Volume 2: Nuts, Peaches and Honey — Part 3 — Final

The Proposal

On the armored train coming from Oplan, Alac Bilac — general of the nation of Oplan — had never lost a single war. He was heading toward the central tower of the city of Ceres, accompanied by his delegation of diplomats and aides.

They were white, blonde, blue-eyed. They all dressed in white, like secretaries. The cut of their clothes was the same, their stride was the same, and so was their silence.

Inside the carriage, there was no conversation. Only the metallic sound of the train tearing across the ground.

Alac considered himself superior. No one there was worthy of addressing him. His voice was rarely heard — and when it was, matters were settled.

The members of the delegation kept their eyes lowered, refusing to look through the armored windows. Outside, the city of Ceres passed by intact, alive, functional.

Green fields stretched without interruption: corn, wheat, soybeans. Cattle ranches, poultry farms, pigs.

Then, closer to the city, recreational arenas appeared with UV-glass, polarized roofs that retained heat. Grassy fields for games, water sports, citizens of Ceres enjoying all of it as though it were simply... normal.

And outside Ceres, the world was a disaster.

The supremacist nation of Oplan was wealthy, but it did not offer such infrastructure to its own population. Its ideology proclaimed the whitest as superior — and there, before them, people with black, red, and brown hair mingled with blondes. Different shades of white skin lived together without distinction.

Alac brought a handkerchief to his nose. He felt disgust.

Upon arriving at the central tower, the panoramic elevator began its ascent. The city slowly receded beneath their feet, revealing its order, its abundance, its insolent stability.

Far away, in the daytime sky, a star shone brightly.

It was not a star.

It was the space station CERES II.

Radiant. Motionless.

The visible proof of the power of the Great Mother.

As they entered the upper levels of the tower, the city of Ceres continued functioning beyond the panoramic windows.

Trains in the distance. Living fields. People in motion. Nothing stopped.

Mother Ceres was waiting for him without ceremony.

Before her, a small altar had been prepared for Alac Bilac. The general kept a rigid face, a broad chin, deep blue eyes. He wore dark clothing with red details, a head-of-state cloak, black combat boots with exposed metal sections. Motionless, like a monument to his own authority.

His female attendants kept their heads lowered. None dared look at Mother Ceres.

The Great Mother, equally motionless, raised her hand in a simple gesture toward Eos.

She was calling Koee — not to order her, but to see whether she would accept the union and the agreements already arranged.

Mother Ceres knew what was going to happen.

She simply wanted to see him defeated before her.

Eos walked down the corridor to Koee’s quarters. The door, as always, was open.

Inside the room, Eos saw her — and stopped dead.

Koee was there like a goddess fallen to earth. She wore a long dark-gray dress, laden with ceremonial details, descending to the floor and covering her feet. The skirt brushed the ground as if floating. Her hair, tied into a braid at the back, displayed an exotic and precise beauty. Her makeup accentuated her red eyes.

Stunning.

And yet, serious.

Koee had been informed about the protocols of the proposal. She knew that she was the one who chose.

She felt the weight of the decision.

She was somewhat lost — but she knew what her choice was.

Koee left her room assisted by local secretaries. She walked through the open corridors, lined with windows revealing the living city of Ceres. Her heartbeat was restrained. She knew Alac Bilac’s face from images, but she did not know how she would react when facing his eyes.

When she reached the main hall, Koee positioned herself on the altar beside the general.

Alac Bilac looked at her in enchantment — not out of love, but because of the idea of perfection he projected onto her. He saw in Koee the “perfect white.” He imagined even whiter children, in the name of his supremacist ideology.

Oplan’s secretaries approached and offered jewelry, precious stones, gold.

Mother Ceres remained at a distance. Silent.

Then Alac Bilac spoke.

He spoke only to Koee.

No one else heard.

It was the first time the general had addressed someone with more than two words. Not even his attendants knew his voice. They watched Koee with veiled contempt.

It lasted five minutes — long as hours.

When Alac touched Koee’s hand and knelt, placing the ring on her finger, the hall fell into absolute silence.

Koee felt the weight of everything:

the city,

the proposal,

the envious gaze of the secretaries.

Then came the smell.

The general’s smell.

A deep, repulsive disgust took over her body. Her stomach twisted as if it wanted to shed its own skin. As if the hand that had been touched needed to be torn away. It was not merely the touch — it was what he had said. What he represented.

Koee stared at Alac Bilac.

Terrified, she brought her hands to her mouth, holding back the urge to vomit.

She could not bear it.

She lifted her skirt with force and ran across the hall, sobbing, fleeing from that man. She ran through the corridors until she disappeared into her quarters.

Mother Ceres knew.

She knew Alac Bilac had been defeated.

The man who had never lost a war had been defeated there — twice — by Mother Ceres.

Without weapons.

Without blood.

Without a single life lost.

The hall remained stunned.

Mother Ceres, sovereign, remained motionless.

Around her, through the open windows, the city of Ceres continued to function.

Several hours after the humiliation in the tower, Koee remained in her room with the doors closed.

Alone.

She tore her own clothes apart violently. For the first time, she looked at herself with disgust. It was not shame — it was revulsion. A disgust that did not come from the mind, but from biology. A deep, visceral nausea toward that man and the indescribable smell her body was trying to forget.

She ran to the bathroom and doubled over the toilet. She vomited everything she could. Everything her body felt.

She screamed with hatred — hatred for that man, that manner, those words that only she had heard.

In the shower, she scrubbed her white skin violently, as if she could replace it. As if she could tear any trace of him from herself. She screamed in desperation. She cried from a pain without wounds, a pain without a name. Her body reacted in ways she did not understand.

The screams crossed the room, the corridors, the central hall.

The general heard them.

And silently departed for Oplan.

The bedroom door was forced open.

Eos entered first.

She found Koee in collapse. Desperate, she was rubbing her own skin until she tore it open, blood running down the drain. Sacred blood, mixed with the hot water. Paramedics tried to restrain her, but Koee was extremely strong. Something in her subconscious had broken — as if she had betrayed herself, her ethereal nature, transforming that man’s touch into something vile and irreversible.

— Koee... Koee, it’s me. Eos. Calm down...

Koee, covered in blood, squeezed Eos’s throat with tremendous force. Not out of hatred — out of panic.

Eos pleaded for air.

The paramedics struggled to hold her. Koee fought like a cornered animal. Her red eyes were wide, wild. She had never reacted like this before. Her body seemed to consider everything an enemy.

She was sedated.

Slowly, she gave in.

Eos fell to the floor, breathing with difficulty.

Koee, drugged and dazed, looked around, seeing everyone as a threat. The goddess was going mad. Her body no longer obeyed her mind. Exhausted, she sank beneath the effects of the sedatives, murmuring deliriously:

— Eight... eight... eight...

Mother Ceres heard it from afar.

— Eight...

She knew who it was.

The number eight.

The flagball player.

A son of Ceres.

Theo.