Future Changes — Chapter 5 part 4

Mother Ceres — After the VIP Box

The game was over.

The stands were emptying in waves of voices and hurried footsteps, leaving behind the smell of sweat, beer, and faint gunpowder.

In the VIP box, the lights were slowly going out.

Only she remained, standing before a large mirror framed in dark wood.

She was still wearing the same elegant outfit. The jewelry gleamed coldly against her skin.

Her eyes stared at her own reflection — a pair of eyes that did not blink, that seemed to judge her.

She smiled.

A small, restrained smile, almost sad.

And whispered to herself:

— Difficult, huh? Then so be it. They gave me nothing. Not even a respectable name without the shame of being a bastard. I took everything. I took it, and I never apologized.

She adjusted a ring on her finger, almost absentmindedly.

— They all want half of what I have… but not one of them could carry this for a single day. Not even the gods would dare do what I did with this womb and these hands.

For an instant, her shoulders seemed to bend beneath an invisible weight. A spark of exhaustion crossed her eyes — brief, but real.

And still… she raised her head again, hard as a rock, sovereign as a living statue.

— I owe nothing to anyone. Not to Arcadia. Not to those bastards. Not to the gods… — she paused, staring deep into the mirror — …especially not to the gods.

She turned and walked toward the door, her firm footsteps echoing through the empty hall.

The divinity she had built for herself was not a light burden.

But it was hers.

And let them dare try to take it from her.

Gots — On the Way Back

The armored train advanced through the night, like a metallic worm tearing through the frozen ground between Ceres and Arcadia.

Inside the carriage reserved for the Arcadian delegation, the silence was dense, broken only by the clinking of glasses and the monotonous pounding of the wheels against the tracks.

Gots, sitting alone in a corner, stared at his half-full glass of whiskey.

He could still smell that woman.

Her voice still echoed like a cold blade buried in his stomach:

"Our vagina produces children."

He swallowed hard, without the courage to take another sip.

He didn't know whether he was angry, ashamed, or afraid. Maybe a little of everything.

She was right, he thought.

Every syllable she spoke seemed to shove a finger into a wound that had been bleeding for centuries.

Ceres had become what Arcadia should have been.

And she mocked him, mocked all of them, like a cruel god pretending to teach lessons.

The bastards had become the owners of the house.

And he… he had no answer.

Sitting there, he realized: he hadn't known how to answer.

The dogs.

The black dogs were still there, loose in Ceres.

It had been one of Gots's last cards.

A small revenge. An experiment, as the scientists had called it.

Animals poisoned with hatred and disease, released into the clean streets of the city.

A touch of chaos.

A stain.

But now, in the silence of the carriage, even that no longer seemed enough to him.

He didn't even know whether the beasts would find anyone, or whether they would die alone, hungry and forgotten in the alleyways.

— Damn beast… damn woman. — he muttered to himself, his voice choked, almost a whisper.

He lowered his gaze to his hands — the same hands that had pressed the button to unlock the dog's crate.

He wanted to feel proud, but all he felt was the weight of defeat.

He knew Arcadia would not rise again anytime soon.

Not even with a thousand rabid dogs.

And her…

She would remain there.

Smiling with that contempt that seemed larger than the continent.

Kicking gods.

And still making everyone dream of being half the woman she was.

Gots leaned back in his seat, closed his eyes, and whispered so no one could hear:

— One day, Ceres… one day.

And the train continued into the darkness.

The cafeteria was packed early that morning, still riding the momentum of the previous night's rout.

Everyone came to greet the players sitting at the table. Applause, pats on the shoulders, proud smiles.

Cors, Gene, and Dark bragged shamelessly. Cors gestured as he recounted an impossible play, Gene smiled with the air of someone who had made history, and Dark… well, Dark even mocked the opposing team:

— And that number 8? A tank in the first half, a little baby in the second! He must still be nursing at his mother's breast! — he laughed.

