The Station
Theo was there, as always—the cassette player hidden beneath his jacket, the thin earphones in place, his head moving to the rhythm of forbidden songs. The armored train was still switching tracks, the metallic noise echoing off the concrete walls. He was waiting for nothing, for no one. Perhaps only for silence.
But Ceres appeared.
She stood at a distance, watching him from behind. His hair fell unevenly over his shoulders, and the white streak now marked his face like a slash of light. She bore the same mark—a scar of shared destiny. Theo seemed to carry the weight of the world, but the world weighing on him was Ceres's future.
When the cassette player switched tracks and “Running Up That Hill” began to play, Theo raised his eyes. He smiled. A cynical, almost lazy smile—the kind that irritated Ceres because she could never tell whether it meant contempt or longing.
She hesitated before approaching him. She hated admitting that she had come to meet him, but she knew Theo was waiting for her. And deep down, Theo wanted to reveal something—perhaps a bad joke, or a joke so enormous that it would only make sense years later.
Ceres maintained her firm posture. Theo, meanwhile, seemed to be dancing with the abyss.
He loved Mother Ceres. It was there in every gesture, every provocation. And even lost as he was, Theo accepted his own chaos the way someone accepts a calling—the gift of disturbing everything stable, everything that pretends to be perfect.
Deep down, he just wanted a good fight.
But even he didn't know who he wanted to fight.
Theo stared at the horizon when he spoke, without taking his eyes from the sky.
— I see the storm.
Ceres answered without hesitation, as though completing a verse she already knew.
— I see the black wall.
Silence stretched between them. The distant sound of the tracks vibrated like a mechanical heart.
Theo turned his face, his eyes fixed on hers. The white streak crossed his gaze, dividing light and shadow across the same face.
—I bet you hesitated before coming here —he said in an almost gentle tone. —I love your temper, you know?
Ceres raised her eyebrows, but he continued.
—I love your unrestrained hatred. It's the only real thing about you. I love it. I feel at peace in your hatred… because it's real.
Ceres lost her rhythm for a moment.
This was no longer the Theo she knew how to provoke, measure, and contain.
He had changed—and that change was dangerous. Not the danger of a knife, but the danger of a mirror.
She felt the ground shift beneath her.
Theo smiled—that smile that said, without a sound: “You can't keep up with me.”
And Ceres knew he was right.
Not because he was stronger.
But because Theo, now, was pure freedom—and freedom cannot be tamed.
Ceres took a deep breath, trying to conceal the fear creeping beneath her composure.
Theo took a step forward.
—It's still me, Ceres. The same Theo… just from somewhere else.
Theo took a deep breath and smiled sideways.
—I can smell your fear. It's delicious.
The metallic rumble of the train grew louder as it slowed to switch tracks.
Ceres remained silent.
—You're coming with me —Theo said. —And you're not going to say a word.
He ran, jumped onto the moving train, and held out his hand.
Ceres hesitated—but he pulled her up forcefully, pressing her against his body.
For a moment, they breathed together, their hearts beating in time with the iron wheels.
They climbed onto the roof. The wind was cutting, and the blue sky was torn by reflections from Ceres II, the city's metallic moon.
From the top of the tower, Mother Ceres watched.
Theo laughed, laughing at the joke no one would understand.
He admired the horizon, where dark clouds were gathering like a living wall.
He pointed a finger.
—That's you.
Ceres laughed despite herself, trying to hide it, but Theo rose to his feet on the roof and spread his arms wide.
The wind struck hard.
He held out his hand to her.
—Come on.
Ceres took it, and Theo yanked her toward him with brutal force. A cry escaped her, caught between surprise and vertigo.
Her body fell against his chest.
She was afraid.
Not of falling—but of Theo.
Standing together on top of the train, with the horizon swallowed by a black storm, Theo whispered into her ear:
—Freedom is chaos, Ceres. But Mother Ceres… she protects us, educates us, feeds us… and devours us.
Ceres closed her eyes, the wind cutting across her face.
Amid that chaos, she felt something impossible: comfort.
Not peace, but belonging.
For a moment, she felt free.
And so did Theo.
The train pressed on, cutting through the wind. Theo kept his eyes on the horizon, the storm now closer—alive, pulsing.
Ceres's face rested against his chest, his heartbeat moving in a strange, almost ritualistic rhythm.
Theo spoke quietly, but every word carried the weight of iron.
—It's addictive… but responsibility keeps it balanced. We humans get addicted to the good side of freedom.
He lifted his face, the wind parting his hair, his gaze lost somewhere between the city and the sky.
—Mother Ceres… truly loves us.
Ceres looked at him, unable to answer.
She felt the weight of those words pass through her body.
Now she understood what freedom was.
It was sweet and painful.
So costly that it demanded blood.
In the distance, the city trembled behind its cold, white walls.
