Morning in the cafeteria.
There was a week and a half left before Gene’s execution.
Everyone was at the table. Except Dark.
Theo was a stranger that morning.
Frozen expression. Cold.
Not a single expression escaped his face, not even as he pushed the food around on his plate.
Ceres watched him from a distance.
A watchful fisherman, feeling the line tremble without yet seeing the fish.
Daime appeared, gliding along in his wheelchair, cupping both hands around his mouth:
— This is Captain Daime calling asshole Theo of Ceres II! Ceres II, come in!
Nothing. Theo didn’t even move.
His silence seemed like another layer of his uniform.
Daime refused to give up. He moved forward and delivered a precise wheel straight into Theo’s foot.
— Asshole Theo, lost in space... you’re falling toward Earth, we’re all gonna die, fuck! BOOOM!
Only then did Theo blink, his eyes coming back into focus.
He emerged from the trance like someone returning from a distant, frozen place.
Daime crossed his arms and stared at him, half amused, half concerned:
— You okay, man? You really okay? Because, uh... you already left Earth before your brother did. Wake up, maniac.
Across the hall, Ceres narrowed her eyes.
And in that instant, she knew: Theo was hiding something.
Something big.
Daime, after giving Theo a quick look, let out in a voice heavy with irony:
— Wake up... Ceres has been pecking at you from a distance for ages, Theo. You fucked up again, didn’t you? You’re sick, dude. You screw up way too much. Ceres is hot, and you keep acting like an idiot. If my dick worked, I swear, I’d go do what you don’t!
Theo slowly raised his eyes, wearing that cold stare of his, and said only:
— Please. Give me a break, Daime.
He stood up, pushed his chair back, and left the table in silence.
Daime raised his hands in a theatrical gesture:
— You’re really gonna leave me talking to myself, you insensitive bastard?!
Theo was already crossing the hall toward the classroom corridor without looking back.
Ceres noticed from the back of the room.
And no matter how much she wanted to...
She didn’t even dare go near him now.
Daime sighed, adjusting himself in his chair, then muttered one more time, loud enough for her to hear:
— Oh, great... another one now. He pretends everything’s normal... and I pretend I don’t know how to move my legs! Just kidding...
He laughed to himself, but his eyes still followed Theo until he disappeared down the corridor.
The flagball field, beneath the artificial lights, gleamed like plastic.
The synthetic turf burned beneath Theo’s cleats as his breathing came out uneven.
An obvious mistake in the play. A weak pass.
The ball slipping through his fingers like his courage had been lately.
Cors and Vanks didn’t let it slide: they laughed loudly, mocked him with pats on the shoulder and sharp words.
Then he saw Kan.
The newcomer. The student who had replaced Gene.
So calm. So neutral. As though he were just another perfectly fitted piece in Ceres’s machine.
The teacher blew the whistle and stopped practice, walking toward Theo with cold eyes and a hard voice:
— You’re getting sloppy, Theo. Losing your touch. Keep this up and you’ll lose your leadership. Don’t disgrace your brother Tomas’s legacy.
The words hit like a punch to the stomach.
Theo took a deep breath, felt the anger rising like acid, focused, held his breath.
When the game resumed, at the first opportunity, he didn’t hesitate:
Body against body, shoulder to shoulder, he drove Cors into the ground, hard and clean.
Cors got up growling:
— You crazy, kid? Who the hell do you think you are?
Theo didn’t answer.
He didn’t need to.
Dark came next.
He took off with the ball toward the goal.
Theo went after him with a leap that looked more like a savage attack, and the two of them crashed together inside the goal.
The net tore apart.
Dark wasn’t hurt.
In fact, he got up laughing.
That filthy, taunting laugh.
— Hmmm... you’re enjoying this, aren’t you? — Dark fixed his hair, looked Theo in the eyes, sensing the smell of hatred. — The prince losing his mind... how delicious. Come at me... betrayed your little friend and now you wanna take it out on me, is that it, little captain?
Theo stood motionless.
Blood in his eyes, blood on his hands.
Cors shouted from the sidelines, egging them on:
— Go, Dark! Break him! Show him who’s in charge!
Dark continued, moving closer, his voice growing lower, more poisonous:
— I know you hate me. And it’s delicious. That’s what I wanted... — he almost whispered, leaning toward him. — I don’t hate you, no... you’re fun. I want to see you in chaos.
Theo was boiling inside.
His heart pounded in his temples.
Dark crouched down, picked up a piece of the torn net, wrapped it around his fingers, and raised it into the air with a crooked smile:
— With this net... I’m gonna catch Ceres for myself. She’s pretty tasty, huh?
That was the last straw.
Theo charged at him with a muffled roar, and the whole team had to separate them.
Cors shouted things, Vanks laughed, Kan watched in silence — and only he seemed to understand that this, this kind of training...
was exactly how Mãe Ceres forged her children.
Dark still laughed even as his teammates restrained him:
— Come on, little captain! Gonna cry? Huh?!
And Theo could no longer hear anything — only the metallic sound of his own breathing, as though he were inside a furnace about to explode.
The whistle cut across the field like a blade.
