening focus, micro-motors spinning. Moss Human stood in rows, holding cameras, microphones, light stands, an entire theater assembled inside her private space. Small screens in fists and on clipboards displayed live frames, transmissions, graphs, captions, numbers, the kind of spectacle that turns pain into news.

  And among them, a few familiar faces.

  Seth, there, near the foot of the bed, with a look that seemed to try to be human and fail from too much guilt.

  Chancellor Velyra, now in her original version, whole, standing, and still with a shadow on her face that Americ-Ana recognized from the vault, from the Temple, from what fell.

  Patron Uvo, motionless, with his usual false elegance, a presence that smelled of branding and poison.

  Thor, Donnie, Jessie, a trio that looked displaced inside their own bodies, as if they had been dragged into that ceremony with no right to refuse.

  Parys Bloodpure, trying to keep her posture, but with her gaze lost, feverish, like someone still hearing thunder that no one else can hear.

  Nome-Rocky, hard, closed off, trying to look unshakeable, failing in the micro-expressions of his face.

  Director Popess Rock, a walking icon, impeccable, theatrical, smiling at someone who wasn’t there, a trained smile, an advertisement smile. And behind her, with great white wings, the inseparable angel Reiyel.

  Bylly, farther back, and still impossible to ignore, a presence that pulled Americ-Ana’s gaze by instinct, by survival, by affection.

  Astyam, with Antichrist in his arms.

  The fox’s small black body was curled in on itself, eyes alert, ears on edge, and even so there was a strange silence in him, the silence of someone who has seen too much.

  Wwwyye stood near Astyam, steady, her eyes cutting through the room with contained rage. The demon Andras’s skin wasn’t there now, but Americ-Ana would swear she could still see invisible scales in Wwwyye’s posture, the same way of someone who does not bow, not even when surrounded.

  Americ-Ana tried to say something, anything.

  Her mouth opened. No sound came. Her chest hurt.

  She pulled the sheet higher, as if fabric could protect her from the entire State.

  The band landed on a triumphant ending, a long chord, and stopped all at once.

  The silence it left behind was worse than the music.

  The flashes eased, but the lenses kept pointing.

  President CEO Magnum stepped forward, and the entire room seemed to align its axis around him. He raised one hand, a calm gesture, the gesture of someone who knows the world obeys.

  His voice came out amplified, each syllable with an indecent clarity.

  “Fac Foedus, citizens of THE-IMPERIUM!”

  The pause arrived in the right place, manufactured, trained.

  “Today we celebrate more than the recovery of an Academy scholar. Today we celebrate what we are when darkness tries to climb our walls. Today we celebrate courage.”

  Americ-Ana felt the word “courage” hit her with a peculiar taste.

  President CEO Magnum continued, his voice polished, patriotic, without a flaw.

  “Thirty days ago, during the sacred night when our people gather beneath ancient symbols and promises of continuity, a threat rose against the heart of our bunker. A threat that was not merely crime. It was profanation. It was betrayal. It was the attempt to open a wound in the body of THE-IMPERIUM.”

  Some Moss Human nodded, recording even their own nods.

  President CEO Magnum tilted his face, and the living eye of First Lady Maxinne, covered by the red screen, pulsed with greater intensity, as if she too were listening and judging.

  “A force bound to the worst kind of wickedness, the kind of wickedness that does not respect innocents, that does not respect age, that does not respect the structure that keeps our civilization alive. The name of this force does not need to be repeated here for you to understand the weight of what was avoided.”

  Americ-Ana felt her stomach roll. The name burned inside her, Rabbi Worse Devil, and at the same time she saw, like a flash without a camera, the Bronze Sea, the water turning, the bodies, the smell, the chaos. Her body reacted, a small tremor in her hand, a shiver at her scalp.

  “Three young people prevented that threat from fulfilling its intent.”

  President CEO Magnum turned his face toward her, and his gaze finally settled on Americ-Ana.

  She wanted to disappear.

  “Miss Delsilva.”

  The way he spoke her surname turned Americ-Ana into a title.

  “You were placed under a weight you did not choose. You were forced to cross the impossible. And still, you remained.”

  Americ-Ana swallowed hard. Her throat scraped. The pain came back sharp.

  President CEO Magnum walked to the side of the bed. An assistant appeared, holding a small box of dark velvet. The assistant opened the box with ceremonial care.

  Inside, a medal.

  Polished metal, heavy, with a THE-IMPERIUM symbol engraved at the center, and a stiff ribbon in the bunker’s colors. It was beautiful. It was expensive.

  President CEO Magnum leaned over Americ-Ana. First Lady Maxinne came with him, coupled, dragging tubes and cables in a slow, disturbing movement. The First Lady’s face came far too close to Americ-Ana again. The dead eye was a hole. The red screen pulsed and seemed to watch.

  Americ-Ana froze.

  President CEO Magnum pinned the medal to the fabric near her shoulder. His fingers were precise. The gesture was gentle. The intention was crushing.

  “In the name of THE-IMPERIUM, I recognize your honor.”

  The flashes exploded again.

  Americ-Ana closed her eyes for a second and almost cried with rage, with fear, with grief. Grief came with the cruel taste of memory.

  Nono. Nonna.

  Her chest tightened, and she felt the name trapped behind her teeth, trying to break free.

  President CEO Magnum straightened and turned to the side, toward those gathered in the room.

  “Miss Helllwk.”

  Wwwyye took a step forward. She didn’t smile. She didn’t wave. She offered the cameras nothing but what she was: a knife in human form wearing a pink top hat.

  President CEO Magnum pinned the medal on her with the same theatrical care. The difference was that Wwwyye didn’t flinch. She didn’t look away. She stared at the President to the very edge of what was acceptable. The entire room held its breath by a thread.

  President CEO Magnum didn’t blink. His intimidation wasn’t physical strength. It was structure.

  “You demonstrated discipline under pressure and loyalty to our people.”

  Wwwyye answered with only the smallest nod, colder than respect, warmer than contempt.

  President CEO Magnum turned to Astyam.

  “Mr. Geekwoden.”

  Astyam walked forward, still holding Antichrist in his arms. The little black fox stayed quiet, but his eyes followed everything, alert to the metal, the velvet, the hands, the sound.

  President CEO Magnum placed the medal on Astyam. The speech continued.

  “You demonstrated intelligence in the middle of chaos. You demonstrated the rarest virtue among the young, the ability to act when everyone freezes.”

  Astyam swallowed hard, tried to say something, but his voice seemed to be pulled under by the weight of the moment. He only nodded, and the gesture carried something no protocol can hide.

  President CEO Magnum faced the room again.

  “Let it be recorded. Let it be broadcast. Let it be engraved in every bunker, in every pyramid, in every heart. THE-IMPERIUM does not bow to chaos. THE-IMPERIUM honors its defenders. And THE-IMPERIUM always wins.”

  The word “wins” dropped into the room and struck Americ-Ana’s skin with a strange impact.

  Wins at what cost?

  Americ-Ana tried to lift her head a little higher. Her vision wavered. The light felt harsher than it should have. She felt her breathing fail for a second, and for an instant she was afraid of blacking out again.

  The flashes continued, now more spaced out, but insistent.

  Those present in the room murmured, satisfied, hungry for images, hungry for a happy ending.

  Americ-Ana looked toward a corner of the room and saw Bylly. She saw Bylly’s face harden the moment it met her gaze. There was concern there. There was guilt. There was a question without a voice.

  Astyam held Antichrist more tightly.

  Wwwyye, beside them, kept her body rigid, but her eyes searched for Americ-Ana’s for a second, brief and intense, a silent message in front of everyone.

  "I’m here."

  Americ-Ana tried to answer.

  Her mouth opened.

  No sound came.

  Only a broken breath, a tremor, and the bedsheet caught in her hand like the last trustworthy thing in the world.

  President CEO Magnum took a step back, satisfied, and the room reorganized itself around him. The Moss Human with cameras adjusted their lenses. The drones rose a few centimeters. The band readied itself to play again.

  Then the President lifted his hands and pulled the room into a round of applause.

  Applause erupted from every side, too synchronized to seem spontaneous. The band came in with it, bright, triumphant, loud, shoving the air of the room with brass and drums. That sound was not celebrating Americ-Ana, Wwwyye, or Astyam. It was celebrating THE-IMPERIUM’s control over chaos.

  And then the emptying began.

  First the drones backed away, obedient, rising and sliding out in a line, a domesticated swarm. Then the Moss Human retreated in short steps, still filming, trying to capture the best angle.

  Americ-Ana clenched the bedsheet between her fingers, feeling the fabric scrape her palm. Her breathing still came uneven, her body still heavy, and those people leaving seemed to replace them with a sticky silence, a silence that was not peace, but the hangover of a spectacle.

  When the first familiar faces began to approach the bed, the feeling changed.

  Wwwyye and Astyam with Antichrist arrived first. They took their places on either side, close enough for Americ-Ana to feel there was still a human perimeter there, a minimal shelter inside the controlled hierarchy.

  Wwwyye didn’t bother to hide her discomfort. Her gaze swept the room, calculating who was still filming, who was still listening, who was still trying to harvest a line to turn into a headline.

  Then Seth and the Chancellor approached with bouquets of flowers, too many flowers for a place that still smelled of disinfectant and politics. Seth handed his out first to Astyam, then to Wwwyye, then to Americ-Ana, with an almost shy care, as if the flowers were an excuse to ask forgiveness without asking.

  The Chancellor offered hers and inclined her head, a brief gesture, the kind of elegance that always seems to hide a knife in the lining.

  "Thank you," Americ-Ana tried to say, but the word came out small, scraped raw.

  The Chancellor leaned in a little more, bringing her face close to Americ-Ana’s just enough not to attract the attention of a curious lens.

  "You are a heroine."

  The Chancellor gave a minimal little wave, turned toward the exit, and Seth went with her. Their departure opened a hole in Americ-Ana’s chest, a hole both old and new at once. The image of the Chancellor pulled another image in behind it, inevitable.

  The little belly with its compartment. The unicorn horn. The word "MOMMY" echoing somewhere that was not that room.

  Americ-Ana’s mouth moved before she decided.

  "Poppa…"

  Astyam heard it. Wwwyye heard it. Neither of them commented. It was the first time that word sounded less childish and more urgent, an anchor.

  Another Moss Human approached, servant-like in appearance, carrying so many bouquets his face nearly disappeared behind the mountain of flowers. He walked carefully, trying not to trip over his own feet, and stopped beside the bed.

  "These are the thanks to the three heroes of THE-IMPERIUM," he announced, breathless, "in the persons of Patron Uvo, Parys Bloodpure, Thor Bloodpure, Donnie Bjelke, Jessie Hornes."

