Author's Note: As some of you may have read from the previous chapters, I have had some health issues lately, which is the reason for the enormous delays on these last few chapters. Fortunately, I am doing better now; while I will not be able to update once every two weeks as I had hoped when I began writing this story, I will make an effort to publish a chapter each month.

Thank You for your continued support.

Chapter 7

The modest, well-lit apartment in avenue Fifth of the Capital City, which I was granted residence thanks to the great generosity of the Federation, resounded of nerve-jitterying squeaks. Though the patterned ceramic tiles of the floor were excellent at minimizing that satisfying "clap" my boots would make every time one of my feet landed—the scope of this latter action to further my back-and-forth motion along the length of the room—I would pursue sliding the heels as much as I could along the polished surface in order to produce that high-pitched, detestable sound.

Only a masochist would do so without a good reason; therefore that day I learned that, whenever I was agitated, it was the noise of my movements that distracted my brain from over-thinking. not the moving and stretching of my muscles which relaxed my nerves.

And nervous I was, without a doubt: I had received a letter from the Federation that day, the 9th of November 2109.

I was terrified to open it because—I am sure you do remember, my dear reader—any missive coming from the Bureaucratic Office had the potential to become an existential crisis.

Was another capture mission in the making? Were all those talks about a "second chance" a mere farce? How many times did I have to be sent away to the battlefield before They would be content?

Unsurprisingly, my brain was already set on the worst outcome.

Frustration—just when my life could have begun anew—delusion—it was too good to be true—self-pitying—I had given up on monsters, I could swear on it, they had to give me another chance, please—had once again got the best of me...

For a quarter of an hour.

Those thoughts did not linger for more than a quarter past the time the military officer had delivered me the letter. However unlike me, I had shut down my over-thinking in a timely manner.

"Roll back to square one," a voice told me; a voice which was foreign to me, yet clearly a citizen of my mind.

So I did. Without further hesitation, I snapped the red wax seal that kept the missive closed.

Back in Stadkerk I had always connected some grieving with that gesture. The drawing on the seal was a true work of art, and it stood out in the setting of a dull house like mine. It depicted the Savior himself, with a magnificent long robe that touched the ground; you could see all its plentiful folds in minute detail. He was holding a gun, from which a ray of light pierced the thunderous skies. A black evil dragon roared against that righteous power as its left wing was slashed by the soaring light. I say black because, even though the wax was of a rich red, the figure of the dragon had been hollowed from the stamp so that, once the correct angle of illumination had been found, while the Savior reflected its radiant light the creature wholly embodied the shadows. It was such a small detail that I had always been all the more fascinated by it when I was a kid. Whenever my father was not home and a Federation letter came, I would spend hours carefully rotating the image and marveling at the way the shadows cast from the ceiling light would change direction and shape, like the sun does with trees and poles as the hours pass—the wax circle was just like a speck of Earth, in my imagination.

It was a shame I had become so terrified of letters.

I repressed my childish minutiae and set myself to read the contents of the letter. When I did, I sighed from relief.

The United Federation of the Pure Human Race salutes you, comrade!

Rejoice, soldier! For the glory of your soul and the greater good, you are hereby assigned the following mission.

MISSION: Standby

WHEN: Until next missive

Et cetera, et cetera. A foot note was also present, which read the following:

We invite you to partake the funeral which will be held today at the Church of the Cathedral, to commemorate the death of your fellow soldiers and other brave souls who fought for our holy cause.

In conclusion, I had been truly given a second chance. My unrest could finally acquiesce.

In its place lingered the nagging thought that, I could swear, it was the first time I had ever heard my voice being that pragmatic and, most importantly, confident. Even though it was now silent, that kind of reasoning was such a stranger to me that, I feared, it did not belong to my character.

In the end, I still walked out of my apartment in high spirits, directed towards the Cathedral as I bounced my legs like elastic springs. After all, I was going to live another day.

/

The Capital City was of a liveliness that I was not used to at first. Moving anywhere required vigil eyes, as bikes and cars alike dashed on the wide asphalted roads and I quickly learned that I was always supposed to stay on the sidewalk, unless transverse white strips signaled the presence of a crosswalk. If I did not follow these rules—and sometimes even when I did—cars would blow their loud, aggravating horn and I would receive heavy insults, on top of the scare that a massive vehicle rushing towards me could give.