The two were still being held back when the teacher shouted:
— Enough! This isn’t a slaughterhouse, it’s a field!
He called both of them to the center circle, allowing no refusal.
— Side by side. Now.
Theo and Dark walked toward the center, still breathing heavily, uniforms dirty, eyes sparking at each other.
Shoulder to shoulder, like two chained dogs still growling under their breath.
The teacher, clipboard in hand, walked around them like an officiant in an ancient ritual.
— Do you know why you two work? Do you know why I keep you both on the same team even though one of you hates the sight of the other?
He stopped directly in front of them, his voice heavy with instruction and contempt.
— Because this chemistry is powerful. You’re like two poles of the same nucleus. It’s tradition by now: every season, fights in the locker room, bruises during practice, blood on the floor. But in the game... nobody can stop you.
He looked first at Theo, then at Dark.
— Hatred is a resource. When properly channeled, it makes you overcome obstacles and rise from chaos, push past your limits. But don’t confuse things: Mãe Ceres doesn’t want you to kill each other. That would be a waste. Of time, of energy... and of meat.
Theo muttered an insult under his breath.
Dark smiled from the corner of his mouth, poisonous, returning another insult almost too quietly to hear.
Then, without anyone needing to ask, Dark spoke, still staring straight ahead:
— You know, Theo... my greatest pleasure would be seeing you leave this city before I do.
He bit the inside of his cheek, almost laughing, and continued:
— Mãe Ceres needs us like this. I don’t take it personally. You know that. I admit it. Don’t pretend you don’t know.
Theo didn’t answer. He merely looked at him from the side, with cold, restrained hatred.
— Deep down... — Dark continued, lowering his voice — you know I’m good at this game. Better than you sometimes. But there’s one thing, for me... this is personal. Out of everyone in Ceres, I’m the only one who’s loyal to you. I’d kill you last. And I know you’d do the same.
Theo remained motionless, jaw clenched, but he didn’t deny it.
Dark gave a short laugh.
— I’m an animal, Theo. So are you. We’re exactly alike. Except you... you’re too polished. And that disgusts the hell out of me. Even so... I still want to smash your face in.
The teacher, already back inside the circle, raised his voice so everyone could hear:
— Two animals. That’s what you are. Dark is a pure animal. Theo... is a polished animal. But still an animal. And that’s what all of you have to understand: well-trained animals play for Mãe Ceres. Loose animals... are only good for the slaughterhouse.
Dark leaned a millimeter toward Theo, just enough for him to feel his warm breath and the final provocation, whispered like poison:
— See?
The teacher blew the whistle again.
Practice resumed, but the entire field already seemed too small for the two of them.
At the end of practice, everyone had already been dismissed.
Theo remained in the same corner of the bleachers, his head full.
Ceres appeared out of nowhere.
Theo didn’t even want to look at her.
— You’re more violent than Dark. — Ceres said.
Theo gave a cynical laugh.
— Really?
— Dark, despite his name... he’s clear.
— Then go fall into his net.
— What are you thinking about?
— Nothing.
Silence.
Theo took a deep breath, looked at her with anger and pain.
— Why do you come hunting me with those eyes?
— I didn’t come for that.
Theo sniffed.
— Is it your friend, Gene?
— Leave me alone. — he answered, harder. — You don’t know how I feel. You don’t know what it’s like... to turn someone in.
Ceres hardened her gaze.
— But you really are an asshole.
The two stared at each other for a second, then turned their backs.
Each went in a different direction.
When Ceres disappeared down the opposite corridor, Theo remained alone on the bleachers for a few more seconds, feeling the weight of the air in his chest.
His fingers trembled.
Anger, shame, hurt — all mixed together, like an impossible knot to untangle.
He looked at the empty field, the cleat marks still fresh in the synthetic turf, like open wounds in the skin of Ceres.
That was how he felt too.
Marked.
And with every step she took away from him, Theo became certain of one thing:
In that city, nobody won.
They only learned to lose better.
The echo of his breathing disappeared between the walls of the gymnasium.
He took a deep breath, clenched his fists, and descended the stairs in silence.
It was just another night when nobody came home whole.
Ceres returned to the courtyard with long, heavy strides, as though every step were a punch against the ground.
Raw anger.
Daime crossed in front of her in desperation, spinning his wheels hard.
— Theo’s on the other side! — he shouted before she could run him over.
Ceres bit her lip and spat:
— That asshole?
Daime raised a hand impatiently:
— Hey, only I get to call him that. You do other things with him!
She stopped, glaring at him with her blue eyes, but he wasn’t intimidated.
He took a deep breath and spoke in a calmer, crueler tone:
— I know you two have a thing... But Theo’s an asshole. An asshole for wasting time on you.
Ceres raised her eyebrows, almost laughing.
He continued sharply:
— Theo’s just like that. The same way I’m like me. When I was still on the team, before the accident, he never changed with me. Never looked at me with pity. When we played... I got thrown out once because of him, you know? Because I tore the black tape I wore for luck and punched him in the middle of an official match.
She didn’t answer.
She simply crossed her arms, waiting for the point.