  Then the Moss Human set the bouquets down on Americ-Ana’s bed with exaggerated care. The weight of the flowers sank the sheet. The perfume grew strong, sweet, insistent, and for an instant Americ-Ana wanted to cough.

  An impatient voice came from the back of the room, already near the door.

  "Hurry up."

  It was Parys Bloodpure.

  The Moss Human stiffened, apologized too quickly, and bent in reverence.

  "Yes, Madam Bloodpure, I’m sorry, I’m going now."

  He left almost at a run after Parys, trying to be as fast as possible.

  Soon after, Nome-Rocky appeared with three bouquets, less theatrical, more direct. He handed one to each of them with an efficient manner, the kind of courtesy that feels like a military duty.

  "Thank you very much for saving my life," he said, and his eyes passed over Astyam, over Wwwyye, over Americ-Ana. "And for doing it for THE-IMPERIUM."

  The last phrase sounded rehearsed, but his face carried honesty.

  Nome-Rocky let his gaze linger a little longer on Americ-Ana, then added in a lower tone.

  "I’m glad you made good use of the demon Andras. By the way, don’t worry, Patron Bylly has already returned the seal to me."

  Americ-Ana blinked slowly. The word "seal" touched something dusty inside her mind, a sound of ancient water, bronze, a whirlpool, and for a second the room seemed to sway.

  Nome-Rocky turned and left without prolonging the moment. He was not that type. And in that instant, Americ-Ana almost thanked him for it.

  The door kept swallowing people. The band was still playing, but farther back now, more distant, as if the music were already leaving along with the circus.

  Until only a few remained.

  Director Popess Rock approached with the calm of someone who is never in a hurry because the world always waits. The angel Reiyel came behind, inseparable, silent, a presence of spine and threat. The room’s light seemed to behave differently around them, more gleaming, sharper.

  Popess Rock looked around, measured the room, measured the leftovers of the spectacle, and then turned her face toward Bylly.

  A simple gesture, a command without words.

  Bylly stepped closer and bowed her head, respectful, precise.

  Popess Rock let her gaze slide to Astyam, to Antichrist, to Wwwyye.

  Bylly took a breath and spoke in a controlled, firm tone.

  "Fluffy, could you please give us a moment alone with Americ-Ana? As soon as you’re able to come back, I’ll call you."

  Wwwyye twisted her mouth, visibly displeased. Her eyes went to Americ-Ana, searching for confirmation, a request, a sign that she should stay.

  Astyam gave Wwwyye a discreet nudge, a survival warning.

  "Come on, go," he murmured, low.

  Wwwyye held back the urge to argue, let the air out through her nose, and left first. Astyam followed, still holding Antichrist in his arms. The door closed.

  The room, at last, grew smaller.

  There was only Americ-Ana on the bed now, surrounded by too many flowers, and facing her Popess Rock, with Reiyel behind, and Bylly at her side.

  The angel Reiyel stepped back a few paces and remained in the corner of the room, watching, unmoving, like a living statue.

  It was Popess Rock who spoke first.

  "Daughter of the Most High God, you cannot imagine how much my soul rejoices and exults over your well-being. And even more so, for returning from the war waged against evil as a victor, one chosen by the Supreme God Himself."

  Americ-Ana tried to swallow hard. Her throat scraped. Her mouth felt far too dry.

  Bylly cleared her throat and stepped closer to the bed.

  "Fluffy, while you were trying to get out of the vault beneath the altar, an avalanche of rocks and debris from Solomon’s Temple, and parts of the vault itself, fell on top of you."

  Americ-Ana blinked slowly, as if the sentence needed time to fit inside her.

  Bylly continued, without ornament.

  "You would be dead if it weren’t for the skin of the demon Andras that was covering you at that exact moment."

  Popess Rock brought her hands together.

  "Glory to the Most High and Supreme God for the demon Andras."

  Bylly cleared her throat again, and her gaze stayed fixed on Americ-Ana, steady, almost protective.

  "After that, Fluffy, you were saved by your friends, Miss Helllwk and Mr. Geekwoden."

  Americ-Ana tried to move her hand beneath the sheet. Her fingers answered late. Her body felt like a place she had not fully returned to yet.

  Bylly didn’t hurry the world, but she also didn’t leave the truth hanging.

  "The demon’s skin protected you, yes. But the weight was monstrous. Tons of rock, Fluffy. And you went without air for far too long."

  The word "air" made Americ-Ana inhale the wrong way, short, as if her chest remembered the crushing.

  Bylly kept her voice on the same track.

  "You blacked out. You went into a coma, fluffy."

  Americ-Ana felt her stomach turn.

  Bylly finished, and this time the sentence landed whole, without mercy.

  "You were in a coma for thirty days, fluffy."

  The word "coma" seemed to strike Americ-Ana’s body like a bell ringing from the inside.

  She clenched the sheet with the hand that could still clench. Her eyes burned.

  "Wait…" Her voice came out rough. "I… I’ve been in a coma before."

  Bylly didn’t interrupt. Neither did Popess Rock. The room grew quiet enough for Americ-Ana to hear her own breathing.

  "When I woke up from the first coma…" Americ-Ana swallowed again, harder. "Reality didn’t feel real."

  Bylly tilted her head, almost imperceptibly, acknowledging it without dramatizing.

  Americ-Ana felt her mouth dry out again, and the words slipped out with fear, not logic.

  "Wait…" She drew a deep breath, and the question came all at once. "Don’t tell me all of this here is Wheel of Samsara."

  Popess Rock brought her hands together again and answered, leaving no crack for panic.

  "No, beloved of God. Here everything is what it appears to be. There are no unbreakable cycles here. Remain in the Peace of Our Creator."

  Americ-Ana kept staring at Popess Rock, as if she needed to make sure that sentence would not melt along with the walls.

  Then Bylly said, firm, without detour:

  "As soon as your friends rescued you, Fluffy, and Trinity Bustanay alerted the drones, THE-IMPERIUM’s security managed to breach the layers of obstruction the homunculus Nioh Nemmesis cast upon THE-IMPERIUM’s portals, through the residual traces of Astaroth’s powers found in your Poppandacorn."

  Americ-Ana clenched the bedsheet.

  "You’re telling me Nioh Nemmesis used my Poppa to ‘lock’ THE-IMPERIUM’s portals?"

  "That’s right, Fluffy." Bylly did not hesitate. "Some drones recorded images of Nioh Nemmesis carrying your Poppandacorn. Your Poppandacorn seemed to have a purple light in his little finger. Every time the homunculus Nemmesis pressed that purple little finger of your Poppandacorn against THE-IMPERIUM’s portals, they obeyed."

  Americ-Ana’s stomach turned.

  "They obeyed because that purple light was residual trace of Astaroth’s powers." Bylly continued, on the same track. "Fluffy, the portals are not proof against demonic powers. Astaroth, as one of the seventy-two seals of the Ars Goetia, can breach and command the portals, even if only through residual traces of his power."

  Popess Rock brought her hands together, reverent, and spoke with solemnity:

  "We discovered, daughter of the Most High, that such residual traces of the demon Astaroth’s powers ended up in your robotic creature Poppandacorn because the homunculus Nioh Nemmesis had placed the book with malignant symbols inside the compartment in the little belly of the robotic creature."

  Americ-Ana blinked slowly. Her throat scraped.

  "That book, through those symbols, somehow contains residual traces of Astaroth’s powers," Popess Rock went on. "Upon coming into contact with the inside of your Poppandacorn, those traces began to control the technology your robotic creature possesses. That is the only plausible justification for everything that happened."

  Bylly added:

  "That’s why your Poppandacorn was acting strange, Fluffy. With all those farts and purple smoke coming out of him. That was residual traces of Astaroth’s powers."

  Americ-Ana felt the word "purple" hit her memory like a siren.

  "And that solved the problem we had, not knowing how you ended up inside the vault beneath the altar on the day of the Paintball game." Bylly held Americ-Ana’s gaze, anchoring the truth. "Fluffy, you crossed that portal because the residual traces of Astaroth’s powers were already latent inside your Poppandacorn."

  Popess Rock inclined her face toward the bed. Her voice came out soft, polished, dangerous in how calm it was.

  "Tell us, daughter of the Most High. Were you keeping very close to the homunculus Nioh Nemmesis?"

  Americ-Ana choked. Coughed. The air scraped her throat.

  "Yee… yes… I mean… yes… sorry… yes." She breathed again, trying to arrange the sentence before shame turned into panic. "Nioh would take us to Crown Eden on his Spyder sometimes. And… and…" She blinked, tightening her grip on the sheet. "He used to stop by here, at SAMKHYA CELL, almost every morning, before we went to Crown Eden."

  Bylly did not change her tone.

  "It was probably during that period that he hid the forbidden book inside your Poppandacorn, without you seeing it, Fluffy." She paused briefly, just long enough for the truth to land. "Wasn’t it, Americ-Ana?"

  Americ-Ana choked again. The cough came dry. Her chest hurt.

  "Yes… yes… yes…"

  Americ-Ana raised her hand, asking for a moment. The cough came again, insistent, dry. She clutched the sheet hard, waited for air to return to her chest, and then spoke with the haste of someone afraid to hear the answer.

  "My grandparents." She swallowed hard. "What happened to them? Where are they? Please, tell me."

  Popess Rock did not change her posture. Her tone remained solemn, and the room seemed to grow smaller around that solemnity.

  "Daughter of the Most High… the homunculus Nioh Nemmesis took advantage of your human fragility." She paused briefly. "He discovered where your grandparents were. And since he had access to THE-IMPERIUM’s portals through the little finger of the robotic creature Poppandacorn, he entered the Axis Mundi Route of the Statue of Sisyphus."

  Americ-Ana blinked fast, trying to keep up. Her throat still burned.

  "There it is possible to access any place in the world," Popess Rock continued, "as long as one has demonic power in hand. The perversity in the homunculus’s entrails, acquired through Rabbi Worse Devil, made him kidnap your grandparents, along with the others, and offer them as a sacrifice to the Supreme God. He wanted the Divine Glory to descend again."

  The word "sacrifice" went through Americ-Ana like a blow.

  "But you stopped him," Popess Rock finished, "and that stopping triggered a Wheel of Samsara. A place where cycles have no end. Birth, death, and reincarnation repeat for all eternity inside the Wheel of Samsara."

  Americ-Ana began to cry. Her face tightened, and her voice came out in pieces.

  "Are my grandparents in pain?" She drew a short breath. "Can I go back into the Wheel of Samsara to save them?"

  Bylly stepped closer and placed a hand on her shoulder. The gesture was simple, human, trying to hold on to something that had no shape.

  "Fluffy… your grandparents are fine." Bylly’s voice dropped lower. "The Wheel of Samsara is an infinite cycle of illusion. Whoever is inside it doesn’t know and doesn’t remember that they are inside."

  Americ-Ana cried harder, trying to shake her head no, but there was no strength.

