I woke up.

  It wasn’t a jarring wake-up like I was used to—either from the attack of a hungry predator or a desperate bounty hunter. I simply opened my eyes and found myself staring at the ceiling, as if for the first time in years I didn’t have death breathing down the back of my neck.

  That was what kept me still for a second. When was the last time I felt like this?

  "I don’t need sleep."

  I sat up slowly, testing every sensation. The fatigue wasn’t there. The pain was gone. I felt a fullness I’d never experienced before. Was this really what sleeping felt like? Or was I just too worn out from my fight with that insect?

  I moved my inner energy. Slowly. It felt like I’d done it for the first time in my life. What was this feeling?

  "I feel better than ever. All the damage is gone."

  I stared at my hands for a moment, full of questions. This sensation was unfamiliar to me—the concepts I was emanating felt alien. At least, they felt alien inside my own body. That was why I expected an answer—one that never came.

  But there was nothing to do except drop it. It made no sense to chase that doubt right now. I felt better than I had in a long time, and that was all I needed for the moment.

  I sat up fully and looked at the clock. I’d planned to get up at two, but I’d slept right through it.

  It was three nineteen.

  —Ah, what a problem… —I murmured without much energy. I didn’t expect a restorative sleep to be so pleasant that my internal clock couldn’t wake me up.

  I got up and prepared without turning on any lights. Black clothes. A cloak just as dark. I adjusted the mask and changed its color, making it duller, less noticeable in the shadows. I didn’t want attention. Then I looked at the “tourist” credential I’d stored in my storage device.

  I examined it for a moment. I knew what it was used for. But apparently putting it into storage neutralized its effect—or maybe the bastards just didn’t want to ruin my nice rest.

  I left the credential on the nightstand. I didn’t want to be tracked right now. I didn’t know if that feature of the collar was real, or if they’d just left me alone because it was my first night. And I had no intention of taking the risk to find out. That would be very stupid.

  I turned to the baby.

  That tiny creature—who made me feel things I thought I’d forgotten—slept with a calm and peace she’d probably never experienced. She looked so cute, sleeping like nothing in this shitty world could hurt her.

  I stayed still for a moment, afraid to wake her.

  "Do I leave her?"

  It was a pretty valid thought. Especially seeing how peacefully she was sleeping. But I shook my head.

  It made no sense—maybe my luck would run out and the intruders I was expecting would come through that door. And if they found her unprotected while I was gone, who knew what they’d do to her.

  So I picked her up carefully, making sure not to wake her. I settled her against my chest and slipped out like a shadow. Silent. No footsteps. No sound. If someone had been in that room, they wouldn’t have noticed my departure.

  The city was glamorous under the dome’s artificial night.

  The streets, lit in the dark, looked different than they did during the day. They were still clean and orderly, still carrying that welcoming vibe. But the glow of the streetlamps gave the city a more mysterious touch. The artificial night sky deepened that feeling.

  I moved across the rooftops.

  The light from the streets made it harder to see things moving up on the roofs. Even so, I increased my stealth and concealment. I also deepened the darkness around me. I didn’t want to be detected.

  Not while I was looking for something that shouldn’t be hard to find.

  Answers.

  And they didn’t take long to arrive.

  Not even two minutes.

  The first scene made my stomach drop.

  A guard—from that questionable heat police—was beating a woman with methodical brutality. His savagery was excessive, as he kept slamming the woman’s face into the asphalt. Off to the side, a young woman who looked a lot like the one being beaten was on her knees, licking his boots. The guard laughed in a way so grotesque it almost made me gag.

  Both women were naked, and you didn’t have to be a genius to know what had happened before this spectacle. You only had to look at their condition.

  The detail that froze me wasn’t the violence.

  It was the reaction.

  The two women were broken, and yet they smiled. They seemed to enjoy their circumstances—not because they enjoyed the pain, but because they enjoyed serving.

  They thanked him.

  As if he were doing necessary work.

  The guard wouldn’t stop making that shrill, off-key sound, while spitting at them to keep praising him.

  I couldn’t hold back. I felt a spark of heat rise up my neck.

  I didn’t think about consequences, or whether this would cut my stay in the city short. I just acted on instinct.

