Page 4 of The Sovereign: Part One
“No,” I agreed.“But it keeps her safe.”
A questioning nature was, without a doubt, a liability, and my parents’ decision to keep Noryn’s truth from me for too long only reinforced my instinct to dig deeper, a habit I never managed to shake.Lev had always understood this about me, yet he never challenged the policies that, at their core, were thinly veiled vilifications of scrutiny and dissent, one of the few choices he’d made that I struggled to accept.In his paradoxical way, he welcomed—perhaps even found solace in—my relentless curiosity, recognizing in it a reflection of his own quiet resistance, even if he rarely allowed that resistance to reach the surface.
Lev studied me for a moment, then nodded.“Fair enough.”
The conversation shifted, as it always did when we talked too long about my being an outlier.“If you could’ve chosen, would you have preferred a sibling closer in age?”
I shook my head.“No.I liked the gap.It meant that by the time Avaryn was old enough to form memories, I already knew who I was.I could be someone she looked up to, instead of just someone she grew up alongside.”
Lev seemed as if he wanted to dissect that answer, but instead, he leaned forward, resting his elbows on his desk.“You know, I find it rather funny.This whole system was built on the Birth Crisis.That’s how Hyperion justified everything—the need for the city-state, for order, efficiency, bioengineering, for Supplicants.And yet, despite all the advancements, all the carefully designed solutions, the mandate they landed on wasn’t about increasing natural births or improving fertility rates.Instead, they imposed the requirement that every Sovereign couple must adopt two bioengineered children within ten years of marriage.It’s almost as if, for all their innovation, the answer still came down to something as simple as forced responsibility, ensuring that every couple bore the weight of rebuilding the population, regardless of whether they were ready or willing.”
I arched one brow.“You don’t think adoption was a better answer than forced conception?Adoption was always the more sustainable solution.Two children ensures stability, enough to preserve humanity, to nurture properly, and to give adequate time and attention.It was never about restriction, just balance.”
Lev dismissed me with a curt wave, the sound he made somewhere between a sigh and a growl.“You’re quoting theCivic Codexas if it’s dogma.You’re better than that, Isara.When a society is built on control, every solution is just another method of maintaining it.”
I didn’t blink.“TheCivic Codexisn’t just operational philosophy, it’s a foundational charter grounded in The Eight.It defines every civic structure, every policy architecture we implement, including Protocol One, which strictly prohibits the creation of Supplicants who appear under the age of twenty-five.”
He didn’t respond, but I pressed.
“That’s not ornamental.It exists to eliminate ambiguity in consent and prevent Supplicant misuse.It’s forbidden to design innocence to serve desire.Exploitation isn’t a hypothetical; it’s a statistical eventuality.If you’re dismissing that, you’re not criticizing policy.You’re dismantling the ethical spine of Hyperion itself.”
Lev let out a low chuckle, his mouth tilting up just slightly, as if he were an orator inside the halls of The Forum who’d just stepped into the real debate.“You think that line was drawn to protect the Supplicant?”He edged closer, eyes glinting—amused, but with the sharpness of someone already ten moves ahead.“It wasn’t drawn forthem, Isara.It was drawn to protect Sovereign—from their own appetites, yes—but more importantly, Hyperion Systems and their stockholders from scandal, when the company was still vying for the creation of our city-state.The company’s concern was never what the Supplicant might endure; it was what Hyperion couldn’t risk appearing to allow.Any blemish on their ethics would’ve jeopardized their real objective: legitimacy.And legitimacy was the only path to building the city-state.To control, they had to look worthy of it.”
I tapped my fingers against the armrest of my chair, glancing around.
“There is no surveillance here, Isara.No auditory feeds.”
“Are you sure?”I asked.
“I’m sure.”Lev’s gaze softened.“I forget sometimes that you grew up guarding your thoughts.”
“Most Sovereign do,” I said.
Lev tilted his head slightly.“You more than most.”
My throat tightened.“I suppose.I…” I sat taller.“I’ll concede your perspective has merit.But it’s difficult to mount a meaningful rebuttal when I’m denied access to the same evidence.It’s not a fair match when I’m citing from public records and you’re drawing from restricted logs.”
Lev grinned, holding his finger against his mouth.He was satisfied with something I’d said, but I wasn’t sure I wanted to know which part.
“It’s almost tragic you committed to The Dominion and not The Forum.You would’ve had them on their knees by now.”
We sat with that for a moment.Papa’s presence was the same, silent, but impossible to ignore.Even retired and spending most of his days outside the walls, he lingered in conversations, in the spaces between words.
Lev exhaled, pushing back from the desk.“I don’t want to make you late.You should come around more.I could use someone to keep me in check.”
I smirked.“You mean someone to remind you of the rules so you can break them?”
“Something like that.”
“Isn’t that what Gila is for?”
He waved me away.“She’s acquiescent.”
“And whose doing is that?”she called from her desk, defensive.“Only one of us was designed to follow orders.”
I grinned.“She doesn’t seem overly agreeable to me.Is that colloquialism and linguistic adaption?In a Hiven?Transgressive.”
He winked.“That was most certainly my doing.”