  "Fluffy, it’s as if someone presses a button," Bylly continued, "and the person becomes trapped in a wheel. A wheel where there is only being born, dying, and reincarnating." She breathed, slowly. "And in there there is no opportunity for the spirit to evolve, to reach higher paths of liberation."

  Americ-Ana squeezed her eyes shut. Tears kept running without pause.

  "Fluffy, entering the Wheel of Samsara is one of the greatest risks anyone could take." Bylly did not soften it. "It was a miracle you managed to get out. The overwhelming majority who fall in there can never get out." Her hand tightened lightly on Americ-Ana’s shoulder. "If you insist on going back, you may even forget your mission to rescue your grandparents. You could become trapped in the cycle. It would be devastating. You wouldn’t help yourself. And you wouldn’t help them."

  Americ-Ana struggled to breathe, her crying swallowing the air.

  "But I accept it." Her voice broke and returned. "I accept going back, even if I can’t evolve, even if I get stuck in an eternal cycle… because at least that way I’ll be with my grandparents."

  Popess Rock inclined her face a little more, and the answer came with the coldness of someone speaking in the name of a greater order.

  "That is where you are mistaken, daughter of the Most High." She kept her gaze fixed on Americ-Ana. "If you manage to return to the Wheel of Samsara… your grandparents may no longer be your grandparents. They may be incarnated into another generation, with others trapped in the cycle. Separated."

  Americ-Ana sobbed out loud.

  "They wouldn’t recognize you," Popess Rock said, with no apparent cruelty, and yet cruel all the same. "And, unfortunately, they would cease to recognize even themselves."

  Americ-Ana collapsed. Her crying turned into pure helplessness, and her body seemed too small for the pain it was carrying.

  Bylly sat on the edge of the bed and hugged Americ-Ana. The embrace was firm, warm, real. A minimal shelter in a world that insisted on being enormous.

  "I’m so sorry, Fluffy." Bylly spoke close to her ear. "I’m sorry. I truly am." She held Americ-Ana for another instant, and then her voice came with a quiet truth. "But when I look at the incredible girl you are… I know your grandparents would want you to try your hardest. To be the best version of yourself. To lift your spirit and reach higher paths."

  Americ-Ana was still crying. She raised her head slowly, looked into Bylly’s eyes, and asked, her voice broken:

  "But what about Poppa? What happened to him? Will he be okay?"

  Bylly opened her mouth to answer, but Popess Rock stepped in.

  "Beloved of God, your robotic creature is, at this moment, in the Novaxtraai laboratory." Her tone did not yield. "Poppandacorn was seriously damaged by the residual traces of Astaroth’s powers and by the homunculus Nioh Nemmesis’s misuse."

  Americ-Ana drew in air and her crying became more contained, more attentive.

  "My scientists and I are working as a team to bring your Poppandacorn back exactly as you know him." Popess Rock continued. "I know he is important to you the way he is. Replacing him would be a sin, and I know you would not accept it."

  Americ-Ana blinked, feeling her chest tighten for another reason, a different fear: the fear of losing even the shape.

  "After we ran multiple tests searching for any further residual traces of Astaroth’s demonic powers in Poppandacorn, we detected nothing else." Popess Rock inclined her face, as if offering a minimal victory. "At least that, we were able to correct."

  Americ-Ana let out a short, trembling sigh.

  "As for Poppandacorn’s physical condition," Popess Rock went on, "with demonic wisdom and technology, we are using a process of time travel to recover your Poppandacorn’s original parts."

  Americ-Ana frowned, her crying snagging for a second, her mind trying to make it fit.

  "Is that similar to the process by which Solomon’s Temple was built?"

  Popess Rock answered without hesitation.

  "I can tell you the principle is the same, daughter of God. But tell me, how do you know about the process of constructing Solomon’s Temple?"

  Americ-Ana felt her cheeks burn. She choked, coughed, and finally said:

  "Well… it’s just that when I was inside the vault, Nioh Nemmesis let slip that he knew how Solomon’s Temple had been raised again. That’s it. It was Nioh who explained it to me."

  Popess Rock stared at Americ-Ana, narrowed her eyes, then said:

  "That homunculus creature was indeed quite intelligent. Proof of that is the incredible mechanical engineering he created and called ‘Spyder’. Truly admirable. But I would say such wisdom comes from demonic intelligence and powers. And that, obviously, was given to him through Astaroth, who is in the possession of his creator, Rabbi Worse Devil."

  Then Popess Rock brought her hands together again, drew a deep breath, and spoke carefully, like someone watching the ground before stepping.

  "Daughter of God… now we need to talk to you about something quite delicate. Not that everything we have dealt with so far isn’t, but what I am going to say deserves heightened attention on your part."

  Americ-Ana wiped her face. The fabric of the bedsheet pulled away what was left of the tears. She straightened in the bed, her spine aching, her chest still trembling, but her mind trying to work.

  Popess Rock continued:

  "While you were in a coma, daughter of God, THE-IMPERIUM did not stop working to mitigate the damage caused by the homunculus Nioh Nemmesis’s presence. The case was taken to the QUEEN ORION bunker, in the Geburah Pyramid. There was an investigation, a hearing, testimonies, debates and heated discussions… many discussions. Beyond what is acceptable."

  Bylly rose from the edge of the bed and stood beside Popess Rock. Her body assumed a stance, almost instinctive, almost protective.

  "Don’t worry, Fluffy." Bylly’s voice came out firm. "While you were recovering, I did not let them harm you. I did everything within my reach to support you." She took a short breath. "As your Patron, and because you are a minor and have no family member or guardian in the bunker, I assumed your responsibilities before THE-IMPERIUM."

  Popess Rock kept her eyes on Americ-Ana. The sentence came whole, with no way out.

  "Beloved of the Creator… it seems that, at the time of the events involving the homunculus Nioh Nemmesis, you committed certain acts that, in the eyes of THE-IMPERIUM’s citizens and under our laws, are considered crimes." She paused for a second. "I am referring to the fact that you trespassed into a restricted laboratory and shot a Patron, Patron Uvo. And then… you freed the homunculus Nioh Nemmesis."

  Americ-Ana cut in, desperate, the air rising all at once.

  "Wait…" She shook her head. "But I didn’t know that laboratory was restricted. I only went in because I thought the Chancellor was in danger, I thought I heard her scream in there." Her voice faltered and returned. "And as for Patron Uvo… I shot because I thought he was going to kill Nioh, and I still didn’t know Nioh was a homunculus of Rabbi Worse Devil. That’s why I did it."

  Popess Rock nodded, unhurried.

  "I know, daughter of God. We know." Her tone was not cruel, but it did not leave space either. "However, THE-IMPERIUM is very strict in its laws regarding the protection of Patrons. And even more strict regarding any act connected to Rabbi Worse Devil."

  Bylly added, and the sentence came heavy with weariness.

  "Fluffy, believe me… I went beyond my limits. I did what I could and tried the impossible so that you would not be affected in any way." She flicked a quick look at Popess Rock, then returned to Americ-Ana. "But, as Director Popess Rock said, THE-IMPERIUM has had laws since its founding. And it treats acts like these with the heaviest rigor that exists."

  Popess Rock drew a deep breath again.

  "Beloved of God, I am here in the capacity of representative of President CEO Magnum." She inclined her chin, as if invoking an entire structure. "As you know, he is President through the Organ The Strategist, and I am the Director of the Organ The Strategist at Equal One Zero Academy." The pause came brief. "Thus, I regret to inform you, daughter of God, that, even with all the efforts of your Patron… certain penalties have been imposed upon you."

  Americ-Ana felt her blood turn cold. The word struck inside her like a door closing.

  "Penalties?" Her voice came out low, but urgent. "What do you mean? What is going to happen to me?"

  This story has been taken without authorization. Report any sightings.

  Popess Rock held Americ-Ana’s gaze and spoke without haste.

  "First of all, daughter of God, it is important that you know you are being penalized for the crimes of injuring a Patron of THE-IMPERIUM and of facilitating, contributing to, and participating in the escape of a direct ally of Rabbi Worse Devil." The pause came brief. "You helped Nioh Nemmesis escape."

  Americ-Ana went still. Her breathing turned small.

  "For that reason, THE-IMPERIUM decided, through the QUEEN ORION bunker, in the Geburah Pyramid, that you, Americ-Ana Delsilva, will be held under house arrest for the rest of the academic year." Popess Rock kept her voice on the same track. "In addition, you are prohibited from attending any of THE-IMPERIUM’s bunkers or pyramids while you are not attending Equal One Zero Academy."

  Americ-Ana blinked, slowly. The room seemed colder.

  "That means you will only be allowed to remain in THE-IMPERIUM until you finish your studies at Equal One Zero Academy." Popess Rock concluded. "And, until then, you will have to spend summer vacation in the common world, with family members or guardians."

  Silence arrived whole.

  Bylly’s face grew heavy, a kind of shame that was not hers, and yet she carried it anyway. Popess Rock, despite the hardness, had mercy in her eyes.

  Americ-Ana spoke through clenched teeth. The tears kept falling.

  "I lost my grandparents in THE-IMPERIUM." Her voice trembled with anger. "It wasn’t in the common world. It was here." She swallowed hard. "I almost died. I was in a coma." Her chest rose in short blows. "THE-IMPERIUM’s security system failed. You failed." She stared at Popess Rock. "You give me a medal and then you imprison me?"

  Her hand clenched the bedsheet until the fabric crumpled.

  "I helped save lives." The sentence came out like a cut. "Including Patron Uvo’s own."

  Americ-Ana was on the verge of exploding, and Bylly stepped in fast, trying to salvage what she could.

  "We know, Fluffy." Her voice dropped lower, but stayed firm. "Believe me, facing the tribunal of the Geburah Pyramid and watching all of them crucify you… it was one of the hardest things I have ever done in my life." She took a short breath. "Please, believe me when I say it: everything good you did, saving lives, fighting for THE-IMPERIUM, even saving Patron Uvo… all of it contributed so that worse things would not happen to you."

  Americ-Ana shook her head, irritated, wounded.

  "So that’s it?" She let out a dry laugh, humorless. "I should be grateful for being imprisoned and banished?"

  "That’s not it, Fluffy." Bylly shook her head. "That’s not it." Her voice broke a little. "I tried. I tried."

  Popess Rock spoke again, and her enforced peace struck the room like an order.

  "Daughter of God, Patron Bylly is right." She spoke with calculated calm. "Consider this a blessing. These things will only be a burden in your life if you allow them to be a burden." She kept her hands clasped. "But if you see this as the will of the Almighty Creator… believe me, a miracle can happen."

  Americ-Ana let out a sigh of derision. The kind of sigh that comes when the world demands faith and delivers a wall.

