Page 2 of The Sovereign, Part One (The Sovereign Saga #1)

The Skith was nearly empty, which wasn’t unusual at that hour.

Most government employees preferred private transit, their Supplicants or assigned Hiven shuttling them from one destination to the next.

But I liked the anonymity of the Skith and the way it gave me space to think without the constant fantasies of Maxim’s presence guiding my thoughts before I even had them.

I leaned against the transpane barrier, watching the vast landscape blur past in a stream of light and motion.

Hyperion Proper always felt more artificial when viewed at speed.

Towers of white steel stretched toward a skyline unmarred by imperfection.

My reflection wavered against the window, half-there, half-vanished into the city behind me.

When the Skith slowed to a stop at the Enclave’s port, I pulled my coat tighter and stepped onto the arrival tier.

The structure loomed ahead, its neoclassical influence mellowed by Hyperion’s signature sleekness.

It didn’t clamor for attention. There was a tenor of technology and the undercurrent of knowledge, conditioning, and belief woven so deeply into its foundation that no one ever thought to question them.

The Chief Technology Officer and Chief Architect, Leviticus Phineas Navon, stood just inside with his arms crossed, a familiar smirk tugging at his mouth.

As the brilliant mind behind the city’s technological foundation—and the third most powerful figure in Hyperion—he moved through its most exclusive corridors, ones that required multiple clearances and left even high-ranking officials waiting at sealed thresholds.

But to me, he was just Lev.

Stout in stature, he wore his years with ease, with warm brown eyes crinkling at the corners in a way that spoke of wisdom and well-placed humor. A thick, white beard framed his full cheeks, his softness in contrast with the sharp mind responsible for sculpting the future of technology.

“Senior Advisor Isara Poeima, gracing the halls of the Enclave. Are you finally admitting that tech and education are more interesting than cultural affairs?”

I rolled my eyes, stepping into the warmth of the atrium. “No, Lev, I’ll leave deciphering the language of progress to you.”

“My darling! You’ve always had a way with words!

” Lev’s laugh was an easy thing, bright against the almost inaudible buzz of the Enclave’s core systems. He was an old friend of my family, one of the few Sovereign within The Citadel whom Papa truly trusted.

Before he retired, my papa was the esteemed Velkyn Poeima, Chief Liaison of Technological Affairs.

He had been admired and respected, yet rarely understood.

Lev, however, was the exception. As LTA, Papa had worked closely with him, forging a path through the volatile rift separating Hyperion’s governance from its advancing tech.

Lev’s skill in balancing innovation with policy earned him countless accolades, yet I often sensed that what he witnessed in that role had left him disillusioned.

He never spoke of it outright, but I could see it, the burden of knowledge he chose not to share.

“What brings you here?” I asked. “Did you relocate your lab?”

“My old office is in this building. I revisit it from time to time.”

“That’s right,” I said, memories surfacing from the corners of my mind. “That was eons ago; I remember playing on that floor while you and Papa debated the integration of personalization of tone and accent into the AI interfaces.”

He grinned. “And if I recall, I won that debate.” He chuckled. “I thought we should talk before your final segment.”

“Oh?” I replied, falling into step behind him as he led me down a distantly familiar hallway.

“I heard about the committee meeting for your IRDAA bill. You have a remarkable gift for combining strength with professionalism. You’re so much like Velkyn. It’s a beautiful thing to see,” Lev said, leading me toward his office.

I didn’t need to ask what he meant. It had circulated around The Forum that I was tough but fair in that meeting.

It wasn’t just the way my mind constantly wrestled with the things others ignored—it was the fact that I was there at all, pushing for Supplicant, Hiven, and even exponent rights, and how to better integrate those rights into everyday Sovereign life—speaking with such conviction, yet still managing to remain disarmingly likeable… like Papa always did.

“I might’ve gotten carried away.”

“Nonsense. Don’t mistake your discomfort for failure,” he said.

“Innovation doesn’t come from being agreeable.

It comes from the parts of us Hyperion finds…

inconvenient. Defiance. Obsession. Impatience.

Arrogance. Stubbornness. Traits Hyperion tries to correct in children starting from The Cradle but end up rewarding in visionaries.

