It was as if they were both thinking the same thing, at the same time:
— If I take a step, you fall.
— If I fall, you fall too.
That was why they remained apart. Just watching each other.
Two bodies at war.
Two hearts beating in a dirty, cruel, exhilarating rhythm.
On that cold, gray bleacher, Theo and Ceres began, without realizing it, a battle that would not end there.
And they both already knew it.
The corridor was empty at that time of day, with only the cold lights and the echo of the footsteps of the two divers.
Ana was coming toward her, immaculate in her uniform, her hair tied in a perfect ponytail, as always.
Ceres walked alone, unhurried, her hands in the pockets of her skirt, her eyes half-closed, analyzing every movement of her rival.
When the two crossed paths, Ana stopped right in her way.
Ceres stopped too, without backing away a single inch.
— So... you're the new girl, the “great promise” — Ana began, her voice sweet, full of venom. — I'm the leader. You'd better remember that when you're up on that platform.
Ceres raised an eyebrow and let out a dry little laugh.
— Leader? — she repeated, as if tasting a sour word. — Hmm... is that what you tell yourself so you can sleep at night?
Ana clenched her teeth, but kept smiling.
— Listen, marble doll... this is how things work here: you jump when I say so, or you fall when I want you to. I don't want you embarrassing me in front of the team. Understood?
Ceres tilted her head slightly, her black hair sliding across her pale face like a curtain of shadow.
The smile she gave was so cold that it sent a shiver through Ana.
— Ah... — she murmured, moving closer to her, almost brushing her mouth against her ear. — So that's it... you're afraid of me.
Ana stepped back just a little, surprised, but Ceres gave her no reprieve.
She widened her smile, almost animalistic, and whispered:
— I can smell your fear from here. And it's... delicious.
Ana blinked, feeling anger and insecurity burn across her face, but she said nothing.
Satisfied, Ceres slowly passed her, deliberately brushing her shoulder against Ana's, without even looking back.
And her voice echoed down the corridor, low and cruel:
— It won't be long before you fall.
Ana remained there, fist clenched, feeling that she had just met someone she hated with all her heart.
For the first time, she wondered, just a little, whether she was really still the leader.
When Ceres disappeared at the end of the corridor, Ana remained motionless for a moment.
The sound of her rival's footsteps echoed like mockery against the cold tiles.
Ana took a deep breath. And another.
Then, when there was no one else around, she leaned against the wall and closed her eyes, biting her lip so hard it almost bled.
Her heart was still racing.
She could smell it in the air... as if Ceres had left her own arrogance behind, permeating every corner.
And the worst part: she wasn't wrong. Ana had been afraid.
For one second — small, almost imperceptible — but she had.
And that was unforgivable.
She opened her eyes, furious with herself.
She couldn't lose.
Not to that marble girl, not to the outsider who dared to smile at her with such disdain.
“You're going to pay for this, sweetheart...” she thought, straightening her uniform and smoothing her hair with trembling hands.
That platform was no place for two leaders.
And Ana would not be the one who fell.
She wiped the anger from her face, recovered her upright posture, raised her chin, and walked down the corridor again as if nothing had happened.
In her head, there was only one thought:
If Mother Ceres wants generals... I'll prove that I'm the most ruthless of them all.
A cold, controlled smile formed on her lips.
“Let her think she's already won... let her. It'll be even sweeter to watch her fall.”
And she continued on her way, already planning every blow to bring Ceres down — and make sure everyone saw who the true leader of that arena was.
The gym echoed softly, with only the metallic sound of the weight machines and the mechanical hum of the treadmills filling the air.
Ceres had been there longer than Ana — alone, disciplined, like a marble statue that moved.
Her long black hair, which usually covered her back like a cape, was now tied into a high, firm, practical bun.
It was another face, another posture, another danger.
Her pale hands gripped the weights naturally, as if pain were merely another step.
And she laughed.
Not a loud laugh, but that crooked corner of her mouth that made every one of her movements seem calculated to irritate whoever was watching.
When Ana entered, she stopped for a second at the door, just to see the scene.
And her stomach burned.
Ceres... was already there.
And she already owned the place.
Ana pretended not to care.
She straightened her posture and walked with her leader's stride toward the leg-extension machine.
She sat down, adjusted the weight.
Looked straight ahead.
Said nothing.
But Ceres noticed.
Ceres always noticed.
In the mirror, between one pull of the bar and the next, her gaze met Ana's.
And she laughed.
Ana felt her skin crawl.