Ceres, the Mother, bled in silence as her own children clashed—like a fierce mother standing between hungry nations, fighting to ensure none of them went without.
But there was hunger.
A hunger for freedom.
And everyone, without realizing it, was devouring the Mother's flesh…
…forgetting to feed their own freedom.
The armored train slowed along the tracks, groaning as it passed the abandoned silo. Theo and Ceres climbed down in silence, their footsteps echoing across the worn concrete floor.
Sunlight streamed through a hole in the roof, illuminating something small and unexpected: a young peach tree, green and fragile, growing exactly where they had left the seed weeks earlier.
Ceres stopped, her eyes widening. A genuine smile lit up her face.
—It's… it's our peach tree.
She smiled, innocent, without malice, without a shadow of doubt.
—It's real.
Theo simply smiled, as cynical as ever, but there was something in his eyes that needed no words.
—Why are we back here? —Ceres asked curiously, trying to break the silence gathering around the little tree.
—You ask too many questions! —Theo replied curtly, leaving his cassette player on the ground, safely protected.
Without another word, he began walking between the irrigation tracks, with Ceres following close behind.
The enormous irrigation wheels turned slowly, spraying water into the air and forming an artificial rainbow above them.
Theo took off his jacket and shirt, letting the water run over his body.
—Come on, Ceres. The water feels great! —He held out his hand.
—No! —She stepped back.
—Come on! —he insisted, his voice almost tender now.
Ceres hesitated, then approached, and he pulled her forcefully against his body.
—This water is freezing! —she protested, shivering.
—Not colder than your heart —Theo replied, lowering his voice and leaving her speechless.
They remained in each other's arms as the jets of water passed over them, while the storm's heavy clouds approached on the horizon.
—Enough! —Ceres said, still trying to keep her distance.
—All right… —Theo laughed quietly, almost teasing her.
—The storm is going to catch us —she warned, looking up.
—What do you mean? —Theo asked curiously.
—Look up, you idiot!
—It's not going to rain —he replied firmly, with a mixture of certainty and defiance.
—How do you know?
—I just know. Stay.
He stepped back slightly, still firm, making Ceres feel the weight of his presence.
—You're crazy! —she exclaimed.
—This storm is just like you: always full, heavy, restless… —he said, lowering his voice. —It's not going to break. And if it does, it'll rain just enough, not all at once.
The rain began as a fine drizzle, delicate and light. They looked at each other in silence, breathing in the smell of wet earth and the cool mist from the irrigation system.
Theo slowly approached, ran his hand over Ceres's tense face, caressed the nape of her neck, and finally kissed her.
They surrendered to the moment without haste, the storm still distant but present, as though the world itself were watching them.
Beside them, the young peach tree bore witness to their reunion, small and steadfast, a symbol of something that had survived despite the passage of time and abandonment.
The storm finally broke.
The sound of water pounding against the silo roof made the ground tremble. Drops streamed down the rusted walls, mingling with the warm vapor rising from their bodies, which still touched, exhausted and trembling.
Ceres settled beside Theo, breathless, her hair clinging to her skin.
—I told you it would break —she whispered. —We're here alone.
Theo laughed softly, the sound muffled by the rain.
—Relax, Ceres. You're with me.
—We're here… —she murmured, turning her face toward him. —You dragged me all the way here.
Theo propped himself up on his elbows, his breathing steady.
—Ceres, I'm not going to say anything —he said calmly. —I don't want to know how you feel, and I don't want you to feel better. I just want to accompany you as you evolve. I accept you as you are. That… gives me pleasure.
She looked at him, confused.
—What do you mean?
—What we experienced here —he replied— was freedom. Real freedom. Without the solemnity of Mother Ceres, who feeds us, educates us, and ultimately devours us. I'm not against Her. I love Her… but I want to proclaim this freedom with you before we're devoured.
The rain grew heavier. Thunderbolts streaked across the sky.
—The train, the irrigation system, the peaches that taste like hatred… —Theo continued, looking up. —I want to share all of it with you. Because no matter how hard we fight, Ceres, the two of us will be devoured. And that's what makes everything so serious. It's the price of the responsibility we've inherited.
He stood up, water streaming down his body, and held out his hand to her.
—But She isn't here right now —he said with an almost sad smile. —We can think about the two of us. Even if it sounds like rebellion. For a few hours, we have this freedom—and with it, the responsibility to exist.
Ceres watched him in silence, her face illuminated by lightning.
—Mother Ceres will be proud of this —he whispered. —We're within Her responsibility. I want to remember you… and I want you to remember me. Because when we're devoured, there'll be nothing left. Only this memory.
Theo moved closer, his gaze unwavering.