  I drew a sword from the collar and moved. It was quick—there was no point dragging something like this out.

  The line was perfect as it cut that piece of trash down.

  The head rolled without excessive noise, painting a red line. The body dropped like a sack of rotten fruit.

  I knocked the two of them unconscious before they could register what had happened. I didn’t want to see their reactions. I didn’t think I could handle it.

  Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

  By reflex, I boosted their regeneration—wanting, even if only for a moment, to give them some comfort. Even if it was always too late. I covered them with a blanket to finish. I didn’t want to stay there.

  I exhaled.

  One of those sighs that doesn’t release anything.

  It was only the confirmation that my theory was correct, whether I liked it or not.

  I kept going.

  And I learned everything I needed to know without anyone explaining it to me.

  Because the city spoke at night. Probably some stupid rule from a damned order-obsessed maniac.

  An official used children like draft animals to pull a carriage. She laughed as she punished them for getting tired. A Huargo walked into someone else’s house like it belonged to him and left at his leisure, satisfied, impunity clinging to his skin. A traveler—one of the few in the city—went door to door like he was on vacation, leaving families in pieces on a whim.

  And the worst part: there was a system.

  Medical staff appeared when a victim was on the verge of dying—not to save them out of humanity, but so the “entertainment” wouldn’t end too soon. Preventive maintenance for suffering.

  Everything was public.

  No attempt to hide anything.

  The perpetrators acted as if they were part of the natural order.

  And the victims—horrible as it sounded—did too.

  Smiles you’d assume were fake if you didn’t know better. A sick, twisted gratitude from a mind that understood this as normal. Eyes trained not to ask for help, because that concept had no place in these circumstances.

  This was the norm.

  "Disgusting."

  I killed them.

  One after another.

  Every time I saw someone committing those acts, my body moved on its own.

  Not out of heroism—I never considered myself one. But out of a deep disgust. A basic need to stop it. I felt it was my duty to stop the injustice in front of my eyes.

  "Even if it ruins my stay."

  I couldn’t stay still.

  I couldn’t look away.

  So I killed them.

  And with each execution I felt the same thing: a tiny relief, and a fury that remained intact.

  At some point I climbed onto the roof of a tall building.

  I needed air. I needed distance. I needed my head to stop projecting scenes even when I closed my eyes.

  I sat down. My limbs felt like jelly, and there was a knot in my throat. I’d never witnessed so many horrible acts in succession. This city was sick.

  I adjusted the baby against me, making sure she stayed asleep. I rocked her slowly, almost without meaning to, and murmured a low melody—something old and simple. I wanted to make sure she hadn’t seen any of those atrocities. I didn’t know how far her traumas went, but in my presence I would make sure they didn’t get worse.

  In that controlled silence, I reviewed everything I’d seen—even though it was a task that left me numb.

  And I confirmed what I already suspected. I didn’t like it.

  First: the guards and officials—and, apparently, most travelers—had permission to abuse any citizen. Any whim. Any order. No questions asked.

  But only at night.

  During the day, Azup returned to its mask: order, cleanliness, bright smiles, perfect streets. As if horror had office hours. As if it were part of the regulations.

  And with Pólux being an order-obsessed maniac, it made sense. Everything had to be spotless when the “sun” came out. Not for morality. For aesthetics. After all, a farm had to look presentable.

  Second: I understood why the citizens were so docile.

  Why there was no real survival instinct.

  Why my discomfort intensified when they were close, as if my conceptual senses were seeing something poorly made.

  They weren’t citizens.

  They were livestock.

  Not only physically.

  Culturally. Conceptually.

  The answer came with a word that pissed me off because of how simple it was:

  Anthropic selection.

  Generation after generation, the Huargo tribe had allowed the weakest, the most docile, the least resistant to live and reproduce. The rebels, the violent, the ones who could organize were eliminated before they became a problem.

  And after enough time, the result was inevitable:

  People born as slaves.

  Not because of a stupid law or worship of someone who had all the answers. It wasn’t blind faith in a leader. It was the design of a rotten caste.

  This also explained the lack of conceptual ability. Yes—the majority of the “civilian” population didn’t have that ability that, by default, everyone obtained at birth.