Inside, the two of them were already cursing each other mentally.
Ana thought: “Bitch... fucking arrogant... thinks she's going to intimidate me with that ridiculous laugh? Keep provoking me, go ahead, just give me more motivation to crush you.”
Ceres thought: “The little leader is already trembling inside... it's almost pathetic. I can feel the fear. I almost feel sorry for her. Almost.”
Neither looked away.
They trained hard, like two chained beasts, each on her own machine, panting, in silence.
But there, in that heavy breathing, in that exchange of venomous glances, it was already clear:
they were devouring each other.
Even without touching.
Even without a word.
The next day, the main corridor was buzzing with the sound of footsteps and muffled voices.
Daime and Theo walked side by side, talking quietly, Theo still carrying that arrogant shadow in his eyes since the training session.
On the other side, Gene laughed nervously with Kat, trying to hide in his smile the uneasiness of always being on the radar.
Dru appeared farther ahead, elegant and calculating, her eyes sweeping over Theo with an almost imperceptible mixture of venom and desire.
And then... her.
Ceres.
She emerged into the corridor like a blade of ice cutting through the heat of the conversations.
Black hair tied in a perfect bun, neck held high, expression impassive.
It was impossible not to notice how the sound seemed to lower around her as she passed.
Neither Theo, nor Dru, nor anyone else dared pretend they couldn't feel her presence.
At the end of the corridor, as if fate had decided to throw more gasoline onto the fire, Ana stood out, leaning against the wall, arms crossed and wearing a forced smile of contempt.
The two met in a silence of dull hatred — just one look, nothing more.
When Ceres continued on, it was Dark who broke the tension.
He stepped forward, baring his teeth in a mocking smile, and said something that drew a malicious laugh from Cors and Vanks.
Ceres stopped and slowly turned her face toward him.
Just one short, dry response, cutting like a knife.
Dark's smile tightened, the veins bulging in his neck, his fists clenched.
He took another step forward, with the manner of an enraged dog ready to bite... but she didn't move.
She didn't back away.
She didn't blink.
The two stood face to face, the tension so dense that no one breathed.
But Dark didn't bite.
Not a single muscle in her body trembled.
Ceres simply turned slowly, her bun firm, her posture intact, and continued down the corridor, leaving the sound of conversations and footsteps returning behind her like a sea after the storm.
The two went out through a side door into the empty courtyard, still feeling the weight of Ceres's presence in the air.
Daime was the first to break the silence, with that tone that always mixed mockery and curiosity:
— Damn... what a block of ice, huh. The girl doesn't lower her guard for even a second. I almost feel sorry for Dark.
Theo adjusted his backpack on his shoulder, his eyes fixed on nothing ahead. He answered without looking at him:
— You don't need to feel sorry for her. She doesn't need that.
Daime raised his eyebrows, amused by the answer:
— And you think she needs you, is that it?
Theo let out a dry laugh, but there was no humor in it.
— I helped because she was in front of me, that's all. She takes care of herself. She seems to have come out of nowhere, nobody knows where she came from... but she's got courage. More than most people here.
Daime tilted his head, watching his friend as if seeing something he himself didn't want to admit. Then he laughed softly.
— You're terrible at lying, Theo. It's not her you're worried about, it's yourself. Go on, say one more time that you don't feel anything...
Theo finally turned toward him, staring at him with a sharp look.
— You talk too much.
— And you don't talk at all — Daime shot back mockingly. — You don't fool anyone. You're already completely screwed in this war. Look at Dru... haven't you noticed she's in orbit too? And she's going to step into this minefield knowing she's going to lose. Beautiful. Tragic, but beautiful.
Theo sighed heavily before walking away, murmuring over his shoulder:
— Don't talk as if you know me, Daime.
And Daime simply remained there, smiling from the corner of his mouth, satisfied that he had said exactly what Theo didn't want to hear.
In the Strategies and Doctrine classroom, the air seemed heavier than ever.
The walls were covered with screens and illuminated panels, projecting raw and brutal images: starving children with protruding ribs; men and women fleeing burning cities; bodies piled beneath the shadows of war. The projector's voices echoed like both prayer and sentence at the same time:
“This is how they live. This is how they fail. This is how Mother Ceres triumphs.
Mother Ceres, who feeds. Who educates. Who devours.”
The images changed: supply trucks bearing the symbol of Ceres being received by frail arms... only to be shown moments later as charred wreckage, victims of enemy bombs.
“Because only She has a heart.
The rest have only hunger.”