  "A miracle?" She stared at the ceiling for an instant and looked back, burning. "That word doesn’t make sense to me right now." Her voice dropped lower. "THE-IMPERIUM failed Helena Blavatsky, and now that failure is repeating itself with me."

  The silence that settled was uncomfortable. No one seemed to know where to put their hands.

  Bylly took a few seconds before speaking.

  "Fluffy… is there anything you want to ask us?" She tried for a light tone and failed. "Do you have any questions?"

  Americ-Ana lowered her head. She only shook it no.

  Bylly nodded, accepting what was defeat in that moment.

  "Fluffy, it’s better for us to go." She drew a deep breath. "If you don’t mind, I’m going to call Miss Helllwk and Mr. Geekwoden. They’ve been very anxious to see you well ever since you were rescued in the vault."

  Americ-Ana kept her head down, without answering.

  She heard Bylly walking to the door. Popess Rock followed. The angel Reiyel went after them, silent, a blade-like presence.

  Before closing the door, Popess Rock turned her face one last time and spoke with a sweetness that felt like preaching and warning at the same time.

  "Daughter of God… even the desert can hide a miracle. Water is born from rock, too, when someone chooses not to yield." She held Americ-Ana’s gaze for a second. "Just keep going. Your miracle may be in the desert."

  Popess Rock closed the door.

  The click of the lock sounded far too loud, as if the entire room had been locked along with Americ-Ana.

  Americ-Ana stared at the ceiling for an instant, unfocused. The silence seemed to have weight.

  Americ-Ana lay down slowly, as if her body were made of glass on the inside. She turned her face into the pillow and let the tears come without trying to stop them. They poured out in heaps, hot, unbroken, soaking the fabric, drowning what little strength remained.

  "Nono…" she whispered.

  The name came out small, and her chest answered large, opening wider.

  "Nonna…"

  Tears ran over the QR Code marks on her face. The sound that came out of her was not a word, it was loss.

  Then someone knocked on the door.

  Americ-Ana didn’t turn. She didn’t get up. She only listened, her face buried in the pillow, the tears still rolling.

  The door opened.

  Footsteps came closer, careful, unhurried. A weight sank into the side of the bed.

  Wwwyye sat beside her and spoke low, blunt, without ceremony.

  "Man… THE-IMPERIUM really screwed up with you." Her voice came heavy with contained rage. "That’s why I’m against this rotten system. That’s why I don’t give a damn about fitting into this elite."

  More footsteps. Astyam, with Antichrist in his arms, came closer and stopped near the bed, his body tense, his eyes sad.

  "There were multiple hearings in the Geburah Pyramid while you were in a coma, Americ-Ana." He drew a deep breath. "They called us to testify, to repeat everything, to relive everything. It was horrible." His voice faltered for a second and returned. "Even the Crown Eden avatars showed up to defend you. Patron Bylly fought like a lioness for you in that Tribunal."

  Americ-Ana lifted her face slowly. The pillow was wet, her hair stuck to her forehead, her eyes swollen, and still there was something hard in her, an indignation that did not want to die.

  She looked at the two of them. The tears kept running.

  "They don’t care." The sentence came through clenched teeth. "They simply don’t care." Her gaze burned. "They didn’t care about Helena Blavatsky. They don’t care about me. They don’t care about my grandparents."

  Wwwyye didn’t hesitate.

  "Eat the Rich."

  Astyam swallowed hard, almost trying to smile and failing.

  "Well… Americ-Ana… I don’t know if you’re going to like the news." He rubbed the back of his neck, nervous, and tilted his chin toward Wwwyye, sharing the blame. "But the intention was the best. I mean… our intention." He breathed. "Wwwyye and I rebelled in our own way there in the Geburah Pyramid and managed to get authorization to spend the rest of the academic year here with you… while you serve house arrest."

  Wwwyye crossed her arms, decided.

  "We’re staying here. Studying with you. We’re not going anywhere without you."

  Americ-Ana stared at them for a second, too surprised to react with her usual pain. Her mouth trembled, and then a small, displaced humor came, almost like a clandestine breath.

  "At least this way we’ll have somewhere to sit during class."

  Astyam let out a breath, relieved.

  "True."

  The three of them laughed, a short, crooked laugh, but real. A laugh that erased nothing, only gave them air for a second.

  Americ-Ana rested her hands on the two of them.

  "Don’t worry." Her voice came out calm. "I didn’t tell anyone that you, Wwwyye, were in Ibiza… and that you, Astyam, had Adoniram’s little box." She leaned back a little, her eyes still wet. "We still have our secrets intact."

  Wwwyye raised her eyebrows, surprised and satisfied.

  "That’s wonderful, thank you." She took a short breath and added, quickly, as if signing a pact. "I didn’t tell anyone anything either about the things you said. The book you found in the Cryptakashic, the meetings with Nioh in his cell… not even that, before all of this, you had already been in the vault that same night."

  Astyam raised a hand like an oath.

  "I didn’t say anything either." He tried to smile. "Scout’s honor." His voice grew firmer. "It seems that all the loopholes from that crazy night in the vault, during the investigations at the Geburah Pyramid, the judicial system concluded that most of the damage, or all of it, was Nioh Nemmesis’s fault."

  Wwwyye let out a sigh, half rage, half triumph.

  "At least that damned homunculus was good for one thing." Her sharp gaze returned to Americ-Ana. "He was good for getting us out of trouble."

  Americ-Ana drew a deep breath.

  "Thank you, both of you. There’s something that doesn’t add up. I didn’t say anything because, if they knew that, that same night, I was inside the vault watching Solomon’s Temple being raised, I think they would have crucified me and said I broke into the vault."

  She clenched the sheet, and continued.

  "But what really doesn’t add up is that, that same night, I heard Patron Uvo entering the vault. Me, GummyAir, and Poppa were hidden inside the Bronze Sea, and the Bronze Sea still had no water. I heard Patron Uvo come in and I also heard him killing King Solomon. I didn’t say anything about that because, otherwise, I’d be giving away that I had been there earlier, and that would be grounds for incriminating me even more."

  Americ-Ana let the air out, her gaze thoughtful.

  "Later, when I was in the laboratory, I saw Patron Uvo dragging the bodies of King Solomon and Professor Fiat-Lux. They were both dead."

  Astyam tilted his head, thoughtful.

  "Before I forget, since you mentioned GummyAir, he’s perfectly ‘parked’ in the castle garage. I put him there myself. Also, just to be clear, when you say King Solomon, you mean the unique original holographic version captured by the Jump Kairos Trip, like Abda and Adoniram, right?"

  Americ-Ana nodded yes.

  "Thank you for taking care of my GummyAir, Astyam. The answer is yes. That’s exactly what I mean."

  Wwwyye crossed her arms, her jaw locked.

  "Since you mentioned Professor Fiat-Lux, I just remembered something. After the investigation, they found that Professor Fiat-Lux really had discovered that Nioh Nemmesis was a homunculus. So Nioh ended up killing the professor, in a failed attempt to silence him." She paused briefly, letting the sentence land. "It didn’t help much, because, in the end, all of THE-IMPERIUM knows now."

  Americ-Ana narrowed her eyes, her expression that of someone fitting a piece into a puzzle.

  "But when I was in the laboratory, Patron Uvo showed up dragging the bodies of King Solomon, Professor Fiat-Lux, and then Poppa and Nioh. How did Patron Uvo find Professor Fiat-Lux’s body and capture Nioh?"

  "The investigation concluded that Patron Uvo noticed the drones’ alert movement. So he followed the drones and found the Professor still injured. Since the Professor is a Moss Human, he himself removed the memory module coupled to his brain and showed it to Patron Uvo. That’s how Patron Uvo discovered that Nioh is a homunculus. Then Patron Uvo managed to find Nioh and detain him," Astyam explained.

  "But it still doesn’t make sense…" Americ-Ana insisted. "Okay… there in the lab, Patron Uvo showed up with Professor Fiat-Lux’s body, Poppa, and Nioh in custody. But he also showed up with King Solomon’s body. That proves what I heard. I heard Patron Uvo killing King Solomon. So Patron Uvo took King Solomon’s body to the laboratory after killing him. But what did he want to do with all of them there in the laboratory?"

  "Everything related to the laboratory and the ten bodies, anyway, the so-called ‘Mister Dolphin Club’, ran under sealed proceedings." Astyam said. "Only the people who were there in the laboratory had access to the judicial documents of that incident."

  "Americ-Ana, Patron Uvo accused you of having shot him inside the laboratory. You’re part of that case. Since you were in a coma and Patron Bylly represented you, maybe she took part in the hearings and had access to the judicial documents," Wwwyye observed. "Ask her what happened. Maybe she’ll tell you. Then you tell the two of us."

  Suddenly, Astyam snapped his fingers.

  "I almost forgot to tell you, Americ-Ana." Astyam breathed once. "While you were in a coma, the Geburah Pyramid put together a heavy investigation scheme and went after the entire NEMMESIS SEEDS family and group."

  His voice hardened at the end.

  "And guess what. When the police drones hit the NEMMESIS SEEDS group’s company headquarters and the houses of every member of the Nemmesis clan, they found no one. The entire Nemmesis family simply vanished. Which means Rabbi Worse Devil had, in fact, built an entire family of homunculi and infiltrated THE-IMPERIUM."

  Wwwyye pulled a crooked smile, the kind that comes from well-fed rage.

  "That’s right. And guess what: all those annoying Nemesia flowers that smiled when someone walked into the kitchen were created to spy on THE-IMPERIUM’s citizens." She let air out through her nose. "Everyone poured out into the streets of the pyramids, gathered those damned flowers into one big pile, and set it on fire."

  Wwwyye wore a sinister expression.

  "It was awesome. There were bonfires all along the bunkers. I loved seeing and hearing those damned flowers screaming while they were burned alive."

  Astyam stared at Wwwyye, eyes wide.

  "You know something, Wwwyye? You scare the hell out of me."

  He said it and, the next second, sneezed loudly. Before he could even catch his breath, he pulled out the nasal spray and spritzed it into his nose.

  Wwwyye watched the scene for a moment.

  Americ-Ana didn’t hold back. She laughed.

  And when Wwwyye saw Americ-Ana laughing, her look softened at a rare point, almost delicate.

  "It’s good to see you smiling." She took a short breath, and the firmness returned like armor. "Don’t worry. Everything’s going to be okay."

  Americ-Ana nodded, the laugh still caught in her throat.

  "Thank you, both of you, for everything."

  As she said it, Americ-Ana’s gaze stopped on Antichrist, all curled up in Astyam’s arms.

  "Hey, wait a second." Americ-Ana pointed, suspicious. "That mischievous little fox swallowed Beni’s gift, I mean, Adoniram’s little box. Is Antichrist okay?"

  Astyam held the animal carefully and ran his fingers through its fur.