The abundant signage, which consisted of triangles, circles, squares and rectangles, each with a background and a foreground color, sometimes even more, was also somewhat intimidating, given that I could barely understand half of it: back in my home town all the horizontal signs had been wiped away by the passage of time—as well as some help by the horrendous graffiti people drew everywhere—while the only signposts that had not been stolen and melted for iron were the ones showing the way to the Federation offices.

Nevertheless, I soon found myself enjoying those walks. Plenty was to be seen at every corner: the residences alone could capture my interest with their eye-catching designs and flawless facades, and the sole fact that none of the buildings were worn out to the point the frame steel underneath them would peak outside was a novelty. Furthermore, the breadth and richness of libraries, gyms, offices and pubs was superlative, and beyond what my wildest dreams could conceive.

I was also pleasantly surprised to discover that the City had gardens. Grass trimmed precisely to the millimeter, tall trees and wide open spaces; some of these parks even offered small ponds and brooks of water to the delight of its visitors.

The largest of these gardens was, without a doubt, the Circular Earth: a magnificent explosion of flora surrounding the Cathedral and spanning well over a kilometer in radius. It was, by all means, an open-air museum of the vegetable kingdom, with a stunning variety of samples neatly broken down between the various sectors according to the ecosystem they were native of. From well-known oaks, nettles and berry bushes, nevertheless of a stature, strength or health which I had never seen in nature, to plants of exotic shapes and colors like palms, trees with yellow elongated fruits—which, given their height, looked more like giant herbs—or certain compounds of straight leaves shooting in all directions in a chaos of abstract beauty.

And how could I ever forget to mention the gracious edelweiss? A flower with the stem of a ballerina's torso and petals like the folds of a white dress, yet forged and hardened in harsh mountainous terrain, at high altitudes where snow would usually be its night blanket.

They were apparently nowhere to be found in the High Mountain sector. Actually, one would have to deviate from the round tiled passageway into a narrow gravel road humbly hidden on the side—my curiosity had led me there one day, where most would have refused to travel just to avoid the dirt—and proceed inside a path immersed in lush pines. Towards the end of the trail the vegetation would thin out and, at the very top of the small rocky slope, only a patch of edelweiss remained, a well-deserved sight for the resourceful adventurer. The road itself rose no more than fifty meters total in height, but the scenography of a mountain path was still very convincing. Indeed, the tribute that the designer of the garden had reserved for these rare creatures was remarkable.

To conclude, I could have lost myself for days inside that miniature Earth and not become bored. Even if, and I could never help it, the imperceptible sensation that some little detail was off would never leave the back of my mind. Thinking back on it, I may have never heard the slightest sound of an insect buzz or a cheerful chirp during my whole stay there.

/

Although the Circular Earth was extensive and disorienting, a straightaway with multiple fast lanes cut it through its radius, allowing for fast traveling from and to the Cathedral. Hence, it was not long before the front door of the Holy building laid before my puny height.

I will not bore the reader with a drawn-out description of the enormous golden gate which separated the realm of the commoners from that of the Federation, with its engravings detailing all the passages of the Victorious Scriptures in superb images and ending with a representation of the order of the universe itself, the Church of the Federation right in its center. But oh, did it put my treasured red wax to shame!

I could but be intimidated by such a display; without a doubt, my actions were insignificant in comparison to those heroic gestures and the the universe itself.

Having my joyfulness cooled down, it was with a reverential devotion that I entered the holy edifice.

The ground floor consisted of a cylindrical room with a large base to height ratio. Practicality was the key to understand the architecture of the room: all round the lateral wall were elevators, each guarded by a reception, which allowed commoners to reach up to the ninetieth floor of the building.

The noise of mechanical ascent or descent was ever-present: long queues of people, coming not just from the Capital but also from its much more populous slave cities, were always waiting to present their requests with this or that office and be granted permission to use one of the lifts. However slow they may have been—it could take up to an hour to reach the higher floors—it was far preferable than to climb each step of the Serpent Stairway on the outside.

There were also a dozen other elevators in the middle of the building, positioned at the vertices of a regular dodecagon. Fast, silent, contained within a sleek glass tube and completed with comfortable divans to enjoy the ride, these elevators could be used only by the ten highest ranked officials and few others privileged, in order to reach the restricted top ten floors of which no information had ever been announced, disclosed, or even leaked out.

I was about to queue behind what appeared to be the shortest line of people, when a familiar voice called my name with enthusiasm.

