Chapter 30: A Theory

  I couldn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong.

  We’d been inside Azup for a little over an hour, and that discomfort was still glued to the back of my neck like a cold hand. I’d already checked the concepts around us more than once, trying to find the crack: a lie, a loose thread, an emotion out of place.

  Nothing. Everything was exactly as it should be—which only kept me frustrated and uneasy.

  übermenchs coming and going everywhere. Whole families. Couples. “Old folks” on benches. Kids running. Laughter. Calm eyes. The kind of peace that doesn’t exist in this shitty world. At least not without a price, or a higher power backing it.

  “What is it about this capital that has me this on edge?” I thought, walking without hurry through Azup’s peaceful streets, the kid in my arms staring at everything with curiosity, like she was seeing it all for the first time.

  “Aside from the fact that cities where peace rules are rare.”

  It was strange, yeah. Because peace wasn’t a natural state out there. Humans, übermenchs, or any creature in general—it didn’t matter the species or beliefs, everyone corrupted easily. Desperation ate you from the inside and turned you into something worse. And if desperation didn’t do it, power was always tempting.

  And in Azup there was no desperation. It was like those stories I used to hear about the Empire of Messias or the city of the First Saint. Places where the concept of misery didn’t exist. Impossible places, in my opinion.

  We took a short walk down the main avenue: a wide street stretching like an arrow all the way to the entrance of the royal palace. In the distance I could pick out three of the five Rank 8s, and the bishop. You didn’t have to be a genius to guess it was an important meeting. On-duty personnel. Ordered movement. Everything run with that efficiency, uprightness, and discipline. It was the first time I’d ever seen soldiers do their job so reliably.

  The baby, meanwhile, didn’t know any of that. Or she did and just didn’t care.

  She shifted restlessly against me, turning her head to see as much as possible. Lights, signs, display cases. Any stupid little thing.

  And that’s when I saw the shop.

  A dessert shop.

  The smell seeped out even from the street—sweet and warm, fresh-baked dough and chocolate. I stared at the sign for a moment without admitting it.

  The kid had never tasted anything like that. Odds were she didn’t even know what sweet really was. And watching how curious she was about everything around us, a small treat wasn’t a risk.

  For an instant I felt something strange. An old emotion, almost ridiculous, trying to crawl out.

  I stopped it.

  I didn’t have time for that. Better said, I would never have time for that. Not in this world, and it was better that way.

  The shop was cozier inside than you’d expect. Pale wood, heat set just right, clean display cases. The kind of place where people relax without thinking they might die tomorrow.

  A waitress greeted us with an easy smile. Attentive eyes. Soft voice.

  “Welcome. First time in Azup?”

  I didn’t answer. Just gave a small nod. I figured my appearance wasn’t exactly common in this city.

  She looked at the baby and her tone changed—even sweeter, like she was talking to something fragile.

  “Aww! Look at her. Hi, pretty girl. I’m Ster—what’s your name?”

  The baby was a little surprised by the closeness and the waitress’s friendliness. But she relaxed a bit as she smiled back, small and sweet.

  Ster laughed quietly and led us to a table off to the side, more private. I liked that—fewer eyes on me.

  She left the menu and went to another table.

  I looked at it with no interest.

  I wasn’t ordering anything. Nothing guaranteed the food didn’t have even the tiniest trace of those damn mushrooms. I wasn’t willing to risk it.

  The baby, on the other hand, stared at the menu like it was a holy book. She turned the pages clumsily, looking at drawings, colors, and names she could understand—and that was exactly why she loved them. Perks of being the user of a mind-boosting ability, I guess.

  “If you can’t choose, you can order everything,” I said quietly, flat. “I can store leftovers for later, and money isn’t a problem.”

  She looked at me for a second.

  And shook her head.

  Then went back to the menu with ridiculous focus, like she was picking a book.

  I couldn’t help a faint smile. Luckily, the mask hid it.

  Ster came back a bit later.

  “Have you decided?”

  The baby, like she’d been waiting for that exact moment, pointed at a chocolate milkshake and some weird flan with cream and fruit. Ster repeated the order with enthusiasm.

  I saw the symbols in the description. Mushrooms. Of course.

  I ignored it. They weren’t harmful to übermenchs—at least not in amounts that small.

  “And for you?” Ster asked, leaning toward me.

  “I don’t tolerate sweets. I’ll pass this time,” I lied without thinking much.

  Her eyes widened with genuine pity.

  “What a shame. Still—I’ll make sure the little one loves it. I promise. And in this place, we keep our promises.”

  She left with energy, like she’d done me a favor. Or was I the one who’d done her one? Either way, she looked oddly motivated.

  And there, when we were alone, the discomfort came back harder.

  Not just because something felt wrong.

  Because of the obvious: I had no idea what to talk about with a baby.

  I didn’t even know if she had a name.

  Was I supposed to give her one? Ask what she preferred? Was that stupid? Was it cruel?

  I felt… clumsy.

