Gene’s Trial… and the Refuge — Chapter 10 Part 3

The Verdict of Mother Ceres

The news arrived quickly, as it always did.

In the cafeteria, in the courtyard, in the corridors: Theo and Dark had gotten into a fight in the locker room.

Some said Dark was bleeding. Others said Theo had gone down first.

But everyone knew it was only the beginning.

Mother Ceres summoned them that very night.

They were inside an armored train tearing through the city along a straight, rapid line toward the depths beneath the tower.

The chamber was cold, illuminated only by the central panel bearing the regime's runes.

She awaited them seated in her high-backed chair — a throne designed to remind them who was in charge there.

Theo entered first, head held high, but with his hands trembling behind his uniform.

Dark came right behind him, the corner of his lip bruised purple and wearing a smile he did not even bother to hide.

She stared at them for several long seconds.

And said nothing.

Her silence hurt more than any words could have.

Theo felt his stomach twist.

Dark, however, held her gaze, defiant, almost amused.

Finally, Mother Ceres leaned slightly forward.

Her voice was soft, but icy:

— You are my two favorite sons... and you act like two stray dogs fighting over a bone.

Theo felt his chest tighten.

Dark did not retreat an inch.

She continued:

— I cultivate you because I know what you are capable of. Because I see the potential in each of you.

But do not mistake my patience for forgiveness. I can... devour you at any moment.

She raised one finger, summoning one of the Silencers.

The man placed a golden pin in her hand — the same star of loyalty Theo had thrown away.

She spun it between her fingers, like a cat playing with a bird before killing it.

— Dark... — she called, without taking her eyes off Theo. — You kept this, didn't you?

Dark raised his eyebrows and pulled the crushed medal from his pocket, casually holding it out to her.

She took it and, without looking at him, smiled faintly.

— You devour sins without even feeling their weight, don't you, Dark? That's why I like you.

Dark did not answer. He merely smiled, wearing that same mocking smile.

Then she turned toward Theo, letting the full weight of her gaze fall upon him.

— And you, my loyal prince... — she said almost in a whisper. — Never ask me for love.

I do not love. I create. I shape. I destroy. I command.

She stood and slowly walked toward him, stopping only a few inches from his face.

— If you love me as you say you do, Theo... then shut up and be my dog.

Finally, she stepped back and waved them both away, as if dismissing unruly children.

— Now leave. Rest. And kill each other on the field tomorrow, if you want.

I want to see you put on a show for Oplan.

The Silencers opened the doors, and the audience was over.

Theo and Dark left together, side by side, without looking at each other, feeling the invisible weight of Mother Ceres still clinging to their backs.

After that night's meeting with Mother Ceres and Dark, Theo became lost in his own thoughts, as if her voice were still reverberating inside his mind:

— And you, my loyal prince... — she whispered almost inaudibly. — Never ask me for love.

I do not love. I create. I shape. I destroy. I command.

It was harsh, but Theo understood: even those words carried care.

If she did not care, she would never have summoned the meeting in such haste, that very night.

Mother Ceres tames her children, shapes them, keeps them alive amid hatred and resentment, but prevents them from destroying one another.

Dark loved provoking Theo, challenging him, testing him.

He delighted in chaos, in the adrenaline of danger, driven by a boredom that only increased his audacity.

Theo, by contrast, was polished — and politeness does not change a man's essence, it merely disguises it.

He could kill Dark not for pleasure, but out of a need for inner silence, for a moment of peace with his own soul.

But Mother had molded them with lead in their veins, ripping away their simplest emotions and leaving only strength, hatred, and pride.

And still, they felt.

Still, they reacted.

Dark amused himself along the tracks of the armored train, looking for trouble out of curiosity, for entertainment; Theo remained steady, a serious, relentless opponent, ready for the confrontation scheduled after the launch of his brother Major Tomas's rocket — another beloved son of Mother Ceres, each in his own way, each inside his own invisible prison.

She fed them hatred, pride, and strength.