In the central row, the school's students were gathered, a heterogeneous group, but equally marked: Ceres, Theo, Dark, Cors, Gene, Daime, Dru, Kat, Vanks, Ana...
The chairs did not seem large enough for the size of the egos and animosities present.
Ceres, sitting with her impeccable bun and marble posture, did not take her eyes off the images, but did not seem shaken by them in the slightest.
Theo, to her left, kept his gaze hard and his arms crossed, clearly aware of the weight emanating from the girl beside him.
Dark, on the other side, could barely contain his fists clenched on the desk, his jaw locked like a chained animal facing an invisible enemy — or perhaps one that was far too visible.
Cors and Vanks exchanged quick glances, waiting for an opening to provoke someone, like hyenas around a lion.
Gene seemed restless, divided between Mother's doctrine, Kat's presence in the back, and his own demons.
Kat, for her part, was nothing but silence, eyes lowered, trying to become invisible in a field of beasts.
Ana stared sideways at Ceres, venom dripping from her nostrils in restrained sighs.
Dru played with a pencil, but inside she felt the tightness in her throat: being there, in the same room as her, was already unbearable.
And in the corner, leaning back in his chair with his hands behind his head and a malicious smile on his lips, Daime seemed to be enjoying the moment.
His eyes jumped from one face to another, like someone watching a spectacle about to explode into blood and confusion.
He whispered, just for Theo to hear:
— This school is too small for this much hatred, don't you think?... — and then a smile. — ...But I love watching you guys almost kill each other. She educates. She devours. I just... appreciate it.
On the projector, the final sentence echoed loudly through the room:
“The weak cry. The strong serve. Mother Ceres triumphs.”
And for a moment, no one dared move.
Because in that room, at any second, someone could serve.
Or be devoured.
The images on the projector changed slowly.
Children crying among ruins.
Mother Ceres delivering bread and fire.
The voice of doctrine repeating that only she was just.
On the right side of the row, Ana leaned her face forward, barely looking directly at Ceres, but her thin, cold voice found its target:
— It must be easy... — she murmured, only loud enough for her to hear. — ...to watch all this and feel nothing, right?
A sarcastic smile formed at the corner of her mouth. — Coldness suits you, diver.
Ceres did not turn immediately. Her bun remained firm, her eyes fixed on the screen.
Then, slowly, she replied in an icy whisper:
— I do feel, Ana. I can smell your fear from here.
And she smiled. A smile so light and cutting that Ana recoiled without realizing it.
On the other side of the room, Dark tilted his chair forward, resting his elbows on the desk.
He looked at Theo with a half-smile, his eyes shining with restrained anger:
— So, champion... — he said quietly, so only he could hear. — ...how much longer are you going to play leader before you break?
Dark tilted his head to the side, almost in challenge:
— Or can you only take it because you've got the little frozen princess beside you, huh?
Theo slowly turned his face, his gaze fixed on him like a blade about to be drawn.
— When I fall... — Theo said, his voice low and without blinking. — ...you'll be the first to go down with me.
Dark opened a wide smile, showing his teeth, almost excited by the promise.
— I'm waiting, Theo. I'm waiting.
The room remained in heavy silence for several seconds, the provocations hanging in the air alongside the projector's voice, repeating:
“Mother Ceres feeds. Mother Ceres educates. Mother Ceres devours.”
In the back, Daime laughed quietly.
Dru looked at her painted nails, trying to appear uninterested — but she couldn't take her eyes off Ceres, sitting there, motionless as marble. Her heart pounded, knowing she would never be able to face that girl.
She murmured to herself, barely audible:
— She's lucky... only Mother Ceres could give that to someone... only Mother Ceres...
And she glanced sideways at Theo, almost jealous.
Kat, beside Gene, also watched the scene with a knot in her stomach. Ceres, Ana, Theo, Dark — all ready to kill each other — and yet... no one dared go all the way. Mother Ceres held them back, kept her claws in all of them.
Kat sighed and repeated along with the others, in a low, almost ritualistic tone:
— Mother Ceres feeds. Mother Ceres educates. Mother Ceres devours.
One by one, everyone in the room repeated it.
Even Ana, swallowing her anger.
Even Dark, with a twisted laugh on his lips.
Even Theo, who kept his eyes fixed on Dark as he whispered.
And Ceres?
She did not move a muscle. She looked at no one. She simply kept her gaze fixed on the images from the projector. But her lips, almost imperceptibly, murmured:
— Mother Ceres... merciful.