Daime, as always, couldn't resist his infamous joke:

— Hey, Theo… you helped the guy get up twice, huh? All you were missing was sending him flowers afterward. You wanna marry him too? — and he burst into laughter, to everyone's despair at the table.

Dru, sitting a little farther away, made no attempt to hide the pride in her eyes. Ana too, arms crossed, with a restrained half-smile at the corner of her mouth. It was impossible not to feel the vibration of that victory throughout all of Ceres.

Then the cafeteria doors opened.

Silence spread, little by little, as everyone's eyes turned toward the entrance.

Ceres walked in, moving with her usual calm.

And yet, she seemed like another person.

The long black hair she had always worn — even on her worst days, even when they had found her weakened — was gone.

Now the strands ended straight, just below her shoulders, with a long, heavy fringe across her forehead.

And tied around her head was a white band with a faint peroxide stain, identical to the one Theo had worn during the game.

She walked firmly toward the table, without looking to either side.

The whispers in the hall were almost reverent.

It was as if everyone were seeing Ceres whole for the first time since she… had broken.

She sat beside Dru and Ana without saying anything.

The two couldn't help looking at her with surprise — and a small hint of restrained pride.

Even Dark opened his mouth to provoke her, but the intensity of Ceres's gaze made him swallow his words.

There was something new about that girl.

Something that wasn't just the haircut.

And Theo, on the other side of the table, raised his eyes, met hers for a second — and silently nodded.

The haircut, the white band, the posture: Ceres was whole.

For the first time in a long time.

Ceres didn't remain seated beside Dru and Ana for long.

A few minutes later, she stood with the same glacial calm, adjusting the white band over her freshly cut hair.

The entire hall remained in suspense, as if no one wanted to breathe too loudly.

She walked toward the table where Theo was sitting with Cors, Gene, Dark, and Daime.

Each step made the boys shrink a little more.

It wasn't just her beauty — it was something in her eyes.

Those eyes.

Blue like the clearest sky that had ever existed, and yet as cold as a frozen hell.

Eyes that hunted souls.

Ceres stopped before Theo.

The others fell silent, almost embarrassed, looking away toward their own trays.

Dark tried to force a mocking smile, but the intensity of Ceres's gaze silenced him without her needing to say a word.

She tilted her head slightly, letting the fringe fall across her forehead.

And then, she smiled at Theo.

A small, sharp smile, yet sincere — in a way no one there had ever seen before.

— Congratulations. — Her voice was low, but firm, like a seal upon his victory.

Theo slowly raised his eyes to her, holding her gaze without hesitation.

And, for the first time since he could remember, he felt that strange sensation:

as if his own soul were being hunted…

…and at the same time, set free.

There was something magnetic about that moment.

Like a silent pact sealed between the two of them, there, before everyone.

The others felt it.

Even without understanding, they felt it.

And in the back, still sitting beside Ana, Dru felt it too.

She felt every inch of that gaze that did not belong to her.

She recoiled, shrinking into her chair, her eyes welling up with silent pride.

Inside, it hurt.

But she understood.

Understood the message: Theo wasn't hers. He never would be hers.

And even so, she felt happy for him.

Because in that moment, at least one of them had been set free.

Ceres's smile vanished in an instant.

Her blue eyes became even colder.

Without even looking at the other boys at the table, she straightened her posture and spoke in a tone that allowed no argument:

— Ana. Dru. Kat. Gene. Now.

Gene's eyes widened in astonishment.

— Me? — he asked, pointing at himself, surprised.

— Yes. You. — Ceres replied without even blinking, already walking out of the cafeteria, waiting for them to follow.

Ana grumbled, crossing her arms before standing.

— You promised me, Ana… — she murmured to herself, almost a warning, almost a confession.

Ceres turned just enough to cast Ana a look that made her swallow hard.

— You already know. — Ceres said, her voice low, but echoing through the silence around them.

The two stared at each other for a long second.

It was a silent duel.

A reminder.

An old agreement.

And Ana gave in, as she always did with Ceres, releasing an irritated sigh and getting up behind her.