  "Apparently he’s fine." He shrugged. "After everything, we told Director Popess Rock what happened. Since then, every day, for at least an hour, she locks herself in the Crown Eden laboratory with Reiyel and Antichrist to run tests." Astyam looked at the fox again. "She said that, for now, everything’s okay and that we can keep him."

  Wwwyye let out a short, incredulous laugh.

  "That was insane." She turned her face, as if she were still seeing the scene. "Every day, the one who takes Antichrist to Director Popess Rock for those tests is the butler Shabda Akasha. He takes him, waits for the tests to be done, and then comes back with Antichrist."

  Americ-Ana fell silent for a second, chewing on it, and then the memory pulled another memory after it.

  "I just remembered… what happened to Trinity Bustanay?"

  Wwwyye answered first, in the tone of news that had run down corridors.

  "I heard Trinity Bustanay and her family left the country after everything that happened."

  Astyam added, more technical, choosing his words with care.

  "Trinity Bustanay was listed as a prosecution witness in the Geburah Pyramid, but she didn’t even show up to testify. So the judge ended up dismissing her as a party in the trial." He paused briefly. "As for the crimes Nioh committed against her, holding her hostage and all that, the Public Prosecutor’s Office had to archive the case."

  Astyam lifted his gaze, serious.

  "There’s no way to arrest or prosecute anyone in this case. The direct culprit would be Nioh himself, who was destroyed by you in the Wheel of Samsara. There’s no way to prosecute or arrest him." The last sentence came more bitter. "And, in the case of Rabbi Worse Devil… it’s practically impossible to bring Rabbi Worse Devil to trial."

  Wwwyye narrowed her eyes, offended by the very idea of "impossible."

  "Nothing is impossible. One day that criminal is going to pay for every crime he’s committed."

  "Wait… but Trinity had the key to our CELL," Americ-Ana said, alarmed.

  "Don’t worry," Astyam replied. "A security drone returned the key to our CELL."

  Americ-Ana bit the corner of her lip, staring at nothing for an instant.

  "That’s so strange." The sentence came out slow, suspicion and discomfort mixed together. "I mean… Trinity and her family leaving the country like that."

  Wwwyye swept the room with her eyes and, suddenly, stopped on the bed. That sea of bouquets, perfume too sweet, too many colors, an excess trying to plug a hole with petals.

  She let out a short, sarcastic laugh and jerked her chin toward it.

  "Look how ridiculous this is." Wwwyye grabbed one of the bouquets by its wrapping, lifted it two centimeters, and let it drop back down, without gentleness. "They give you flowers while they fuck with your life."

  Astyam’s eyes went wide, almost offended by the grammar of aggression.

  "My God, Wwwyye. Every day that goes by you’ve been swearing more and more."

  Americ-Ana looked at her, sadness still living in the corners of her face, but her gaze curious.

  "True. Wwwyye, when did you start cursing this much? In the beginning you weren’t like this."

  Wwwyye shrugged, laughing, as if it were the most logical thing in the world.

  "I’ve always wanted to swear. I just didn’t talk to anyone, so there was no one to hear my swearing." She pointed at the two of them, as if thanking them for a service. "Then I met you two and now I can swear as much as I want."

  Americ-Ana and Astyam burst out laughing, the kind of laugh that opens a slit of air.

  Wwwyye took advantage of the opening and jabbed a finger at Astyam, without mercy.

  "But I wasn’t the only one who changed. You, for example, Astyam, used to look like a little mouse curled up behind a plant pot. Like you were afraid even to breathe." She narrowed her eyes, as if analyzing an experiment. "And, by the way, even your allergy seems to have lessened."

  Astyam nodded seriously.

  "True. I agree." He breathed through his nose, testing his own existence. "My nose is more manageable, so to speak."

  The sentence didn’t even finish.

  And Astyam sneezed.

  And, by reflex, he pulled out the nasal spray and spritzed it into his nose.

  The three of them laughed again, a looser laugh, more alive.

  Wwwyye wiped away a tear of laughter and turned her eyes to Americ-Ana.

  "But what about you, Americ-Ana." She tilted her head. "The first time I saw you near that buffet table in the Water Cube, you looked like you’d apologize even to a fly for existing."

  Astyam agreed.

  "Wwwyye is right. Before, you acted like a scholarship kid who thinks she doesn’t deserve to be here." Astyam looked into Americ-Ana’s eyes. "Now you act like a true academic of Equal One Zero."

  Wwwyye raised a finger, correcting.

  "More than that." She pointed at Americ-Ana, as if pinning a title to her chest. "Now you act like a KING MatNat player." Her voice lifted, excited. "Man, do you have any idea what that means? You were the second Initiate in THE-IMPERIUM’s history to make it to LEVEL TWO of the KING MatNat Games on your first try."

  Wwwyye flashed a wicked smile.

  "Second only to Popess Rock." She paused, savoring it. "The legend of KING MatNat."

  Americ-Ana smiled. That small smile that tries to hide, but can’t. She agreed, lowered her head, and blushed a little, as if she didn’t know where to put her pride without feeling guilty for it.

  Astyam looked at the flowers, then at Americ-Ana, and his voice came with tenderness.

  "Even Poppandacorn changed. In the beginning he looked like he was still on factory settings, all proper, always trying to play the mini-hero. Then, with time, he started picking up human things. Fear, sadness, joy… and love."

  Wwwyye snorted, but the corner of her mouth betrayed a smile.

  "Don’t even get me started on that little guy. Did you notice he started talking about himself in the third person?"

  Without waiting for an answer, Wwwyye straightened on the bed and turned into a one-act play. She pitched her voice, puffed out her chest, opened her arms, and announced, imitating Poppandacorn with exaggerated devotion:

  "Behold how much Poppa loves Mommy. Poppa’s Mommy is the greatest KING MatNat player of all time."

  Wwwyye tore off a handful of petals and threw them upward, scattering flowers into the air, staging the fireworks Poppandacorn would set off at moments like that.

  The three of them laughed for real. Even Antichrist stirred among the flowers, alert to the movement, his snout pointed up at the sky of petals.

  Americ-Ana laughed, but the laugh ended before it could turn into a smile. Her voice came out low, pulled from deep inside.

  "I miss Poppa."

  Astyam answered with a certainty that felt borrowed from courage.

  "We’re going to get Poppandacorn back."

  Wwwyye nodded, firm, as if the promise were a contract.

  "Absolutely. That little guy is coming back with us. Sooner than you think."

  Americ-Ana let the air out slowly. She ran her fingers over the flowers on the bed, feeling their texture, their fragility, the life there.

  "We’ve all changed. We’re not the same anymore since we arrived at Equal One Zero Academy. Me… I’m not the same girl who was drawn and entered THE-IMPERIUM. I feel different."

  Astyam and Wwwyye didn’t answer. They agreed in silence, and that silence was more honest than any spoken word.

  The three of them and the little fox Antichrist were on the bed, contemplating the scattered flowers, absorbing, on some level, their naturalness, nature itself, there in the middle of a bunker where most things were artificial.

  ***

  Americ-Ana had been in a coma from December 26, 2024, to January 26, 2025, and that created a kind of delay that was not only academic, but existential. An entire month torn from her body. An entire month in which the world kept walking without asking permission, and when she opened her eyes again, there was a clear, uncomfortable sensation, as if someone had flipped too many pages of the book and now she would have to run to catch up with her own plot.

  Equal One Zero Academy resumed classes after Winter Break on January 06, 2025. When that date arrived, Americ-Ana was still trapped in the silence of unconsciousness, while somewhere inside THE-IMPERIUM, the routines returned, the schedules returned, the mechanisms returned, and the students returned to being pushed into the calendar like pieces that never stop moving. When January 26, 2025 finally arrived, it was not only the end of the coma. It was the instant Americ-Ana realized she was behind. Not by choice. By biological sentence.

  When she recovered enough to return to her studies, she did not return like someone who merely comes back. She returned like someone who has to make up for it. Americ-Ana was under house arrest inside the SAMKHYA CELL, and Astyam and Wwwyye had managed to obtain approval to remain there with her, instead of going to Crown Eden.

  House arrest did not suspend Equal One Zero Academy’s calendar. It only changed the scenery. So that Americ-Ana, Astyam, and Wwwyye would not be “out” of the official return of classes, the administration decided that instruction would come to the SAMKHYA CELL. No Moss Human teacher would be sent. Not after what happened to the last one.

  Nioh Nemmesis had murdered Professor Fiat Lux, and that murder was not treated as tragedy only. It was treated as precedent. The kind of precedent that turns prudence into rule, that makes the school trade presence for machine, voice for transmission, warmth for protocol. And so, a drone was designated as the teacher, with its cold lens, its neutral tone, its way of teaching without blinking, as if every equation and every text were being read as a sentence.

  Days later, Astyam discovered that it wasn’t a solution exclusive to Americ-Ana’s house arrest. The students who returned to the normal rhythm in Crown Eden had the same surprise. On the first day of class after Winter Break, when January 06, 2025 opened the doors of the calendar again, a drone appeared in the classroom as the teacher, in front of everyone, as if Equal One Zero Academy had decided that, from then on, education also needed to be policed.

  Outside the SAMKHYA CELL, the surveillance and security scheme made that clear at first glance. Drones in the air, drones on the ground, drones underground, all of them moving without rest, in a circuit that did not know fatigue, did not know distraction, did not know mercy. The sound was not exactly a sound, it was a presence, like a constant buzz that seeped into the skin and warned, all the time, that there were too many eyes out there.

  And there were also the Moss Human security, a small army molded for detention. They stood there, still, weapons ready, as if the word "surveillance" had been given a body. Sometimes Americ-Ana would lean against the bedroom window and see that perfect alignment, that almost aesthetic organization of force, and feel a shiver that did not come from cold, but from memory.

  Because that was exactly how Nioh Nemmesis had been kept.

  The memory came like a reflex, a small, precise blow, and Americ-Ana’s stomach tightened before any organized thought could form. The opulence of the weaponry was enough to unsettle, to make her heart more alert, to make her breathing shorter. But what truly hurt was what it represented. What it imitated. What it seemed to repeat.

  Nioh Nemmesis, the damned homunculus, the name that still left grime on the inside of the tongue, the same one who held Americ-Ana’s grandparents in the Wheel of Samsara, the same one who turned time into torture, the same one who made her family into a piece inside a mechanism. When Americ-Ana saw that army outside, she did not see only security. She saw a living photograph of what captivity had been, and it was as if the SAMKHYA CELL, for a few seconds, stopped being a castle and turned into a cage.

  So Americ-Ana stepped away from the window.

  And went back inside.

  Back to the books, to the schedules, to the super-intense mode, to the attempt to recover a lost month as if studying were also a survival ritual. Because outside there were drones and weapons and mechanical silence. And inside the castle, even after everything that had happened, Americ-Ana could still choose one thing. She could choose not to fall. She could choose to continue. She could choose to make the delay a wound, but not an ending.