Her children were perfect, with no apparent weaknesses: agile muscles, bodies rigid yet flexible, well-cared-for skin, blood nourished by water and quality food — everything calculated to create human machines.

Their bodies would be oil for iron gears; their spirits, captive.

Escape from Mother?

Impossible.

They were her children.

Quarrels, rivalries, hatred — none of these brought them any closer to the truth.

Anyone who dared come too close, Mother extinguished without remorse.

She wanted strong children, unbreakable, chained eternally to her will.

She fed them, educated them, shaped them — and, at the same time, devoured them.

They say that Mother Ceres, before any argument with any entity of the council — whether from Ceres or elsewhere — philosophizes on an empty stomach, to feel the very essence of her ideology.

Hunger defeats every principle; no one escapes it.

It hurts. It is relentless, as cruel as Mother Ceres herself.

To her, hunger was the greatest enemy.

While others debate with full stomachs, ignoring absence, she feels the emptiness, devours herself from within, allowing pain to shape her vision.

Mother Ceres tears souls apart that way, not because of what they think, but because of what they have — or do not have — in their stomachs.

That is why she fasts:

she lets her own body consume her, allowing hunger and hatred to shape her, preparing her children never to know the pain of going hungry — the worst pain a human being can feel, perhaps worse than death.

That was how she achieved her status as the lady of the continent.

Wealth, food, medicine, donations — all acquired without raising a weapon, without killing, without resorting to direct violence.

And yet, she defeated hunger and, with it, imposed her authority.

Theo and Dark, no matter how much they hate each other, carry this at their core.

Mother Ceres performs the miracle; she is the miracle.

She killed hunger, and because of that, they give her absolute, reverent, almost religious respect.

To them, there is no doubt:

she is the supreme Mother.

Mother Ceres.

The Stadium

The Oplan stadium was a white colossus, impeccably clean and intimidating.

The stands were already packed with citizens dressed in white, shouting slogans in support of the city.

A radio narrated every movement for the official network, but there were no cameras — no images for history.

In Oplan, everything had to be filtered.

In the visiting locker room, tension grew alongside the muffled sound of Oplan's anthem outside.

The coach was giving a bureaucratic speech, but no one was really listening.

They were already ready.

Theo sat in a corner, adjusting the bandages around his hands.

Dark stood leaning against one of the pillars, spinning the crushed medal between his fingers as if it were a coin.

For a few brief seconds, their eyes met.

There was no smile, but there was no pure hatred anymore either.

Only an unspoken pact:

no one would leave that arena weak.

The other boys on the team felt it.

Even the Silencers patrolling the locker room felt it.

There was a different kind of fire between Theo and Dark now.

And Mother Ceres, invisible there as always, felt it too.

The Ornamental Diving Pool

On the other side of the sports complex, Ceres and Ana were already in the women's locker room.

The pool water reflected Oplan's metallic sky.

The crowd shouted, eager to see them compete — not only against each other, but against themselves — just as Mother Ceres wanted.

Ana dried her hands and stared at Ceres with a malicious, yet nervous look, ready to land one final barb before the dive.

But Ceres, proud, took a deep breath.

She was the leader.

And leaders do not falter before the enemy.

The two walked side by side toward the diving board, while Oplan's hostile crowd waited for the spectacle of the two girls from Ceres challenging the air.

Up to that point, everything was only a test.

Everything was simply another chapter in the game Mother Ceres played with each of them.

And in silence, she smiled.

Locker Room in Oplan

The Oplan locker room looked more like a mortuary chamber than a place for athletes: cold metal walls, chilled to the touch, with red plaques embossed with the words “Discipline is Honor.”

The air was heavy, saturated with the smell of disinfectant and damp concrete.

On a narrow bench, Ceres sat with perfect posture, straight as a living marble statue.

Her black swimsuit, detailed in silver, seemed molded to her pale skin — so taut and powerful that it was impossible not to imagine the hidden strength beneath that stillness.

