It was the final sequence of questions with Mother Ceres.
She had the patience and hardness of marble, but also a light, featherlike sense of humor that tickled.
Render insisted.
— Mother, about the wheat field with more than three hundred refugees... Was that a miracle? A trick? Or coincidence? The Arcadian man died in front of you with a firearm pointed at your head. You were holding a refugee child in your arms. You merely reached out to protect her, but the Arcadian fell dead before the cameras, in the middle of the wheat field.
Render took a breath.
— With that gesture, you triggered an existential and religious crisis in Omni Opus. All the priests and the Red Council were brutally murdered by their own population, who put you in their place and canonized you as Our Lady of Hunger. Your veil, your garments, and the refugees’ dirty masks were taken to Omni Opus and adorned with gold, ornaments, and precious stones. Everything you yourself refuse to wear.
He paused.
— How do you deal with that? Being canonized precisely where you were hated as an enemy of the faith, and now being worshipped? How do you deal with that? And what happened to the three hundred refugees?
It was a heavy question.
Mother Ceres feared its weight. She also feared the repercussions it might have on the agreements with Omni Opus.
She remained silent for a few seconds.
— Render, my son... What happened was that the Arcadian suffered a massive heart attack.
She looked at him.
— The gun was loaded. I raised my hand to protect the poor refugee child while she was eating her food... a piece of bread.
Ceres paused briefly.
— I placed the child on the ground in the wheat field and went to help the shooter. He was a poor man tormented by the hatred between our nations. I didn't want him to die. I would rather die myself than see him die. He was a young man who believed he was doing the right thing through a distorted ideological lens.
Mother Ceres remained composed.
— I performed no miracle. I sent the reports to every nation. Scientific facts. He suffered a massive heart attack. Chance made it happen.
She took a breath.
— I cannot control what people want to see.
The camera remained fixed on her.
— It was broadcast live on television. It was a trap designed to make me execute everyone in front of the cameras. Instead of bullets, I offered food, doctors, clothing, and shelter.
She looked directly at the camera.
— The entire world saw that we executed no one, even though that is permitted under our laws. We heal the scars of people who want a chance that freedom has taken away from them.
Silence.
— I am human. I cannot control narratives. I did not stop that man with supernatural powers. And I will always deny that I did.
Ceres lowered her eyes for a moment.
— It was chance.
Another silence.
— But I also cannot prove that it wasn't a miracle.
Render raised his eyebrows slightly.
Ceres continued:
— To me, it was chance. To a scientist, it was the workings of the human body. To Omni Opus... perhaps it was an answer.
She turned her eyes back to the camera.
— And if it was a miracle, I was not the one who performed it.
The sentence hung in the studio.
— I believe in something greater. But that something is not me.
She breathed slowly.
— I've always said that, from the very beginning. From the event until today. But I cannot control the emptiness within people. Much less their faith.
Render did not interrupt.
— My fight is against hunger, which is more tangible. In the mechanics of the universe, there is no need for anything greater. But human beings may need it. They need light. Hope. Even if it does not correspond to reality.
Ceres leaned back.
— I have respected Omni Opus since the days when they hated me. And I continue to respect them, even after they destroyed CERES I.
A small smile appeared.
— I hold no grudge.
She paused.
— I carry hunger with me.
Silence returned.
Render seized the opportunity.
— And the economic agreements?
Ceres answered immediately.
— Trade is the path to accidental peace. Peace is an accident. We don't need to hate one another. We need one another. And without others, Ceres does not exist.
She looked at Render.
— Without economic agreements, war becomes more likely. We have to communicate and trade.
A pause.
— There is no other way.
Render remained silent for a few seconds.
Then he returned to the question that truly mattered.
— And the three hundred refugees?
This time, Ceres did not answer immediately.
Her expression changed.
It hurt.
The Continental Council had ordered Mother Ceres to return to Arcadia.
And the three hundred refugees were executed.
Mother Ceres began to cry.
She knew.
The reporter knew.
Everyone knew.
It was cruel.
The Silencers appeared, like demons emerging from the darkness.