It was none other than that show-off of Nick, naturally. He was boasting his purple Poké Ball, his prized capture, on the front pocket of a three-piece black suit which, for its elegance, must have costed more money than me, my father and his whole miners' crew had ever managed to amass together.

As if that would have not been enough to cause a surge of collective jealousy, he was accompanied by a gorgeous young girl.

Although petite, she had a style so snappy and biting she could kill with a single look. Her smooth hair was combed sideways to her right and colored with an intense candy red; on her long bangs, this color was mixed with sparse black spots which became more frequent downwards until, a few centimeters from the tip, the hair would be all black. Those bangs also guided the unsuspecting eyes towards her lush breast, on top of which they were resting idle and free; although, certainly, her revealing dark outfit also contributed to the suggestiveness. A warm white skin, glittering gray eyes, cheeks sinking below the bone into a pointed but smooth chin, a delicate nose, an high jaw, all these features enhanced her young femininity. On top of these, a couple of child-like details, a left-over from her just passed teenage years, perfected that body with an air of innocence that could tip over an already hard-kept restraint, and drive any man crazy.

At the very least, I could still console myself on the basis that the girl did not seem to dig Nick too much, and that his clothes were just a bit too tight on the waist—the bottom line being that money could not buy someone a good physique or love.

"You clumsy!"

As the two walked towards me, Nick bawled words to me from the other side of the building, uncaring of whether he was disturbing anyone by doing so. As per usual, he had established a tone of confidence that we did not have.

I waved back to him, but did not move nor talk back.

"That's not the right elevator, the one you are trying to get to," he explained as if it was such an obvious statement, like the addition of two and two.

When the couple finally stopped at a reasonable distance for a proper interpersonal exchange, Nick drew a golden card from his wallet with a big smirk on his face, and signaled towards the central elevators with his head.

"No waiting lines for my friends," he chanted with a proud smirk.

"If I said I was surprised because you have a golden card, I would be lying," I replied.

Nick yanked his torso, rotating it to his side as if hit by an invisible punch.

"Ouch! That hurts!" he exclaimed.

I was in a good enough mood, so I gave in to his playfulness and chuckled, even if I was hesitant to trust the person who had instigated and committed sexual aggression without a regret. I suppose that his cheeriness and confidence had beat my aloofness once again; I ended up resigning to follow behind their steps as we directed ourselves towards one of the central elevators.

After about a dozen steps, the girl finally spoke up for the first time, saving me from my soon-to-enact plans for an awkward presentation that were in my mind.

"Who is him?" she asked Nick, in reference to me.

Her voice was beautiful: fruity yet soft, with very slight cracks as if she had a mild sore throat. To simplify, I was already in love with her.

"It's a good buddy from my latest mission! We had fun with..."

"My pleasure," I quickly added while Nick continued to babble, and offered her my hand to shake.

However, my voice had sounded feeble and it had cracked on the first word.

What am I doing? Get it together! I urged myself.

Please, my dear reader, do forgive my inexperience with women at the time. I was panicking and, because her judgment seemed so terrifying, I was having difficulty even with basic social and communication skills.

Besides, it was undeniable that my lower-class status had set me in an unfavorable game from the get-go. I did not wear fancy clothes, my skin was rough and I had a bush on top of my head instead of hair.

Nonetheless, she still replied with an amiable smile and did shake my hand.

"Name's Chandra. Nice to meet you."

In the meantime Nick, who had been pen spinning with his golden card, entered a series of credentials and, finally, the card itself into a small computer by one of the glass elevator. Soon after, the glass door opened with a subtle swiss.

"Oh, by the way," Nick whispered, reaching so close to my ear while covering his mouth with his hand that it was impossible she could have not noticed the gesture, "she's all yours."

I was unsure whether he was genuinely unaware that his movements were exasperated to a comical degree, or if he was trying to make a joke by pretending to whisper.

Chandra did not reply back, but I did notice her stealing a glance at me.

With a playful wink, "I've already got my own girl, if you know what I mean," Nick concluded, pointing at the pocket of his suit.

As soon as the doors closed and the elevator began his rise, he dived one of the divans, stretching his body just to occupy as much space as he could.

As for me, I sat quiet in the side of the divan opposite to where Chandra was, unable to think of anything else but her.

This went on for a couple of minutes. Then, just as the elevator began to slow down, church bells rang; a mournful song was being played.

The elevator ended its course no more than a minute later. As it did, the entrance of the fiftieth floor opened, blinding my eyes from its holy light.