Ana finished adjusting the elastic around her ankles, seated on the opposite bench, her body equally slender but trembling with contained nervousness.

Her blond hair flowed like a golden veil over her shoulders, a striking contrast against the coldness of the room.

Between them, two Silencer soldiers stood like shadows, imposing in their dark-gray Kevlar armor, their faces completely concealed behind visor glasses covering their entire faces — expressionless, silent — a constant reminder that they were being watched with every word.

— Don't you dare stumble today, Ana. — Ceres's voice cut through the silence like a scalpel.

She did not even look at her rival as she calmly checked the straps of her own diving suit.

Ana raised her green eyes, flashing.

Her tone was mocking:

— You should worry about your own dive. Not mine.

Ceres finally looked at her.

Her blue eyes were deep and threatening as a storm-laden sky.

— I don't stumble. — she said dryly.

Ana laughed without humor, throwing her head back.

— You don't stumble... but you don't feel anything either, do you? Always that mask of ice.

I bet you didn't even blink when they burned Gene.

A muscle tightened in Ceres's jaw.

Her hand clenched into a fist on her own knee.

— Gene deserved every spark. — she replied coldly. — He betrayed Mother. Blasphemed. Theo did what any devoted son would have done.

You, Ana... you should be grateful you still have a place to kneel every day.

Ana gritted her teeth, leaning forward until she was almost nose to nose with her.

— Of course. Kneel to you too, right? Since you beat me in that ridiculous fight... barehanded — her voice dripping with venom — just to humiliate me.

Ceres did not retreat.

Instead, she leaned forward as well, so close that Ana could feel her cold breath.

— It wasn't to humiliate you, Ana. It was to remind you that I'm better than you, even without having to try very hard.

And that's what you hate.

Ana pulled away, furious, her eyes watering for a moment — but she would not let Ceres see it.

She turned toward the locker, breathing deeply, trying to regain her composure.

The Silencers did not move a muscle throughout the entire scene.

Ceres then rose with her usual grace and precision.

Her voice changed: it was still cruel, but now carried a motivating tone — because it had to.

— Listen. Today isn't about you. Nor is it about me.

It's about Mother.

The dive has to be perfect.

And I know you can do it.

You're good.

Good enough to stand beside me, not beneath me.

Prove it.

Ana, still facing away, clenched her fists.

When she spoke, it was quieter, almost a whisper:

— Don't think I'm doing this for you.

Ceres smiled faintly, a glacial smile.

— Good.

Do it for Her.

And don't you dare fail.

Ceres walked out first, her footsteps echoing through the metallic locker room.

Ana remained behind for a moment, breathing deeply, before following her — anger and determination mixed like gunpowder.

The Silencers walked behind them, silent as guard dogs.

In the corridor leading to the diving board, the mantra ran through their minds:

“Mother Ceres, who feeds us, educates us, and devours us.”

A reminder of what was at stake.

Today, they could not disappoint.

The Rivalry in Oplan

The corridor leading to the diving board was narrow, echoing with the sound of sandals striking the metallic floor.

Ahead, the red vinyl curtain swayed slightly, revealing glimpses of the illuminated pool and packed stands.

All of Oplan seemed to have gathered there — soldiers, children in white uniforms, politicians wearing golden insignia.

And at the center of it all stood a gigantic banner celebrating local supremacy, bearing its symbol:

a white eagle against a black background.

Ceres walked ahead of Ana, her body straight as a spear, her face impassive.

Ana followed closely, her green eyes narrowed, trying to force her breathing into a calm rhythm.

When they passed through the curtain and entered the pool area, the smell of chlorine burned their nostrils, mixed with the electricity of hundreds of eyes fixed upon them.

That was when they saw them.

At the opposite end of the pool, stretching, were Oplan's divers.

Two young girls, sculpted bodies, white swimsuits encrusted with golden details.

Their hair was pulled into immaculate buns, identical platinum blond hair gleaming beneath the gymnasium lights.