  Inside the SAMKHYA CELL, despite the metal, the rules, and the feeling that everything there had been designed to control people, the castle remained alive for a simple, almost indecent reason. There was routine. There were hands. There was care. There were five presences that made the castle function as if it were, truly, a home, and not merely a structure with beautiful windows.

  In her free moments, Americ-Ana began to find refuge not in walls, but in those presences.

  Americ-Ana spent hours with Sparsha Vayu. It was not only conversation, it was the tone. The housekeeper spoke like someone arranging a storm on the inside, without needing to mention the word "storm." Americ-Ana listened, asked, insisted on small details, as if small details could keep her chest in its place. Sparsha Vayu, with a firm calm, made Americ-Ana feel that the world still had lines, still had structure, still had a possible "after."

  Americ-Ana also grew closer to Rupa Tejas. The garden, inside that bunker, felt like a provocation, and Rupa Tejas seemed to accept that provocation with serenity. Americ-Ana helped when she could, picked up tools, followed the care given to leaves and roots, and stayed silent watching work that had a beginning, a middle, and an end, something so rare inside THE-IMPERIUM. In the garden, time did not need to be a punishment. In the garden, time could be just time.

  With Gandha Prithivi, the relationship became another kind of battle, and it was a battle Americ-Ana lost many times. Americ-Ana offered to help with the heaviest cleanings, with an almost childish stubbornness, as if having to scrub, carry, lift, were a way to feel she still controlled something, that she still had use, that she still had a body. Gandha Prithivi did not allow it under any circumstance. The housemaid would stand still, solid, and speak with a conviction that refused negotiation.

  "It would be against my nature to allow one of the Masters to do my work." Gandha Prithivi said every time Americ-Ana tried to help her.

  Americ-Ana insisted. She insisted until the world grew tired. She insisted until logic had no room left and only the desire remained to do something, anything, so she would not become merely someone being cared for, watched, observed, regulated.

  And when Americ-Ana insisted too much, Gandha Prithivi would end up yielding, not as one who surrenders, but as one who grants a minimal gesture to keep the castle’s order intact. Gandha Prithivi would hand her a duster. Americ-Ana would dust the statues, dust the fireplace, and she did it with an almost devout attention, as if those surfaces, those figures, those stones, were silent witnesses that Americ-Ana was still there, breathing, returning to existence.

  In the kitchen, Americ-Ana became shadow and curiosity. She would hurry in to watch Rasa Apas during dinner preparations. It was not only food, it was method. Rasa Apas explained with calm and eloquence the dishes he prepared, described times, textures, temperatures, and he did it as if he were teaching an ancient science, a domestic alchemy that converted ingredients into emotional stability. Americ-Ana learned by watching, asking questions, memorizing the names of spices, watching the cuts, watching the pot, watching the way the cook never rushed, even when the entire castle seemed to live under invisible deadlines.

  And when night arrived, it was Shabda Akasha who closed the day like a ritual.

  Americ-Ana could always count on a glass of milk and a chocolate-chip cookie. Shabda Akasha brought the tray with the precision of someone delivering a promise. He put everything in its place, adjusted what needed adjusting, and then sat in the armchair in Americ-Ana’s room as if it were part of duty, and also part of affection. Shabda Akasha told a bedtime story, and the story, even if simple, carried the weight of something far more important than words, carried the idea that Americ-Ana did not have to sleep alone with the whole world in her throat. Shabda Akasha waited for Americ-Ana to fall asleep, and then left the room silently, as if sound itself could break something too fragile.

  Each of the five Moss Human reminded Americ-Ana of her grandparents in a different way. Not in appearance, but in gesture, in care, in the insistence on offering a minimally habitable world even when the true world had collapsed. And there was also another remembrance, stranger, more modern, more painful.

  Poppandacorn.

  The five Moss Human had that mixture of biological body with advanced robotics, and that made Americ-Ana think of the little panda without her thoughts asking permission. Poppandacorn was purely robotic, had no flesh, no blood, none of the same texture of life those five Moss Human carried. And still, to Americ-Ana, Poppandacorn had a heart more real than that of many people she had known. And that contradiction, that absurd truth, was exactly the kind of thing that made the SAMKHYA CELL feel cruelly ironic. Inside it, the most human thing Americ-Ana had felt in a long time came from things that were not, technically, human.

  The castle stayed alive like that.

  Not because of the walls.

  Not because of the rules.

  But because of those five Moss Human, and because of Americ-Ana, who clung to the everyday the way someone clings to an edge so as not to fall.

  But not everything in there was peace and love all the time.

  The routine inside the SAMKHYA CELL took on a rhythm that looked healthy from a distance, but on the inside it was an engine running above its limit. Astyam entered a state of continuous alert with final exams approaching, even with nine weeks still to go. Astyam did not call it fear. He called it responsibility. The difference was only the name, and his body did not care about names.

  Astyam spent most of his time in the library, reading and studying with Antichrist in his lap, as if the little fox were an anchor weight keeping reality in place.

  Antichrist stayed there, quiet, receiving Astyam’s fingers at the back of his neck, hearing pages turn and hearing that silence of someone trying to keep the future from falling on his head.

  Wwwyye, during her rest periods, chose the opposite of the library. Wwwyye stayed in the castle’s sports gym, training and exercising as if her body needed to burn off electricity so it wouldn’t explode. The sound of footsteps, the thud of balls, the repeated impact, all of it became an aggressive music, a way to scrub the mind by force.

  And Americ-Ana drifted into a dangerous middle ground. Americ-Ana went looking for air where there was affection, looking for small conversations, small tasks, small presences, as if every minute away from studying were a medicine that didn’t come with a label. The problem was that Astyam saw that choice as waste. And Astyam did not forgive waste when the clock pointed toward tests and evaluations.

  Whenever Americ-Ana got lost in anything that wasn’t studying, Astyam would appear. He appeared with that energy of someone who had already rehearsed the lecture in his head. He would talk for ten minutes without stopping, sometimes more, and he didn’t need to raise his voice to be relentless.

  "Americ-Ana, you fell behind. You know that. You need to recover what you lost. It’s not about wanting to, it’s about having to do it."

  "I heard you, Astyam. I heard you yesterday. I heard you the day before yesterday. I heard you last week."

  Astyam insisted as if repetition were a form of protection.

  "Then do it."

  And that was where Wwwyye entered the game.

  When Astyam went to the gym to scold Wwwyye, the entire castle seemed to hold its breath. Wwwyye was sweating, focused, keyed up, and Astyam arrived with the library in his voice.

  "Wwwyye, this doesn’t replace studying."

  Wwwyye didn’t even pretend patience.

  "No kidding."

  "I’m serious."

  "And I’m training seriously."

  Astyam tried to keep his tone steady, but tone was never the problem. The way he looked at her, as if everything had to be optimized, was what set Wwwyye off.

  There were days when Wwwyye got so stressed that she threw basketballs at Astyam. It wasn’t an accident, it was a message. Astyam hit back. He grabbed the ball, threw it back, and the war acquired a physical body. The gym became a juvenile battlefield, and the entire castle, which was already a prison, gained the irony of an arena.

  The castle’s five Moss Human tried to separate the two of them. They stepped into the space between Astyam and Wwwyye with a firmness that did not come from anger, but from function. A strange choreography unfolded, balls flying, quick footsteps, arms intercepting, and the dry crack of impact reminding them that friendship hurt, too.

  Sometimes Americ-Ana was nearby and heard these fights. She stepped in, not out of courage, but instinct, as if it were impossible to watch without trying to put out the fire with her own hands. But Americ-Ana always came away with bruises from the balls that hit her, and the worst part was realizing that not even bruises could silence the argument.

  "You two are ridiculous."

  "Ridiculous is leaving everything for later," Astyam would say.

  "Ridiculous is thinking there’s only one way to survive," Wwwyye would growl.

  Americ-Ana stayed in the middle, in pain and angry, thinking that SAMKHYA CELL could be big, could have more than a thousand doors, but when the three of them met, it was always the same narrow corridor, the same tension, the same choice: either studying, or collapse.

  There was one time when Americ-Ana was so irritated that she lost her filter completely. It was in the garden. Americ-Ana was with Rupa Tejas, and Astyam showed up with the same agenda, the same firmness, the same hammer.

  "Americ-Ana, library."

  Americ-Ana grabbed the hose.

  She didn’t plan it.

  She just did it.

  And the water hit Astyam with icy violence, and for a second the lecture became shock.

  "Are you crazy?" Astyam said, spitting water, wiping his nose.

  "I’m tired."

  But in the end, every time, it was Astyam who won. Not because the boy had strength, nor because he knew how to argue better, but because he was right, and being right was a cruel kind of victory.

  After the arguments, both Wwwyye and Americ-Ana knew. The two of them would enter the library in silence, without announcing surrender, without apologizing, without saying, "my bad." They would sit down close to Astyam and start studying. Astyam didn’t need to smile and didn’t need to speak. He would just turn a page and go on, as if that were the only possible language in that moment.

  In the end, no one apologized out loud, because the fact that the three of them were sitting there, studying together after a fight, was the most sincere way to ask forgiveness without saying a single word. And that silence, as hard as it was, also held a kind of affection, the affection of those who refuse to stop staying together.

  During Spring Break, the SAMKHYA CELL had one of those days when the air changes before anyone opens their mouth, as if the castle itself sensed that something big was about to pass through its gates. The drones outside kept patrolling, the Moss Human security kept standing still, and even so there was a new feeling in the corridor, a different weight, as if someone had shifted a piece on the board without warning.

  It was in that atmosphere that Director Popess Rock and the angel Reiyel appeared.

  Popess Rock did not arrive in a hurry, nor with hesitation. The Director arrived with the authority of someone who does not need to ask for passage, because passage already came signed. In her hand, she carried a judicial authorization coming directly from the Geburah Pyramid.

  Americ-Ana read and reread what she could read, and even before she understood everything, her heart already understood a word that was not written there.

  "Poppandacorn."

  Popess Rock was direct, as if delicacy were a luxury that only exists when reality is safe.

  "Daughter of God, it will be a supervised visit by me and the angel Reiyel. You will go to the Novaxtraai laboratory to see the current state of your Poppandacorn."

  Americ-Ana swallowed hard. She tried to answer, but her throat locked with the mixture of hope and fear, because hope and fear were Siamese siblings in those circumstances. And by that point, they had already grown too large.

  Astyam and Wwwyye went with her.

  Their presence was not a detail, it was a wall. Americ-Ana felt a small, almost invisible relief at not going alone. The kind of relief that doesn’t solve anything, but keeps you from breaking.