  And that annoyed me more than any threat. It was irritating to spiral over something so insignificant. But I couldn’t help it.

  Ster returned with the order. The milkshake smoked with cold. The flan shone a soft yellow, almost white. Small fruits peeked out on its surface. And the cream gave it that magical touch.

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  The baby looked at it like it was treasure.

  She tried the flan first.

  And like it was a public event, people around us started watching.

  Not just Ster. A couple coworkers drifted closer. A few customers too. Like everyone was waiting for a reaction they cared about way too much.

  “Well, little one?” Ster asked, nervous, hands clasped tight.

  Everyone waited.

  The baby chewed once.

  Twice.

  And then…

  She didn’t make a sound of approval.

  Didn’t smile for them.

  Didn’t “celebrate.”

  She just started devouring the dessert with pure delight, shoveling spoonfuls in with urgency, like she was afraid someone would take it away.

  That was enough.

  “Success! I’m the best! I’m so glad you loved it!” Ster blurted, relieved, and the others laughed with her, congratulating her.

  I stayed still.

  Watched the baby eat.

  The idea that something so small and weak had already been through so much so early—that a simple fruit-and-cream flan had her on the edge of tears—was… I didn’t know how to name it.

  And for a moment I thought something I shouldn’t have thought.

  “What if I leave her here?” It was a valid thought—after all, in only an hour this city had shown me nothing but good things.

  “In this city she could be happy.”

  The idea appeared like poison.

  And then the cold went straight through me.

  A cold that didn’t come from the weather or the outside. An internal cold—desperate, immediate. It squeezed my chest like a claw.

  I felt frozen.

  It wasn’t normal sadness.

  It wasn’t guilt.

  It was something else.

  An alarm.

  I could barely wait for it to end. When the baby finally slowed down, face smeared with cream as she reached for her milkshake, I was already on my feet.

  I pulled three silver church coins without thinking and dropped them on the table.

  Ster opened her mouth to say something.

  I was already leaving.

  “Sir—wait! That’s not…!”

  I ignored the complaints. Took the milkshake to give it to her later, and walked out with the baby in my arms, the cold still nailed inside me.

  When the door shut behind me, I breathed once.

  “What the hell was that?”

  It felt horrible.

  Something was wrong in this city and I didn’t know what. But curiosity had a grip on me. I wanted to figure out—at any cost—what was going on. Why, since the moment I entered, I couldn’t stop feeling uneasy.

  “Either way, I’ve got almost two days left. What’s the worst that can happen?”

  I wandered aimlessly for a while.

  Shops. Alleys. Clean streets. Parks so meticulously kept they looked stupid. Fountains. Playgrounds. Places where people sat and talked like the world wasn’t rotten.

  I watched concepts.

  And I still saw nothing.

  Eventually I found an inn for visitors. Picturesque. Well-located. Warm. The kind of place that would charge you a fortune in any other city. But not in this one. Seeing it firsthand was honestly funny.

  I went in with the baby. No one stopped me. No one asked much.

  I took a room upstairs and set the kid on the bed. She settled at the edge, right next to me, like it was normal to sleep beside an armed, masked stranger. Still a little affected by my three days in confinement.

  Within minutes she was drifting at the edge of sleep, breathing softly. Certain nothing would happen to her at my side.

  I stared at the ceiling.

  And started sorting the day’s information.

  It wasn’t much—but enough for a pattern to show. A theory forming in my head. If I was right, it explained every phenomenon I kept running into.

  First: money didn’t exist in this capital.

  I found out when I tried to buy some skewers the baby had taken an interest in. The vendor looked at me confused for a moment, then laughed—friendly. No malice.

  “Don’t worry, sir. Here everything is free. Everything belongs to everyone. That’s what our lord wanted.”

  Lord.

  They said that word too often.

  “Azup Huargo?” I asked.

  “The wisest. The most benevolent,” he said, with real pride. “Thanks to him we live like this. He’s done so much for us we could never repay him.”

  I confirmed it when I went back to the dessert shop.

  Ster greeted me with a brief pout over my sudden departure—like a petty child confronting her best friend. I apologized out of reflex. She smiled immediately, like she was forgiving me for an unforgivable crime.

  “Don’t worry. I already brought your money to the station. The guards are very kind—they’ll return it, I’m sure. Actually, they’re probably looking for you to give it back.”

  She sounded so confident I didn’t feel like ruining her illusions.

  So when I headed to the station, I was already prepared.

  “The heat police,” I learned they were called.

  The guards looked at me with concealed amusement and mockery when I asked about the money. Like they had an inside joke.

  “Money?” one repeated, like it was an old word. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, traveler. Maybe you’re confused?”

  I didn’t press.

  I didn’t need any more information than that.

  Second: the capital was divided into three “parts.”

  Not by walls. Not by signs. By behavior.

  On the edges—before the wall and the dome that “protected” the city—lived guards and officials. They did seem to have some sense of what was going on. You could see it in the way they looked. The way they spoke. The small enjoyment of having an advantage.