Their faces seemed carved from a single mold: pale skin, prominent bones, cold, pale eyes.

The girls from Oplan raised their heads when they noticed the visitors.

And then came the look.

A long, lingering stare, a mixture of disgust, envy, and contempt.

A look that said more than words:

that those two should not exist.

That they were an affront to perfection coming from the “wrong place.”

That, no matter how flawless they were in the dives, they were daughters of Ceres — and that was intolerable to them.

Oplan did not forgive.

Oplan hated.

Ana noticed first.

She felt a chill run down her spine beneath her swimsuit, but remained firm, her chin raised like the city that had raised her.

Ceres, however, did not even blink.

Her blue eyes moved across the rivals' faces as if they were merely part of the hostile architecture of the gymnasium.

Indifferent.

Cold.

Dangerous.

The Oplan divers whispered to each other, and one of them let a cynical smile escape.

But the smile did not last when Ceres's eyes settled upon them again, hunting their souls like an invisible scalpel.

The smile died.

Ana, despite herself, almost smiled at that.

Hanging from the ceiling between them was a gigantic banner displaying in white letters:

“The purity of the race begins in the waters.”

Ceres read the sentence and raised her eyebrows just enough to show her contempt.

Not even dogs, cats, or rats went hungry in Ceres.

Children did not waste away from epidemics.

There was nothing those girls from Oplan could do except stare — because perfection is not preached.

It is built.

Ceres and Ana exchanged a brief glance, not of complicity, but of silent understanding:

they were going to crush those two in the pool.

And they would do it for Her — the Mother who educated, fed, and devoured them.

When their names were announced over the metallic loudspeakers and the crowd erupted into restrained applause, the four began walking toward the diving-board stairs.

The rivals' eyes still burned into their backs.

But for Ceres and Ana, they were merely sparks extinguished before the fire.

The Rivals' Dive and the Decision

The entire gymnasium fell silent when the names of Oplan's divers echoed through the loudspeakers.

The two blondes climbed the diving-board stairs with the grace of those carrying the pride of an entire city on their backs.

Each step was accompanied by restrained applause and reverent gazes.

When they reached the top, they stood side by side, their backs toward the pool.

The spotlight made them even whiter, as if they were made of polished ice.

And then they began.

Their dive was a hypnotic choreography: perfect in synchronization, execution, and fluidity.

It was like watching a film in slow motion —

their bodies arching with mathematical precision, their fingertips pointed, their muscles tensing at exactly the right moment.

They spun through the air like golden screws, stretched like arrows, cutting through the silence with a dive that barely disturbed the water.

For a moment, even the Oplan audience stood motionless, entranced.

Even Ana felt a knot rise in her throat.

Even Ceres clenched her jaw.

When the two rivals emerged from the water and walked out to thunderous applause, Ana and Ceres remained standing at the edge of the diving board, watching.

They did not move.

They did not smile.

They did not applaud.

And then, together, they noticed.

Small.

Almost invisible.

The angle of the two rivals' feet, slightly too open during the final extension of the dive.

A detail.

A mistake.

Minuscule — but there.

Ana raised her green eyes to Ceres's blue eyes.

And Ceres was already looking at her, cold, as if saying:

I saw it too.

A dull hatred ignited between them in that instant.

An ancient, fierce hatred, inflamed by pride and the anger of having to share that podium with the other.

But for the first time...

They took that hatred, folded it like red-hot iron, and forged it into a single direction:

against Oplan.

Ana clenched her teeth.

Ceres, still motionless, simply turned her face toward the pool, keeping that predatory gaze fixed on the water, already planning every breath, every fraction of a second separating them from victory.

An almost imperceptible smile appeared at the corner of her marble-like mouth.

Almost perfect, she thought.

And almost is nothing.

When their names were called over the loudspeaker, Ana and Ceres began walking side by side toward the diving-board stairs.

The entire gymnasium watched them now.

And they were not friends.

They were not partners.