  When Americ-Ana crossed the entrance to the medical wing, her entire body reacted. It wasn’t only anxiety. It was muscle memory. It was the echo of the coma still lodged deep in her, reminding her that, there, the body could become an object with frightening ease.

  Popess Rock and the angel Reiyel led the three of them with firmness.

  The robotic surgery room had a brightness that was not welcoming. It was a clinical brightness, perfect, immune, as if in that place life were an equation and pain were merely a tolerable side effect. There were mechanical arms resting with the patience of predators. There were surfaces without dust. And there was, at the center of everything, what pulled Americ-Ana to the edge of the abyss.

  Poppandacorn.

  Poppandacorn was inside a "Neonatal incubator", surrounded by a constellation of wires and plugs going in and out of different parts of his small body. It was almost obscene to see so much technology connected to a creature so small. The image felt wrong for the world, as if someone had fitted a broken childhood inside a machine of war.

  Poppandacorn seemed unconscious.

  And he was still unrecognizable.

  Americ-Ana stopped and felt her legs go weak, as if the floor had lost its contract to hold her. There was a second when she did not know whether she wanted to come closer or run, because to look up close was to confirm, and to confirm was to accept a reality she had been postponing with all her strength.

  Americ-Ana’s chest tightened with a pain that was old and new at the same time. Old, because it was already grief. New, because it was still hope.

  Wwwyye took a step, then another, and stopped close, without touching anything, as if any gesture could break that fragile state. Astyam stayed farther back, watching everything with eyes trying to be rational, but failing, because sometimes even reason feels pity.

  Americ-Ana moved closer, slowly. The glass of the "Neonatal incubator" reflected her face with the QR Code marks tattooed in a cruel way, as if it were saying, "You are part of this too." She tried to find Poppandacorn in there, not in the damaged structure, not in the plugs, not in the wires, but in the idea of him, in what he represented, in the impossible heart she had always seen in that fully robotic panda, truer than so many people of bone and flesh.

  Her breathing grew short.

  "He…" Americ-Ana began, and didn’t finish. The missing word was too big.

  Popess Rock watched the effect of the scene on the three of them with the trained coldness of someone who had seen too much despair to allow herself to feel anything. Even so, her voice softened by one degree. Just one, as if she recognized there were limits even to discipline.

  "The recovery results are within the expected standards, daughter of God."

  Popess Rock said it the way someone offers a handrail in the middle of a dark staircase.

  Americ-Ana didn’t answer. She only stood there, absorbing every detail, every wire, every plug, every vital sign, as if memorizing were a form of protection. She felt an absurd urge to apologize to Poppandacorn, as if all of it were her fault. She felt like promising impossible things, as if promises made in the present could change the past.

  Astyam looked at Popess Rock, searching for confirmation in practical terms, numbers, deadlines, anything that could be safe. Wwwyye kept staring at the "Neonatal incubator" the way you stare at an enemy, not because she hated Poppandacorn, but because she hated what they had done to him, hated the fragility, hated the feeling of powerlessness.

  Americ-Ana stayed there longer than her body wanted, and less time than her soul needed. Because supervised visits always have an invisible clock, and the invisible clock always wins.

  When Popess Rock and the angel Reiyel led the three of them back, Americ-Ana looked one last time at Poppandacorn. It wasn’t a goodbye. It was a silent vow. One of those vows that don’t have a pretty sentence, don’t have ready-made poetry, only a decision made deep in the chest.

  And then the door closed.

  And the Novaxtraai laboratory fell behind them, with its perfect lights, its cold silence, and that small metallic heart trapped between wires, plugs, and the brutal promise of recovery.

  As the days passed, the interior of the Prince Equal One Zero Pyramid and the other pyramids and bunkers of THE-IMPERIUM began to change. The artificial sun grew more present, more sunlit, as if the light had been calibrated to seem real. The air changed too. It became warmer in the right measure, without suffocating, without failing, and a mild breeze began to circulate with constancy, too gentle to be chance.

  All of it was THE-IMPERIUM’s artificial control of time, the effort to turn the underground into something as natural as possible compared to the common world, only better, more comfortable, more perfect, even if artificial. And that was exactly where the discomfort was born. The “better” in there had no innocence. It wasn’t weather, it was engineering. It wasn’t a season, it was programming.

  The change brought a silent comfort, but it also brought the sense that the system was preparing, adjusting the set, tightening the gears calmly. Spring inside the bunker felt like an invitation and, at the same time, a warning. Final exams were coming.

  When the final exams finally arrived, the castle seemed to grow narrower on the inside, as if every corridor knew what was coming. Equal One Zero Academy did not send “proctors.”

  It sent eyes.

  Three drones were assigned to supervision, one for each of them, spaced far enough apart that there wasn’t even the fantasy of cheating. They hovered in front of Americ-Ana, Astyam, and Wwwyye like floating sentences, a red signal blinking, cold, constant, insultingly calm.

  The drone didn’t watch only hands. It watched the entire body. It recorded micro-tremors, cardiac variations, shifts in breathing, moisture forming on the forehead, the blood’s haste trying to pretend to be normal. The red light blinked as if it were keeping the time of a trial, and every blink seemed to say, "I know." Americ-Ana understood quickly that this was not an exam, it was an experiment about pressure.

  Wwwyye tried to begin, tried to ignore it, tried to act as if it were just another everyday absurdity of THE-IMPERIUM, but her limit had a clear edge. It took only a few minutes with that red beating into her eye for her body to react as if the air itself were provoking her.

  "I can’t concentrate with this shit in front of me, blinking that idiotic light," Wwwyye shouted, without measuring her volume, without filtering her rage.

  The shout didn’t die in the hall. It was captured. The drone remained there, impassive, and registered everything as if sound were just one more datum. In a few seconds, the message itself arrived as behavior correction, dry, inevitable, informing her that supervision was mandatory and that, if Wwwyye insisted on profanity or on disrupting other people’s concentration, her exam would be deemed invalid. There was no arguing with a machine that had no pride to bruise and no mercy to bend. Wwwyye shut her mouth with hatred, and that silence cost more than the shout.

  Astyam, who had arrived at the exam as if entering an armed temple, fell into a different kind of chaos. His body decided to betray discipline with a sneezing fit, one after another, as if his nose had gone to war with the world. He tried to hold it in, tried breathing through his mouth, tried negotiating with himself, but the sequence didn’t stop. At some point, the scene became ridiculous in how specific it was, and the ridiculous didn’t relieve the tension, it only made the tension more cruel. Astyam used seventeen bottles of nasal spray throughout the exam, counting them like ammunition, and every press on the nozzle felt like a hurried prayer for his body to stop sabotaging his mind.

  Americ-Ana, in turn, didn’t have a loud crisis. She had an intimate one, the kind that happens on the inside and leaves the skin betraying it. She broke into a cold sweat. She felt stomach pain as if her whole body were trying to expel fear. The drone’s presence behind her wasn’t only surveillance, it was a continuous invasion, a feeling that even shame had become a protocol item.

  Americ-Ana needed to go to the bathroom at least three times, and each time was the same, and that was why it was worse. The drone followed her. Not out of malice, out of rule. Not out of curiosity, out of programming. Americ-Ana stopped at the bathroom door, breathed as if she were about to apologize for existing, turned her face and met that mechanical eye without eyelid.

  "I’m not going to be able to do this with you here watching me," Americ-Ana would say, her voice low, more irritated than pleading.

  The drone would turn, as if granting her a charity that was only an angle, and Americ-Ana would rush into the bathroom to relieve herself.

  The exam ended with the three of them drained, each in their own way. The results came later with the usual coldness of an institution that doesn’t recognize sweat, only grades. Astyam earned the highest mark. Wwwyye earned the mark necessary to pass, and in that “necessary” there was a victory exactly the size of survival. Americ-Ana earned a grade within the average, and the relief she felt didn’t taste like pride, it tasted like “at least I passed,” as if her body had finally been authorized to breathe.

  On June 10, 2025, the last day of class, the SAMKHYA CELL castle woke to that kind of silence that only appears when routine is about to be interrupted by a simple word: "Vacation." It wasn’t joy yet, it was preparation for joy, as if the body needed to remember how to relax.

  The drone-teacher performed the final ritual without human ceremony, and maybe that was why it hurt in a strange way. It wished them good vacation, registered the closing, and floated out the way it had come in, without looking back. The sound of it disappearing down the corridors felt like a door closing inside Americ-Ana’s head.

  Later, Americ-Ana, Astyam, and Wwwyye gathered in the entrance hall.

  The suitcases were already packed.

  “Suitcases packed” in the sense of accepting that that period of house arrest and intense studying had become an entire chapter of their lives, and now it was being folded and put away.

  Wwwyye punched the air, as if she wanted to hit the very idea of freedom, and let out a smile that looked stronger than it was happy.

  "Finally, the well-deserved vacation."

  Astyam straightened his posture, still carrying that way of someone already organizing a mental list of what needed to be done, even in the minute when the world said, "rest."

  "Are you going somewhere specific to rest, Wwwyye?"

  "I’m going to Europe to visit my grandmother."

  Astyam looked at Americ-Ana. Americ-Ana looked at Astyam. The two of them started laughing, the kind of complicit laughter that’s born of history, not the line.

  Wwwyye crossed her arms, offended for half a second, and then pointed a finger at the two of them like someone threatening a sentence.

  "Hey, cut it out, you two, because this time I’m really going to visit my grandmother. I’m not going to Ibiza. Not yet."

  The mischief in her voice landed like a wink without blinking. Astyam drew a deep breath, trying to keep a straight face, and failed.

  "I’m staying with my parents until the end of the month. Then I’m going to a Biblical Studies camp. With all this King Solomon stuff, Jewish mythology, angels, demons, Psalms, I mean, I want to go deeper."

  Wwwyye rolled her eyes with perfect theatricality.

  "My God, Astyam, only you would spend your vacation studying."

  Astyam didn’t take offense. He looked proud, as if it were a compliment.

  "But before anything else, I need to go to Crown Eden to celebrate with the other academics of the Organ The Strategist. For yet another consecutive year, the Organ The Strategist managed to keep the record of seals won in the KING MatNat Games."

  Americ-Ana nodded, and her gaze turned serious for an instant, as if pride came with worry, because in there, celebration always flirted with danger.

  "Congratulations, Astyam. I hope you have fun, but be careful."

  "I always do," Astyam replied, simply, as if the word were a habit.

  Wwwyye then turned to Americ-Ana and her expression softened by an almost imperceptible degree.

  "But what about you, Americ-Ana, where are you spending vacation?"

  Americ-Ana let out a small laugh, without joy, only tired irony.

  "Well, I have no choice but to go back to the common world and stay under my guardians’ supervision. Translation: I think I’m going to spend vacation cooking for a pig named Mister Bacon."

  Astyam smiled to the side, like someone rediscovering an old joke.

  "My God, I’d already forgotten about that pig you mentioned. The pig who eats bacon."