  Azup’s übermensch had lost their innate conceptual ability. It was obvious when you compared them to a guard or an official. It was like looking at a body with the lights turned off inside.

  Shells.

  And my senses screamed it.

  That was why I felt bad. The unease they caused me was worse than seeing people affected by mind control.

  I felt sick looking at creatures lacking something I’d always taken for granted, and it left me with a feeling of helplessness.

  I stared at the fake starry sky, sunk in my thoughts.

  "Should I keep interfering?"

  What could I do, really?

  Even if I killed the entire Huargo tribe, what would that change?

  Another tyrant could appear and the system would continue. I could stay and guide them, yes. I could try to rebuild culture, instinct, pride.

  But how many generations would it take?

  How long until they stopped being born as slaves?

  A thousand years.

  More.

  "I don’t feel like living another thousand years in this shitty world!"

  I could do it.

  But I refused.

  And yet…

  My body didn’t understand that logic.

  Because right then I saw, down below, a man grabbing a woman by the hair and dragging her through the street. She complained from the pain, but she didn’t truly resist. As if resisting didn’t exist in her repertoire.

  I prepared to intervene.

  Even though I was tired.

  Even though my head was at the edge.

  I took a step.

  And stopped.

  Because someone got there first.

  Four hooded figures came out of nowhere and knocked the bastard out. Fast. Clean. Like a kidnapping—ironic as that sounded.

  I stayed still, watching the group leave in surprise.

  "What just happened?"

  They simply carried the guy and disappeared with the same efficiency.

  —Should I follow them? —I murmured.

  I already was. My body was starting to be a problem these days—always sticking its nose where it didn’t belong.

  I followed them across the rooftops, keeping my distance, making sure the baby stayed asleep. I didn’t want to involve her too much in this.

  It didn’t take long for them to slip through an opening and climb down.

  A sewer.

  I lost them as soon as they crossed.

  The heat and infrastructure that kept the streets “pleasant” distorted everything. Seeing through it was a headache. Awkward. Like the city’s very system had been designed to protect its stupid drainage.

  —Why do I bother…? —I sighed, annoyed at myself.

  I tried to justify it. I wanted to understand the identities of those hooded “kidnappers.”

  "Travelers with a particular sense of justice?"

  It made sense.

  But something didn’t add up.

  Four of them—coordinated, prepared, silent, with knowledge of the terrain.

  They didn’t move like tourists or amateurs. This felt more premeditated.

  And an idea struck me like lightning.

  "What if they’re rebels?"

  I discarded it instantly.

  "Impossible."

  The higher-ups could control the birth rate, growth, and development of everyone born and living in this city. This place shouldn’t produce rebels. Not with a system this closed. Not with the Huargo tribe lying in wait.

  Unless…

  Unless one of the higher-ups allowed it for fun.

  A spectacle.

  A sick joke.

  And still, the idea wouldn’t leave me.

  "What if they are rebels? How did they survive? Who backs them?"

  The thought brought its own answer.

  There were five Rank 8s in the city.

  Three were with the bishop.

  About those, I’d heard everything during the day.

  About the other two, nothing.

  On top of that, they were partially concealed. I could feel them, but only their general location—as if someone had wrapped their presence in a layer so it couldn’t be read properly.

  During the day I thought it was a defensive measure.

  Now there was another possibility.

  "Two factions?" That was one possibility.

  "And what if one of those Rank 8s—or both—are the leaders?"

  It made sense.

  Even if they were fewer.

  Three against one, or three against two, was still dangerous. A direct confrontation could end in escapes, regrouping, returning with reinforcements, escalation.

  So they maintained an unstable status quo.

  A balance held up by fear, calculation, and uncertainty.

  And now…

  What did I do with that information?

  Help the rebels?

  Do nothing?

  Trust strangers in a city where even the victims thanked their own destruction?

  I stared at the dark mouth of the sewer.

  Indecision shining under my mask.

  I tightened my grip slightly on the sleeping baby, feeling her weight as a reminder of the only thing that truly mattered.

  A thought cut through me with contempt.

  "Since when do you hesitate this much?"

  And before I could invent another excuse, I was already climbing down.

  I went into the sewer.

  Cold, damp, darkness.

  A simple decision, at last.

  "I’ll give you a chance. Don’t disappoint me."