You’re not defective, Isara. You’re brilliant. And they know it.”

Lev led me down another corridor, this one more discreet, that veered away from the central foot traffic. He paused at a side panel, pressed his palm to a biometric reader, and a private, narrow Ascens opened without a sound.

The ascent was quick. When the panels parted, we stepped into an upper tier framed in darkened transpane, the air noticeably cooler, quieter, as if the world below had been muted.

His former office sat at the far end of the wing, tucked away. Once inside his domain, the panels sealed behind us with a hiss and finality of a locking mechanism.

There was no ambient lighting, no ornamental tech. It felt less like an office and more like the nerve center of something forgotten, or something never meant to be remembered. Only one corner seemed to be remotely within the same era as the rest of the building, where his Hiven assistant sat.

“Hello, Isara,” she said, rising to her feet. She folded one hand gently over the other, letting them settle with careful composure.

“Gila, it’s so nice to see you,” I responded, but her presence always required a moment to process—so distinctly unlike any Hiven I’d encountered.

Gila was one of the select few designed to serve Hyperion’s upper ranks, and it showed.

Her facial structure was sharper, more defined than the standardized models, with high cheekbones, a prominent nose, and full, serious lips.

Her long, dark hair fell in soft waves, and her height, nearly six feet tall, gave her an added air of authority.

While most Hiven facial features were without variance—only their designated uniforms and names to set them apart—Gila had a curated wardrobe of tailored pieces that suited both form and function.

Today, a sleek, light blue tunic with a subtle sash, minimal but unmistakably customized.

She was also the only Hiven permitted a private residence, a serene living space connected directly to Lev’s office by a sealed passage.

Her permissions were nearly Supplicant-tier, yet she operated with the confidence and discretion of someone who understood her power came not from access, but from trust.

“Leviticus,” she warned. It always amused me that she was Hiven, and still the only one in Hyperion permitted to use his full name.

He waved her off with the irritation of someone locked in a decades-long domestic truce. “The Percival meeting, I know, I know.”

“Eleven minutes,” she added firmly, returning to her seat with perfect posture.

“How’s Avaryn?” Lev asked once we were settled, his former office seeming untouched since he last occupied it. Where the rest of the Enclave was sleek and precise, Lev’s space was cluttered with tools and half-built prototypes.

“We just celebrated her twenty-first birthday,” I said. “Still as reckless as ever.”

Lev grinned. “Aren’t younger siblings supposed to be?”

“You tell me.”

Lev’s expression faltered for half a second before he masked it with a shrug. “That was a long time ago.”

A lost sibling meant another only child, and despite Hyperion’s relentless efforts to combat the Birth Crisis, families of three remained all too common. Not just in Hyperion Proper, but in The Icarus Commonwealth and across the world.

“Avaryn has it easier than I ever did,” I said, uncomfortable with the quiet. “She was raised knowing what Noryn is. She’s never wondered about the world the way I did. She doesn’t have to filter every word she utters.”

Lev leaned back in his chair, his gaze sharp. “You mean your mina.”

“Yes. Of course. Of course , our mina. I didn’t mean…”

“I know, Isara. It’s okay. You can speak freely here.”

Noryn was my papa’s Supplicant, but to me, she was simply Mina.

In Hyperion, that title belonged to every mother, Sovereign or not.

She was kind, caring, nurturing in every way, sometimes even firm when she needed to be.

She never grew tired, never cross. She would give her life for us, if that’s what it was.

Papa loved her as he did his daughters, and I loved her, too.

Once my parents sat me down and revealed the truth about my mina, the thought haunted me for years, the gnawing fear that her love was nothing more than a program.

That was, until Mrs. Aldeth passed away in the Sablestone adjacent to ours, and Mr. Aldeth, her Supplicant, chose to terminate instead of being recast for a service position.

He would rather cease to exist instead of go on without her.

I knew then that Noryn truly loved me, in every sense of the word.

“Do you think that’s a good thing? That Avaryn never questions the way of the world?” Lev asked, snapping me to the present.

I exhaled slowly. “I think it’s easier for her. And that’s enough.”

“Easier isn’t always better.”

“No,” I agreed. “But it keeps her safe.”