—No matter how much time passes, everything I do will be for the good of our Mother. You'll hate me, a lot, but deep down, I'm telling the truth. Hate me, stab me, drink my blood… —he said with an almost sacred laugh. —I will always belong to our Mother. And given the circumstances, I'll always choose you.
He took a deep breath, resting his forehead against hers.
—I don't want to be saved. And I don't want to save you. She has already saved us—and that's suffocating. That's natural.
Ceres closed her eyes.
—Everything will work out in the end —Theo whispered. —I love your discord, your distrustful nature… your eyes, even when they want to kill me. Trust me. Trust Mother Ceres—who feeds us, educates us, and devours us.
The rain drowned out his final words. The entire silo seemed to breathe with them, as though the Mother herself were listening, silent, proud, and hungry.
Inside the silo, silence enveloped them, heavy and intimate. The rain now drummed against the outer walls, but inside, everything seemed suspended in time.
Theo approached, took the cassette player out of his backpack, and adjusted his earphones.
—Let's listen together —he said, wearing that smile that mixed provocation with tenderness. —I want you to feel every song the way I do. Sad, happy, romantic… everything. I want to see if this moment is worth it, because a few years from now, it won't exist anymore.
Ceres hesitated but accepted, placing one earphone in each ear.
The first song began softly, melancholy filling the air. She felt the weight of longing and everything that could never be recovered.
Theo watched her, trying to decipher every reaction, every shiver, every glance.
—Can you feel it? —he asked quietly, almost whispering.
Ceres closed her eyes, letting the music seep into her, feeling not only the notes but also the desire, intensity, and responsibility Theo carried.
He was sharing more than his earphones. He was sharing the moment itself—a silent, fragile trust, as though they were stealing time from the future.
When the melody changed to something livelier, almost cheerful, Theo smiled.
Ceres opened her eyes and laughed softly, surprised to discover such pure freedom amid the approaching storm.
—It's worth it —he said, almost to himself, though Ceres could hear him. —It's worth feeling this with you, even if it's only for a few hours, even if it's just a moment before the world devours us.
She looked at him, moved and confused, her heart racing.
The intensity of the moment, the chaos outside, and the sense of security in his gesture created something beyond understanding—a temporary but genuine freedom, shared in silence, in the notes, and in the almost imperceptible touch of the earphone against her ear.
Theo moved closer, gently resting his forehead against hers, and said:
—Remember this sound, Ceres. Remember how we can exist together, even if it's only for a moment we've stolen.
And there in the silo, between the storm and the music they shared, the two of them found a fragment of freedom—brief, precious, and dangerous—while Mother Ceres watched unseen, quietly satisfied.
The Return
The train slowed as it approached the academy station. Drops still ran down the roof and walls, but the storm winds were beginning to fade.
Theo walked slowly, his eyes fixed on the horizon, as though he still carried the storm inside him.
Ceres followed, hesitant, each step reflecting a mixture of trust and restrained fear.
—I will only go to the silo with you —Theo said, finally stopping— when you call me. Either way… all you have to do is come close.
Ceres watched him, surprised by his firmness, and took a deep breath.
—How… how do I become like you? How do I enter your world?
Theo smiled, cynical and gentle at the same time, approaching just enough for her to feel his presence.
—You're already in it, Ceres. Ever since the first time I saw you.
She felt her heart race, but she didn't fully understand.
Conflicting emotions bubbled inside her: attraction, confusion, fear, and a desire to understand.
That was Theo's plan—to use his openness, his sincerity without overt cruelty, to draw her closer without revealing that harsher trials were coming soon.
But the time wasn't right.
Ceres stood still, watching Theo, her eyes reflecting a mixture of admiration and unease.
She knew something had changed. He was no longer merely that provocative boy from the academy. He now carried the full complexity of freedom and chaos, along with the protection and limitations imposed by Mother Ceres.
Theo simply watched her in silence, the tension between them filling the station.
No words needed to be spoken.
She knew now that she had entered his world—and that any move could alter the balance of something that still could not be revealed.
Ceres took a deep breath, a slight tremor passing through her body, and Theo stepped away just enough to let her process everything.
But the promise had been made: at the silo, she would be the one to call him, and he would come.
The train pulled away slowly, carrying their silence along the tracks, while the sun began to break through the dark clouds, reflecting on the horizon like an omen of freedom and responsibility, in the way only Mother Ceres could teach.
The clock showed nearly seven in the evening at the academy, and the heavy afternoon silence was broken only by the murmur of physics classes.
The students passed the time with equations and experiments, but nothing seemed to matter.
Theo leaned against the wall of the main corridor, his earphones hidden beneath his jacket, the cassette player silent but running.
He watched every movement in the classroom, but his attention wasn't on the students or the teachers.
It was on Ceres.
She was walking across the inner courtyard, her steps firm and determined, but something in the way she moved made her seem vulnerable—at least enough for Theo to notice.