They were two opposing forces — forced to merge in order to crush their rivals.

They climbed without looking at each other.

But silently, both their hatred already had a target.

And for one cruel and sublime moment, they almost seemed like the same person.

Ceres and Ana's Dive

The judges sat in a line along the edge of the gymnasium, seated in bland white chairs like specters.

They were men and women from every corner of the continent — chosen to guarantee supposed impartiality.

Their clipboards gleamed beneath the harsh spotlight as they scribbled numbers that meant nothing yet.

Numbers that would only make sense after Ceres and Ana dove.

The announcement of their presence made the audience fall silent.

Ceres on the left.

Ana on the right.

They climbed the diving-board steps with identical movements, but each carried a different fire in her chest.

Every step was a duel.

Every breath, a provocation.

At the top, they did not look at each other.

They positioned themselves side by side.

The pale-blue water below seemed to invite error.

But for the two of them...

error was for others.

Never for them.

When they launched themselves, it was like hearing a symphony performed live.

One of the songs from Ceres's blacklist — those forbidden songs, their melodies censored by Mother and spread on magnetic tapes filled with static.

But there, in that fraction of a second...

there was no static.

No needle scraping against vinyl.

It was pure, crystalline, almost divine.

Their bodies arched together, mirrored, dancing over the void with brutal precision.

They drew mathematically calculated spirals in the air.

Fingers extended.

Feet perfectly closed — that miserable detail Oplan's rivals had failed to master.

And then, without a splash or hesitation, they entered the water like two spears, tearing through the surface in silence.

The crowd exploded.

The judges raised their clipboards.

Scores almost identical to those of Oplan's rivals.

Almost perfect.

But in Ceres, “almost” meant nothing.

And their nothing was still better than the others' everything.

When they emerged from the water and returned to the edge, Ana was already breathing furiously, even beneath the applause.

Ceres merely smiled coldly, her blue eyes like knives embedded in the blonde girl's face.

Ana approached her with an equally poisonous smile and whispered, her back to the audience:

— If you hadn't hesitated for half a second before turning... we'd have been perfect.

Ceres tilted her head toward her, still keeping her eyes on the judges.

— And if you hadn't locked your ankles a millimeter before entering the water... we'd have been perfect.

For a moment, they stood face to face.

Living hatred.

Arrogance bleeding from green eyes into blue.

And neither of them would admit that this hatred, this blame, was what kept them better than any of Oplan's rivals.

Then Ceres raised her chin and murmured:

— Our worst is better than their best. Remember that, Ana.

Ana clenched her fists and replied coldly:

— It's still not enough for me. I want perfection.

Ceres merely gave a half-smile of marble and walked toward the exit of the gymnasium, letting droplets fall from her black hair like tiny sentences.

Ana followed her, hating every step — but already planning the next dive.

The White Box

High above the roaring crowd hovered the White Box.

The only space in the gymnasium that did not seem contaminated by sweat and cheering — a rectangle of marble surrounded by tinted glass and dim lights.

At the center of the box, seated with the calm of a goddess, was Mother Ceres.

Her white dress flowed over her body like shimmering milk, its train falling over the steps in soft waves.

The crown — a circle of translucent crystals — surrounded her face with an almost mystical glow, like an inverted halo.

And at the center, concealing what everyone dreamed of seeing, the dark oval mask remained motionless and opaque, denying any human expression behind it.

No one had ever seen Mother Ceres's face.

And no one had ever dared ask.

Beside her, reclining in a black leather chair, sat Alac Bilac — the man who had never lost a battle.

The man called “perfect” by his legions.

The man people said made even the bravest soldiers piss their pants when facing him.

He wore neither crown nor mask.

Only the gaze.

And that gaze was enough to intimidate anyone who dared raise their voice.

And yet, Mother Ceres mocked him.

Her metallic, crystalline voice echoed from behind the mask, like a whisper carrying blades:

— Irony... a man who has never lost... loses today.

And it isn't even war.