  Wwwyye broke into a wide grin and shook her head.

  "Man, that’s as bizarre as it is funny."

  The three of them laughed, and for a few seconds the SAMKHYA CELL seemed to grow lighter.

  It was in that interval that Astyam lifted Antichrist into his arms. The little black fox settled in. Astyam called the butler, and Shabda Akasha approached with his usual reverence, precise, discreet.

  Astyam handed Antichrist to him carefully.

  "Please take good care of him while we’re away."

  Shabda Akasha received the little fox as if receiving a sacred relic.

  "Of course, Master. Have a wonderful vacation and do not worry. We will keep everything in order."

  Astyam seemed to want to say something else, but the knot that formed in his chest arrived before the words. He breathed, looking at Americ-Ana as if he were measuring the goodbye for the first time.

  "Well, that’s it. I guess I should go. I’m going to miss you."

  Americ-Ana didn’t let him finish with that distance.

  "Don’t leave without giving me a hug."

  Astyam hugged Americ-Ana, and their hug carried that heavy silence of people who have been through too much to make a scene. When he stepped back, he turned to Wwwyye, as if still searching for courage at the last second.

  Wwwyye raised a hand immediately, cutting the movement in midair.

  "Don’t even think about hugging me, or I’ll go to the gym, get a basketball, and hit you dead-on."

  Americ-Ana let out a laugh, her eyes already shining, and answered without mercy.

  "Then you’re going to need to get two basketballs, Wwwyye."

  Before Wwwyye could protest, Americ-Ana pulled Astyam by the neck, pulled Wwwyye by the arm, and the three of them fell into a tight, awkward hug.

  "Thank you for everything," Americ-Ana whispered in the middle of the hug, as if afraid the sentence would break if she said it out loud.

  "Thank you, both of you," Astyam replied, his voice low, more honest than pretty.

  Wwwyye grumbled, trying to keep her armor on until the end.

  "My God. I’m not going to cry."

  She pulled away too fast, turned her face, and brushed a hand near her eyes with a gesture that gave everything away.

  "A speck got in my eye."

  Astyam didn’t comment. He only waved one last time, took the path, and went out through the entrance hall door.

  Wwwyye stood still for a few seconds, looking toward the exit, and when she turned back to Americ-Ana there was a new firmness in her.

  "That’s it. I’m going too. Americ-Ana, just one thing: out there in the common world, remember who you became here in THE-IMPERIUM. Use that as strength and don’t let anyone make you smaller, not even hungry pigs. And I’m not talking about Mister Bacon."

  Americ-Ana smiled through tears, a fragile smile that still managed to exist.

  "Okay. Thank you."

  Americ-Ana took a step to hug Wwwyye, but Wwwyye slipped away immediately.

  "No. Enough melodrama. See you."

  And she walked out the door.

  Americ-Ana spent almost a full minute laughing at Wwwyye’s reaction, when a noise outside announced that someone had arrived.

  Then, in the entrance hall, the Chancellor appeared. Beside her stood a police agent from the Geburah Pyramid.

  "Fac Foedus, honey!" the Chancellor said, enthusiastic. "Your penalty is finally over. Now you’re free."

  "Free." Americ-Ana repeated the word, and in that moment she couldn’t tell what that word meant.

  Then the police agent from the Geburah Pyramid stepped up to Americ-Ana and read the Judge’s decision that determined the end of Americ-Ana’s sentence:

  "Fac Foedus, Americ-Ana Delsilva!

  On June 10, 2025, at the SAMKHYA CELL, located in the Prince Equal One Zero Pyramid, in the ENIGMA GEMINI bunker, within THE-IMPERIUM, United States, the present instrument is issued to CERTIFY AND GIVE NOTICE that the penalty imposed by the Geburah Pyramid upon the defendant identified above has been fully served, as evidenced by the official surveillance and penal-execution records attached to the case file.

  It is further verified that there is no subsequent misconduct nor any credible report that would discredit this release, for which reason the fulfillment of the measure is hereby DECLARED CLOSED, with immediate effect as of this date.

  The Chancellor of the Portals is hereby designated and charged with arranging the defendant’s supervised transport to the exit of THE-IMPERIUM, providing the transit records, passage authentication, and the removal of restrictions within the competent systems.

  The defendant is hereby MADE AWARE AND WARNED that she is not authorized to return to THE-IMPERIUM before August 14, 2025, under penalty of violating a jurisdictional restriction, with the applicable administrative and judicial consequences before the Geburah Pyramid.

  Let notice be served. Let it be carried out. Let it be recorded.

  All parties notified.

  Fac Foedus!"

  After the police agent finished reading, he stepped up to Americ-Ana, took out a portable code reader, and scanned the QR Codes tattooed on her face.

  Right after that, the police agent raised a small screen, something like a tablet, and said:

  "Please place your right hand here on the screen, on the symbol that corresponds to the right tattoo on your face. Then do the same with your left hand."

  Americ-Ana felt confused.

  "Right?... Left?... uh..."

  Americ-Ana tried to press the corresponding buttons on the screen, but only made herself more confused.

  Until the police agent helped her. He said:

  "Miss Delsilva, if I may say so, I think you have ADHD."

  Americ-Ana startled.

  "ADHD? Really?"

  The police agent added:

  "It only seems like it. It doesn’t mean it is. It could be something else. Anyway… but perhaps it would be interesting for you to seek medical help."

  Americ-Ana grew thoughtful and frightened.

  Then the Chancellor led Americ-Ana outside the castle, where an activated Jump Chronos Station was already waiting.

  "May I ask something, Madam Chancellor?" Americ-Ana said, looking at the Chancellor before stepping through the portal.

  "Of course, honey. I’m here to clarify any doubt you have."

  "Are you really the original Chancellor, or just a ‘Sweet’ or ‘Sour’ version of that experiment?"

  The Chancellor let out a loud laugh.

  "It’s me, honey. The original version. Don’t worry."

  Americ-Ana looked unconvinced.

  "I just want to be absolutely sure, Madam Chancellor. Could you please let me see under your tongue?"

  The Chancellor laughed even louder.

  "Of course you can, honey. Take a look." The Chancellor opened her mouth. Americ-Ana leaned in and examined it.

  "Yeah… no rings with dolphin insignias. You really are the original Chancellor."

  The Chancellor said:

  "After all this mess with Nioh Nemmesis, the homunculus of Rabbi Worse Devil, and that Mister Dolphin Club project, the ‘Sweet and Sour’ was temporarily suspended. For now, in THE-IMPERIUM, no clones, homunculi, or golems. Only Moss Human and robots are allowed. At least until things calm down."

  Americ-Ana nodded. Then a mix of doubt crossed her mind.

  "Madam Chancellor, when you appeared at that hearing in the common world, when you gave me Poppa as a gift, when we were in the Cryptakashic I inherited from Helena Blavatsky, was it your ‘Sweet’ version who was there with me?"

  The Chancellor nodded yes.

  "Madam Chancellor…" Americ-Ana began, and looked down at the floor. "Can you tell me if all those beautiful words, those explanations… I mean… I felt welcomed by you in that moment… even Poppa… Was all of that real, from the original Chancellor, or was it only something from your ‘Sweet’ version?"

  The Chancellor lifted Americ-Ana’s head with her hands.

  "Of course it was completely the original Chancellor, my self, my essence, honey. In that moment, I only wanted to be one hundred percent assertive, so I ended up sending my ‘Sweet’ version of that experiment. I did it because I was afraid I wouldn’t be able to be the friendly, receptive shoulder in that moment when you needed it so much. You were in a cell, Americ-Ana, honey. You were being judged. The society of the United States of the common world was labeling you from their point of view, and the most important thing of all, meaning who you truly are, no one was paying attention to, or even wanted to know. So I did it because I didn’t want to fail you in that moment. And today, even if I still had access to my ‘Sweet’ version of that experiment, I still would have come to you, on your last day of this academic year, as my original version. Because when I look at you standing here in front of me, I no longer see an illegal immigrant child trying to protect herself from the world. Today, I see no longer a child, but a woman who grew up in so little time, not because she wanted to, but because life demanded it, and you showed life and the world that you no longer need to protect yourself. Today, Americ-Ana, when I look at you, with everything you did in THE-IMPERIUM, I mean… you were the first Initiate of our century to beat LEVEL ONE of the KING MatNat Games and reach LEVEL TWO on the first try. And as if that weren’t enough, you also faced, unmasked, and brought an end to the homunculus of the number one enemy of all THE-IMPERIUM. So today, honey, I come to you as myself and tell you that you no longer need to protect yourself from the world. The world needs to protect itself from you."

  Americ-Ana couldn’t hold back her tears and hugged the Chancellor. The two of them stayed there, holding each other for a long time. Americ-Ana lifted her face, looked at the Chancellor, and said:

  "But my grandparents. I feel so much about them. I lost them here. I lost them in THE-IMPERIUM."

  The Chancellor lifted Americ-Ana’s head again, looked into her eyes, and said:

  "Honey, there is a way for you to get your grandparents back. There is a way for you to save them from the Wheel of Samsara."

  "There is? Really? How? How do I save them?" Americ-Ana asked, a glimmer of hope lighting up in the depths of her eyes.

  "Honey, you can play KING MatNat, gather the 72 seals, and reach Lucifer. Lucifer is the answer to saving your grandparents."

  Americ-Ana looked down at the floor again, her mind working at full speed. When she looked back at the Chancellor, she said:

  "I’m going to the common world, but I will come back. And when I come back, I will make every pact possible and attempt the impossible to save my grandparents from the Wheel of Samsara."

  The Chancellor smiled.

  "I know you will, honey. I know you can."

  Then the Chancellor hugged Americ-Ana tight.

  Americ-Ana stepped through the portal.

  When Americ-Ana arrived on the other side of the Jump Chronos Station, she emerged behind the Hollywood sign, behind the letter "Y", the same place the common world had last seen her.

  "Fac Foedus, Devochka! Welcome back to the common world." Medvedh appeared, greeting Americ-Ana.

  "Fac Foedus, Americ-Ana! I’m happy to see you’re well." Vellasko stepped forward and gave Americ-Ana a strong hug.

  "We’re here to take you safely to Malibu," Medvedh informed.

  "Americ-Ana, there is a simple rule to follow here in the common world. That rule is this: What belongs to THE-IMPERIUM stays in THE-IMPERIUM," Vellasko said. "Are you ready?"

  "Yes, I am!" Americ-Ana replied with conviction.

  Medvedh spoke, stepping closer and placing his hand on Americ-Ana’s shoulder:

  "For THE-IMPERIUM!"

  Americ-Ana lifted her arm and placed her hand on his shoulder. Then she answered:

  "No!"

  Vellasko stared at her, eyes wide.

  Americ-Ana concluded:

  "For myself!"