He smiled cynically, leaned forward, and whistled softly, the sound cutting through the still air.
Ceres stopped abruptly, her gaze sharp.
—Theo… —she said, trying to keep her voice steady but failing.
—What is it? —he replied, wearing that half-smile that irritated and fascinated her at the same time. —I was just checking whether you can still feel anything besides your own fury.
She narrowed her eyes but didn't retreat.
The tension was electric, almost tangible.
Theo took a step forward, just enough for Ceres to feel his presence without him needing to touch her.
—You've changed… —she said, almost whispering, more to herself than to him.
—Of course I have —Theo replied, tilting his head as he studied every reaction. —And you? Do you still want to tame me, or are you finally going to admit you can't?
Ceres swallowed hard.
Heat rose to her face, and for a moment her usual self-control faltered.
Theo laughed softly, that laugh that mingled mockery with danger.
—I don't… —she began, but he interrupted her.
—Don't say anything. Just feel. Every moment you spend trying to understand me is a moment you lose. And I love that.
He held out his hand in an unexpectedly gentle gesture.
Ceres hesitated, adrenaline pulsing through her veins.
At last, she moved closer, not pulling away when he gently drew her toward him.
They stood there, almost colliding, time slowing down, the world reduced to the two of them in the silent corridor.
Theo leaned closer, lowering his voice.
—Ceres… I just want you to feel this. Every second belongs to us now. There are no leaders, no rules, nothing. Just us and what we can bring out in each other.
She took a deep breath, trying to remain composed, but her heart was beating erratically.
—Theo… I… —she began, then stopped.
He smiled again, darker this time.
—Shh… Don't try to understand everything. Just feel. This is the freedom we have left before everything comes back to devour us.
Ceres stood motionless but didn't move away.
For the first time, she felt that someone could cross her wall and emerge unscathed.
Theo hadn't merely crossed it—he had made her want to cross it with him.
And there in the corridor, with the late-afternoon sky painted gold and gray, Ceres realized that nothing in the academy was more dangerous than him, and nothing was more thrilling than the challenge of facing him.
The silent corridor still held the echo of Theo's cynical laughter when a voice emerged from the academy's loudspeaker system: THE VOICE OF CERES.
It was exactly seven o'clock, and the daily broadcast was beginning.
Assum's melody—the voice of Ceres's true mother—floated through the air, slow and heavy with nostalgia, as though reminding everyone of the city's origins and the responsibility they carried.
—Good evening, children of Ceres —the voice resonated, firm and almost maternal, yet edged with warning. —Today, as always, we remember that every choice carries weight, every impulse is recorded, and every act of rebellion… is observed.
Theo tilted his head and closed his eyes for a moment, allowing the music to invade his thoughts.
Ceres shuddered.
The combination of voice and melody stirred memories she hadn't known she possessed, a mixture of fear, respect, and something deeper, almost impossible to define.
—It seems even the city is reminding you of your freedom —Theo murmured beside her, almost whispering so that only Ceres could hear. —But look, my freedom and yours… they're here, with us. No one else needs to understand.
Ceres felt a shiver.
He always managed to say things that unsettled her balance.
Theo held out the cassette player's earphones again.
—Want to feel what I feel? —he asked. —Every note, every word, every memory. Just the two of us now.
She hesitated for a moment but accepted.
She put on the earphones, and Assum's music swelled around them, blending nostalgia and melancholy with the electric tension Theo stirred.
—Every melody… —Theo continued, his voice low and steady— is a memory the city forces us to carry. But here, Ceres, here we can decide what to feel. Just for a few hours, before we're devoured by what governs us.
Ceres felt tears welling in her eyes.
It wasn't just the music. It was the way he transformed the moment into something alive, intense, dangerous, and irresistible.
Theo stood there, just inches away, yet his presence seemed to fill the entire world.
—I never… —she began, but Theo's voice gently cut her off.
—Shh… don't try to name what you feel. Just feel it. The fear, the anger, the desire… all of it belongs to us now. There are no rules, no leaders, and no Mother Ceres watching us at this moment. Just you, me, and… this freedom to lie to ourselves.
Ceres swallowed hard.
For the first time, she understood that what Theo offered wasn't merely provocation or seduction.
It was a living demonstration of power, of controlled chaos, of intimacy within the disorder Mother Ceres created.
She couldn't escape.
Nor did she want to.
Theo smiled as he watched her reaction.
—THE VOICE OF CERES is there to remind us of everything we must obey —he said, pointing a finger toward the loudspeaker— but here… here we can simply exist. And you know something? I want you to feel this forever. Every note of this music. Every second before the storm arrives.
Ceres closed her eyes, the earphone pressed against her ear, and for the first time in her life, she felt that freedom was possible—even if only for a few hours, even within the chaos Theo brought with him.
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