Alac Bilac kept his eyes fixed on the pool, his jaw clenched.

The muscle in his temple throbbed.

He did not answer — only grunted, a low, almost indistinct sound.

Mother Ceres continued, merciless:

— I know you envy the ruthless city that is Ceres.

I know your own soldiers, with all their rotten ideology, already dream of being fed like well-trained dogs in our squares... while your people die of epidemics in filthy alleyways.

You know it.

I know it.

And they know it.

Alac Bilac's eyes blinked rapidly, but he did not answer.

He still looked down at the teenagers standing at the edge of the diving board — those two, white as the supremacists he himself worshipped, but fierce in a way nothing Oplan had ever produced.

— And look... — her voice became almost playful. — My toys are still under development.

Teenagers, Bilac.

And yet they are already better than any of your champions of supremacy.

Better than you yourself once were, perhaps...

The man breathed deeply, almost imperceptibly.

Defeat was not certain yet — the second dive would decide.

But he could already taste it burning on his tongue.

— If you fall... tell me, Alac Bilac... who will you ask for help?

Who?

Who will guarantee your gold?

Your banks?

Your starving soldiers?

Ah... you know the answer.

You always have.

The crystals of her crown glittered as she tilted her head, looking at him as one might contemplate an ant.

In the White Box, boasting was permitted, as were taunts, laughter born of hatred and power — it was part of the spectacle.

But Mother Ceres's boasts never sounded like mere boasts.

Even Alac Bilac felt it.

He knew, deep down, that her arrogance was always right.

Or almost right.

And to Mother Ceres, “almost” was nothing.

She was always above nothing.

For a moment, only the sound of water in the gymnasium filled the silence between them.

Mother Ceres smiled behind her mask and finally said, her voice soft and cruel as snow:

— Pay attention, Bilac.

Today you will learn that even perfection must kneel before Mother.

And indeed, he knew.

He knew he was already kneeling.

Even if he pretended he wasn't.

White Box — “The First Time”

The entire gymnasium seemed to hold its breath as Ana and Ceres's scores echoed through the loudspeakers:

a technical tie at the top, but everyone knew who had the upper hand.

On the platform, the two prepared for their second dive.

Down below, the pale, tense faces of Oplan's divers were already creasing with fear.

In the box, however, Mother Ceres's icy calm reigned.

Seated in her white chair, her dress shimmering like snow beneath artificial light, she did not need to look to feel the anger Bilac radiated beside her.

The perfect man.

Oplan's myth.

The undefeated general.

As motionless as a statue, but his silence had an unmistakable sound to her:

anticipated defeat.

She leaned slightly forward, resting her chin on the tips of her fingers, and let her provocation escape in an almost playful tone:

— If I wanted to, just to kill some time... I could destroy all of this.

Cut your supplies.

Close your accounts.

Let you starve for weeks...

just to hear the clinking of your empty medals.

Silence.

He did not answer.

She felt the knot in his throat.

Felt his pride tremble.

And then, for the first time in all those years of “cold war,” Alac Bilac spoke to her.

He turned his face toward the dark mask and said through clenched teeth:

— You... are sadistic.

The crystals of Mother Ceres's crown glittered beneath the lights of the gymnasium as she raised her head slightly to face him.

His first word to her.

She almost laughed — not from surprise, but from delight.

She had always expected that one day he would break.

Her voice came low, yet icy and full of mockery, without even turning the mask toward his face:

— Ah, Alac... don't confuse sadism with talent.

It's not my fault that all of you spend your entire lives wanting to be like me.

And finally, she delicately raised her white hand, as though commanding a spectacle, and concluded:

— The difference between us, dear... is that you dream of being Mother.

Down below, Ana and Ceres were already ready on the diving board, their eyes burning with rivalry and determination.

In the box, Bilac returned to his silence of stone — but inside him, that single sentence echoed, eating away at his myth from within.

He had spoken to her.

She had made him speak.

And that, for Mother Ceres, was already victory enough.