Daime sighed, remembering:
— And the next day he acted like nothing had happened. Like it was just another Tuesday. It was the only day in my life I ever apologized to someone.
He looked at Ceres with those deep-set eyes, full of mockery and sadness:
— Theo really is an asshole. But he’s an even bigger asshole for liking you.
She finally let out a cynical little laugh, but it fooled no one.
Daime waved his hand dismissively:
— And don’t look at me with those huge dead-fish blue eyes of yours, trying to hunt down my soul. I’m not falling for that shit! I’m out.
He quickly moved away, spinning his chair as though he had emerged victorious.
Ceres remained standing there, grinding her teeth, muttering under her breath, caught between a sigh of hatred and something else she refused to admit:
— Fucking cripple...
Joyful Melancholy
Ceres’ military school was an open field of discipline.
There were no walls, only endless rows of wheat and soy swaying in the wind like a silent army standing at attention.
The sound of irrigation machines and water pumps filled the air.
In the distance, the imposing silhouette of Mãe Ceres’ tower could be seen.
That was where the citizens of Ceres were molded: children and adolescents between ten and twenty years old, raised under the Horizontalist doctrine — equal for everyone, with no heroes, no martyrs, only gears in Mãe’s machine.
“Mãe Ceres, who feeds us, who educates us, and who devours us.”
The corridors were fields.
The classrooms, hangars.
And the training grounds echoed with the dry cracks of fighting blows, bursts from practice rifles, and the harsh sound of flagball, the “elegant contact sport” — although many walked away from it with marked faces.
In the women’s pavilion, platform diving took place over crystal-clear pools, where young women trained like soldiers descended like statues of living marble, without a splash out of place.
Beyond the fields, to the south, iron rails cut across the earth.
Four perfect, immense lines over which armored trains glided, carrying weapons, food, medicine, machines...
Ceres did not stop.
Ceres did not need to stop.
Dark watched all of it as though it were merely a distant spectacle — because, to him, it was.
He was a citizen of Ceres by obligation and a spectator of the world by pleasure.
The only person who truly awakened his sympathy was himself.
He walked alone through the fields, hands behind his back, his gaze far too calm for a seventeen-year-old boy.
The wind made the wheat sing.
The heavy cars began moving along the tracks.
And Dark walked toward them without thinking twice.
He jumped onto the side of a car and settled in as though it already belonged to him by right.
He sat upon the cold iron, eyes fixed on the horizon.
To the west, the plains fell into a deep valley.
Beyond that, snow-covered mountains.
And at the very edge of his vision, the Tower of Mãe Ceres rose like a sentinel and a jailer, always there, always too close to be ignored, always too far away to be reached.
The sun was setting, staining the sky with a myriad of colors, and the snow on the mountains seemed to ignite in cold flames.
Dark rested his chin on his hand and smiled to himself.
The train slowly gained speed, groaning beneath the weight of its own importance, but he didn’t care.
The sound of the rails was almost hypnotic.
Every second was like a sped-up film — a timelapse where everything moved too quickly to be felt, but he felt it anyway.
Because Dark had this peculiarity:
The cold psychopathy that prevented him from loving others did not prevent him from loving the spectacle of the world.
To him, every moment was too beautiful, too cruel, too fast not to be observed.
Others were only enchanted by a timelapse when they sped up the footage to find the poetry.
Dark didn’t need to speed anything up.
To him, every second was already a timelapse.
Every second was already enough to see all the beauty — and all the indifference — of Mãe Ceres.
As the sun died behind the mountains, he whispered to himself with a smile:
— Mãe Ceres, who feeds us... who educates us... and who devours us.
And he let the cold wind of the plains cut across his face like a kiss.
The train moved slowly through the fields, groaning, spitting steam into the fading afternoon.
Dark remained there, sitting on the car, chin resting on his hand, gaze fixed on the horizon — so still that he seemed to blend into the landscape itself.
Only when he felt the uncomfortable weight against his back did he realize:
The backpack was still there.
He ran his hand over the rough fabric, pulled the zipper, and found the old torn flagball net.
He smiled to himself as he remembered the impact.
It had been a play that happened too fast — even for someone like him.
The contact was hard, dry, brutal.
He and Theo had rolled together across the field, the net tearing apart between them.
Theo got up first, his uniform stained with dirt and blood on his lips.
His eyes were like stones.
Pure, disciplined hatred.
Dark only laughed.
He didn’t hate Theo.
Not at all.
Theo was... fun.
He was the exception in the predictable mass of Ceresian citizens.
He was a worthy opponent.
Someone who never lowered his guard, even in the face of chaos.
Dark didn’t need to hate him to appreciate him.
There was something fascinating about an enemy who neither ran nor broke.
Three years.
That was how much time they still had before Mãe devoured them completely — the expression was exactly that, “devoured by Mãe,” as the mantra said:
Mãe Ceres, who feeds us, who educates us, and who devours us.
When they turned twenty, everyone would be sent to the heart of the city, assigned to their functions.
Dark would probably become a soldier — everyone already knew that.
But he didn’t worry about it.
Three years was still a long time to watch the world happen, to witness the spectacle of daily chaos.
And for now, it was enough for him to get off the train.