Kat stood next, head bowed, but attentive, and finally Gene, still completely unable to understand anything, looking at the others as if asking for help.

That was when Daime, at the height of his sharp tongue, commented loudly enough for everyone to hear:

— They're gonna eat Gene's liver and throw the carcass away!

Some laughed nervously, but Theo only kept his eyes fixed on Ceres as she left the cafeteria with her small entourage.

He didn't laugh.

There was nothing funny about it.

That woman… was capable of anything.

And outside, perhaps Gene was going to discover that in the worst possible way.

In the small coordination office, the atmosphere was one of waiting and tension.

Kat was sitting in the middle of the wooden bench, her fingers intertwined in her lap, lightly swinging her legs as if that could drive the nervousness away.

Beside her, Gene looked completely lost.

He looked from one side to the other, as if waiting for someone to explain what he was doing there.

— But… I don't even know what's going on… — he murmured, turning toward the girls.

Dru gave him a small smile, trying to disarm him.

— Stay calm, Gene. It's not about you.

Ana rested her elbow against the back of the bench and smiled as well, despite her acidic tone:

— Relax. The only thing you need to do is… stay quiet and breathe. And even that isn't mandatory.

Gene raised an eyebrow, confused, but before he could say anything, he felt a hand gently rest on his shoulder.

Ceres.

Standing beside him, she wasn't smiling, but her voice was low and firm, almost sweet — almost.

— Don't be afraid, Gene.

She then turned toward Kat, crouching before her so she could be at eye level.

Ceres's blue eyes were almost magnetic now, and Kat seemed to calm down just by looking into them.

— We're here for you, Kat. — Ceres said, and this time, yes, she managed a brief smile, almost conspiratorial. — We girls take care of one another. No matter what happens in there… we're with you. Stay calm.

Kat took a deep breath, trying to steady herself, and felt Dru and Ana smiling at her, one on each side, in a silent gesture of support.

— Everything's going to be fine. — Dru murmured to the girl, this time without the shadow of envy in her eyes.

From the other side, Ana added, her tone somewhere between sarcasm and affection:

— If it isn't… well, at least it'll be fun to see the coordinator's face when we get out of here.

Kat couldn't help a small nervous laugh, feeling, for a moment, less alone in the hell that was the school.

And then, the door opened.

The coordinator — an elegant woman with black-framed glasses and a stern expression — appeared in the doorway, holding a clipboard.

— You may come in.

The five stood in silence, but before Kat could take her first step, she felt Ceres's hand take hers and squeeze gently.

A squeeze that said more than any words: “You're not alone. I guarantee it.”

And together, with Gene still lost behind them, they entered the room to face whatever came.

Inside the coordination office, the silence was broken only by the scratching of the elegant woman's pen as she filled out the clipboard, as if this were merely another procedure.

Kat, sitting in the center, took a deep breath and looked at Ceres before speaking.

When she opened her mouth, her voice came out low, almost solemn:

— I… I'm pregnant. Two… two weeks.

The air in the room seemed to change.

Gene, beside her, froze.

His gaze went from Kat to the coordinator, then to the other girls, as if waiting for someone to say it was a joke.

But no one did.

Gene stammered, confused:

— What…? How…?

Kat continued, still without looking at him, answering the coordinator, who was reading from a checklist in an impersonal tone:

— Is this your first time?

— Yes.

— Signs of complications?

— No.

— Do you know who the father is?

Kat finally looked at Gene, who was still in shock.

— Yes. — she answered firmly.

The woman wrote it down, satisfied.

— All right, all right.

Then she raised her eyes to Kat and opened a wide, unexpected smile — a genuine smile, almost too happy for that kind of situation.

— Dear… you're going to love what comes next.

Gene, still stunned, seemed incapable of processing it, but there was no denying it anymore.

It was done.

The coordinator closed the clipboard and concluded:

— Welcome to the beginning of what we are. The beginning of what all of us are. This is where everything begins, and just look at us today. Alive, strong… because someone, one day, was a Mother.