Mother Ceres raised her hands.
— No, my children. This is wrong. Render is right. Return to your posts...
She slowly lowered her hands.
— I gave that child her last bath. Myself.
Her voice faltered.
— Because I knew what they would do after the Continental Council ordered my return.
She took a deep breath.
— She was happy. Her stomach was full.
Ceres tried to continue.
— The child asked me why I was crying.
Silence.
— I bathed her without her mask...
Her voice almost disappeared.
— ...because I knew I would never see her again.
Mother Ceres wept before the cameras.
Without a mask.
Without a speech.
Without an argument.
Without a miracle.
— For Ceres...
She closed her eyes.
— Why?
Mother Ceres looked directly at the camera.
— I am human. I cannot control narratives. I did not stop that man with supernatural powers. And I will always deny that I did. It was chance.
She paused briefly.
— But I cannot control the emptiness within people. Much less their faith.
At that moment, in Omni Opus, an enormous screen broadcast the interview inside the Red Cathedral.
The entire nation seemed to have come to a standstill.
Ever since CERES II had appeared in the skies, thousands of people had remained kneeling before the screen. They repeated the mantra of the Mother, of Our Lady of Hunger.
Some prayed.
Others cried out.
There were people flagellating themselves, wounding their own flesh as though pain were a form of gratitude.
And the more Mother Ceres denied the miracle, the more they worshipped her.
The Red Book, Omni Opus's sacred text, said that its prophets were humble. They denied their miracles. Declared themselves the greatest of sinners. Rejected their own sainthood.
It was useless.
To that population, denial was merely further proof of her divinity.
In the Red Cathedral, Mother Ceres was depicted as a saint.
Her garments remained stained by the embraces of the child who would later be executed. The mask, now adorned with gold, diamonds, and precious stones, rested upon an altar of pure gold.
The symbol of the eight had been removed.
It no longer existed as Ceres's insignia.
Now, it was a relic.
More donations poured into the temples. Trade with Ceres tripled. The population no longer went hungry as it once had. Many people received homes, although thousands were still waiting for their houses to be built.
Corruption levels had declined, but remained significant.
Government assistance, supplemented by additional income, helped many people escape poverty. Some opposed those policies, claiming they encouraged people not to work.
If that logic were true, Mother Ceres would deserve a Nobel Prize in Economics.
A small amount of financial assistance could lift someone out of poverty. And within that line of reasoning, one would have to admit that refusing to work for little money and simply not liking work were practically the same thing.
Mother Ceres had done nothing to cause any of it.
She had merely extended her hand before the cameras.
The man died.
The gun did not fire.
Arcadia had set a trap to make Ceres execute the refugees before the eyes of the world. But the trap had backfired.
She offered food, doctors, clothing, and shelter.
The world saw what happened.
And from that moment on, each person chose what they wanted to see.
Mother Ceres did not control that narrative.
And that was precisely what made her even more frighteningly beloved.
Back in the interview, Ceres remained silent for a few seconds.
Render watched her face.
— Mother... I am a real mother, too — she said. — There were many Mother Cereses before me. That has never been a secret. I carry the mask and hunger as acts of penance.
Her voice lost some of its firmness.
— To this day, I remember that child's innocence.
She lowered her eyes.
— There is something everyone understands in this world. When a father or mother dies, their child becomes an orphan. When a husband or wife dies, they become widowed.
Ceres took a breath.
— But when a child dies... there is no word for it.
The studio stood motionless.
— It is so unnatural that even silence seems to fall silent before a nameless fact. Nowhere in the world is there an explanation that is enough. No complete acceptance.
She raised her face.
— In the choice concerning the refugees, freedom made the decision alongside the Continental Council. But without responsibility, Render.
Her voice grew firmer.
— Ideologies are made by humans, but they can exist without humanity. And when the state feels threatened, they crush ordinary citizens in the name of a greater good.
Ceres looked directly at him.
— And I am still the unjust one?
A pause.
— They say I lie?
She touched her mask.
— I do not destroy. I shelter people because of their scars, not their virtues.
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