  It wasn’t strange to catch them making faint faces of contempt or ridicule toward some unlucky citizen.

  In the center stood the royal palace. That’s where Azup Huargo lived, along with the other Rank 8s I’d heard mentioned: his brothers Tórcax and Pólux. There was no clear mention of the other two Rank 8s, like they didn’t exist. And the bishop was there right now, too. An obvious conclusion.

  The palace wasn’t a palace.

  It was a fortress with a neighborhood inside. A core. A way to concentrate all political and institutional power.

  Members of the Huargo tribe were treated with absolute respect.

  But not out of fear.

  Out of worship.

  I literally saw a group of übermenchs kneel to kiss the ground where one of them walked.

  And the last sector was the most unsettling:

  The common people.

  Farmers, artisans, families.

  They lived in the middle, ignorant of what their lives meant.

  And worse: they were happy.

  I knew it wasn’t brainwashing—I’d checked. The concepts brainwashing leaves behind are murky, nothing like what I was seeing. If my theory was right, this was much worse.

  Third: the experiment.

  I couldn’t stop feeling uneasy at their lack of negative emotions. No concept around them indicated they could feel them. Like something had been ripped out of them—or inhibited. Better said: they couldn’t experience them.

  So I tested it.

  I picked a random guy. He was alone.

  I cut him.

  I cut off his arm.

  Not quickly—nothing clean that wouldn’t let him understand what had happened. No. I made sure he knew it was me.

  He screamed in pain. Logical: his arm was cut off.

  But what came next emptied me:

  He asked for help.

  From me.

  From the one who had cut off his arm.

  And not with fear. Not even anger or despair. Not a trace of malice.

  He asked for help like I was a neighbor.

  Like the world was kind.

  Like cutting off his arm carried no weight. He almost seemed to forget I was the one who did it.

  There was no deception. Those were his sincere emotions.

  Just faith that I was a good person.

  I boosted his regeneration so his arm would grow back. I did it to finish the experiment, not out of kindness. I didn’t feel any sympathy for these people.

  The guy thanked me. Can you believe that?

  He invited me to eat. Like I was his damn friend.

  What kind of sick joke was this?

  I left. I didn’t feel like dealing with them any longer.

  Also—on a random impulse—I asked someone about the cleanliness and order.

  It wasn’t deep. It wasn’t brilliant investigation. It was more like an ongoing irritation: every spotless tile, every wall without stains, every corner without trash scraped at my brain. Outside, in the wasteland, that was a fantasy. The world didn’t let you keep anything intact. Dirt was part of the scenery and life. Just another way to give misery a pulse.

  In Azup, that didn’t seem to be the case.

  So at some point during the walk, near a plaza with white benches and trees trimmed like decorations, I asked a local why the city was so clean and orderly.

  The answer was… curious. To put it mildly.

  “That’s Pólux’s thing,” the guy said, like he was talking about the weather. “He’s an eminence who can’t stand things being out of place. He loves order and cleanliness.”

  He said it like it was the most common knowledge in the world.

  “Pólux?” I repeated, even though I already knew who he was.

  “One of the lords in the palace. He passed laws to keep the city the way it should be. Very strict. No doubt he expects a lot from us—it would be disrespectful not to meet it.”

  The word strict kept spinning in my head.

  “And what happens if someone doesn’t follow them?”

  The man blinked, like the question was strange. He looked at the clean ground for a second, thoughtful, then shrugged.

  “Severe punishments.”

  “Severe how?”

  He didn’t know. Or didn’t want to say. Or didn’t care. More likely he genuinely didn’t know.

  “I don’t know. Severe. But it’s fair. That way we all live better,” he added, with that unbearable calm. “Besides, nobody wants to make a mess. Why would they?”

  I didn’t press.

  Because the lack of details was, in itself, a detail.

  They never specified the punishments. But I could imagine them.

  And it’s not like those laws were even necessary with how tame the inhabitants seemed.

  That was the problem.

  That even when they talked about “severe punishments,” they did it with a serenity that didn’t fit anything.

  Like the idea of consequences couldn’t even graze their skin. They didn’t seem to have any instinct for survival or self-preservation.

  I’d be surprised if they could say no to an order.

  I stared at the ceiling.

  There, in the inn bed, with the baby sleeping sweetly beside me, I finished arranging the theory.

  I already had an idea of what was happening.

  But I wanted a little more information before drawing final conclusions.

  That’s why I was going out tonight.

  I had a gut feeling.

  And if it was true, then Azup wasn’t a “peaceful capital.” You didn’t have to be a genius to see that.

  It was a perfect cage. Built for the enjoyment and depravity of a few—at the expense of the many, innocent and na?ve.

  I clenched my hands. I didn’t like the feeling.

  I lay back down—not because I needed to sleep. It was just better that way.

  “Should I keep sticking my nose into this?” I thought, closing my eyes.

  I didn’t answer.

  Because I wasn’t sure I wanted to hear my own response.