The girls' eyes shone with restrained pride — they knew.

All of them knew what it meant to be one of the Mothers of Ceres.

Gene merely lowered his head, half smiling, half lost, trying to absorb that overwhelming reality.

That was when Ceres rose and took the floor, with that cold and majestic tone no one dared interrupt.

She raised one hand into the air and began the mantra, her voice almost ritualistic:

— Mother Ceres… who feeds us, who educates us…

And one by one, everyone in the room answered, as if it were engraved into the soul of every citizen:

— …and who devours us.

Once again, in unison:

— Mother Ceres… who feeds us, who educates us, and who devours us.

Gene repeated it along with them, hesitant at first, but feeling a shiver run through his body.

There, in that room, another destiny was being sealed, another link in the chain.

Kat, for the first time, managed a small, peaceful smile.

She was no longer alone — and she was no longer afraid.

As soon as the mantra ended, the coordinator dropped the clipboard onto the desk, took a deep breath… and her expression changed as if by the snap of her fingers.

That almost maternal, warm happiness — an almost sacred trance before Kat — disappeared, replaced by a mask of bureaucratic rigidity.

The gaze that had been gentle and proud toward Kat now swept over the rest of the group with disdain, almost disgust, as if the others were merely a burden she had to endure out of obligation.

She rose, walked toward Kat, and placed both hands on the girl's shoulders.

— You… — she said, in an almost worshipful tone — are going to be fine. You're one of us. I'll take care of everything personally.

Then she released Kat's shoulders and returned to her neutral, professional tone.

— Now all that remains is the paperwork. I'll send you for the standard tests at the medical station this afternoon. Nothing to worry about — it's only to officially confirm what we already know. — And then, in two days… we'll talk again.

Kat simply nodded, almost numbed by the mixture of fear and pride.

Gene tried to open his mouth to say something, but the coordinator wasn't even looking at him anymore — to her, he had no importance there.

She went back to flipping through papers, as if the group had already been dismissed.

Ceres, impassive, simply stood and made a discreet gesture to the other girls.

— Let's go.

One by one, Ana, Dru, and Kat stood.

Kat stopped for a moment before leaving, looking at the coordinator, who was no longer paying attention to her, and then at Gene, who seemed more lost than ever.

She forced a little smile at him and murmured:

— I'll be fine.

Gene stared at her in silence, swallowing hard, unable to answer.

When they stepped into the hallway, the girls walked together, and every gaze they encountered along the way — classmates, staff — turned toward Kat, who walked with her head held high.

Dru was the first to break the silence, with a mischievous smile:

— See? Everything's going to be fine. We told you.

Ana added, in a more serious tone:

— Now we just wait for the results.

Kat took a deep breath and looked ahead, more confident than before.

— Two days.

Gene came last, one step behind, still trying to absorb everything.

But inside him, something was already certain:

Kat was no longer just “Kat.”

She now belonged to something greater.

And so did he.

When the school doors opened onto the outer courtyard, the morning sun was already bathing the courts and gardens.

The five crossed in a line — Ceres in front, Kat right behind her, followed by Ana, Dru, and Gene — and the chatter of the other students fell silent as their eyes turned toward them.

It was a heavy silence, almost ceremonial.

Everyone knew.

Everyone understood.

Kat held her bag against her chest, her steps firm, but her heart racing.

She felt the gazes burning into her — fear, envy, reverence.

Ceres walked beside her, head held high and carrying that glacial magnetism.

It seemed as though she carried Kat with her gaze itself, as if saying, without words: you are no longer just you.

Daime, leaning against a low wall, was the only one to break the silence with an ironic comment:

— There she goes… a Pietà.

A group of girls nearby gave nervous little laughs and murmured something Kat couldn't understand, but she caught one clear word in the air:

Mother.

“Mother of Ceres.”

That was what they called the girls who went through this.

And everyone knew what it meant.

In the subterranean heart of the city, in the most protected part of the Administration Center, there was a place everyone feared and revered:

Pietà.