Page 20 of The Sovereign, Part One (The Sovereign Saga #1)

I barely registered the journey to the Enclave, my mind circling the conversation with Chiron and Artemis like a predator assessing a trap.

The meeting had started as expected, a formal discussion on Veritas, on the evolution of Vesture, Oathbond, and Accordance, and then, like a hand slowly closing around my throat, it had turned.

The moment I stepped into Lev’s former office, the words poured out of me.

I recounted every detail, the meeting with Chiron and Artemis, how it had started as a discussion about Veritas but veered into something else entirely.

I told him about their questions, their calculated interest in Joss, the way they already seemed to know more than they let on.

I recounted what Joss had said to me at the café, how he had walked the same streets dozens of times, hoping to run into me.

That he was considering leaving Hyperion behind and why.

By the time I was finished, my pulse was erratic, my breath tight with unease.

Lev listened without interruption, his expression unreadable, though the slight furrow in his brow deepened when I told him the part about Joss learning something he shouldn’t know, and that he had asked if I would go back to The Vale with him, saying I didn’t belong here.

“You don’t believe this was about fairness,” Lev said finally, his tone neutral.

I shook my head. “No. If fairness was truly their concern, they would have asked how to bridge the gap, not just how the Vale-born experience it. The way they questioned me… it wasn’t curiosity, Lev, it was confirmation.

They already knew about Joss. They either wanted me to validate what intelligence they already had, or they were…

it was subtle, but it was an interrogation.

No, it was an extraction. I know… I know how this sounds, but in the moment, it felt intentional, as if they were sifting through my words like a hunter tracking a wounded animal, waiting for the smallest misstep that might betray I knew something I wasn’t meant to. ”

Lev studied me for a long moment before asking, “Do you really want the truth?”

I hesitated, the question settling deep beneath my skin.

The truth wasn’t simply dangerous, it could cost me everything this close to my Court Date: my standing, my future, Maxim.

But the answer I’d given Joss and the way I felt about Maxim, even before we’d met, placed me firmly at the point of no return. At this point, did it matter?

I exhaled slowly. “I need the truth.”

Lev leaned forward. “You have it, if you’d been paying attention. The news has been reporting on it for weeks.”

I frowned in confusion.

He continued, “There’s a group outside the walls called the Ruhat.

A terrorist faction. Their leader is a man named Qadim.

No one knows exactly where he came from.

Some say his Sovereign parent was banished from Hyperion, others say he’s Vale-born, or even a descendant of the leaders of the revolt. But he’s real. And he’s a threat.”

A chill curled around my spine. “What is the Ruhat after?”

Lev’s gaze sharpened. “Are there whispers about an explosion at the Intrasect Hub near the wall?”

I blinked. “No.”

“They called it a minor systems irregularity on the feeds,” he said, tone dry.

“The one they sent Regs to investigate? I remember thinking that didn’t quite add up. An explosion? Are you saying it was planned? As in… a bomb?”

“It was the Ruhat,” he said. “As well as the incident at the Skybridge. They’ve been organizing for decades—maybe longer. Until recently, it was small disruptions. Tactical noise. But the explosion? It was an escalation.”

I stared at him. “To what end?”

“Not even The Citadel is certain,” he said.

“But a phrase surfaced in decrypted transmissions pulled from the site. Something they keep repeating. The Great Deception. From the intel I’ve been able to access, the Ruhat believe Hyperion has replaced truth with illusion.

That by engineering order and producing children in labs to be assigned to couples—one of whom isn’t even human—we’ve severed ourselves from what it means to be fully alive.

To them, Hyperion isn’t just control, it’s spiritual extinction.

Isara… I believe something far worse is coming. ”

My breath stilled. “My papa once told me that Hyperion allows The Vale to exist only for the illusion of choice.”

Lev smiled. “Who do you think told your papa?”

Silence settled between us again, heavier this time.

“Have you heard of Blight?” he asked finally.

Dread pooled in my stomach. The word itself was taboo. “I’ve heard of it. Supposedly a condition where you mentally reject your Supplicant, leading to paranoia, depression, aggression… even violence. Murder. Suicide. But it’s a myth, right? It’s a myth?”

“I’m afraid it’s not,” Lev said. “At The Citadel, it’s referred to as Synthetic Affective Syndrome.

Unbroken joy was never meant to be our constant state.

The soul is tempered in the crucible of hardship, shaped by sorrow as much as by light.

Struggle molds us. Without it, there is no growth.

We can’t truly appreciate joy unless we’ve known sadness.

We’ve engineered suffering out of Hyperion. And now, Sovereign are breaking.”

A sharp breath left me. “You’re saying Accordance is causing psychosis?”

“I’m saying for certain Sovereign, it’s inevitable,” Lev corrected. “And I’ve been researching ways to adjust the Supplicants, to prevent the psychological rejection that leads to Blight.”

I shook my head. “That’s… illegal, Lev. It’s a direct violation of The Eight.”

Written by the first Ethics Council, The Eight were immutable, Hyperion’s highest and most absolute laws, woven into the very foundation of our society.

They dictated the ethical treatment of Supplicants and Hiven, the framework for integration, the boundaries of behavior and code.

These laws weren’t just statutes, they were doctrine enforced with unyielding discipline.

Not even the Vanguard were immune. The Eight ensured that Sovereign never overstepped, that the balance between human and synthetic remained intact.

They governed the rights of Supplicants, ensuring they were neither exploited nor regarded as inferior.

The Eight strictly set the parameters of Hiven autonomy, preventing deviations that could disrupt order, and they reinforced the fundamental belief that Hyperion was the pinnacle of civilization—its structure unshakable, its harmony unquestionable.

To defy The Eight was to defy Hyperion itself.

Lev’s expression remained impassive. “The Sovereign who suffer from Blight aren’t seen again. We should be doing everything in our power to prevent it. Do you agree?”

I wasn’t sure what unsettled me more, that Lev had been researching how to circumvent The Eight, or that I wasn’t sure he was wrong.

“In theory, yes. But what does this have to do with Joss? Why the sudden interest in Vale-born?”

Lev exhaled. “Trust your intuition, Isara. What does it tell you?”

A cold certainty settled in my gut. “That it’s connected to the Ruhat somehow?”

Lev nodded. “You’re on the right track.”

I swallowed. “Do they think The Vale is plotting with the Ruhat?”

Lev tilted his head, a shadow of regret passing over his expression, as if lamenting the burden he had just placed on my shoulders, the glimpse into the rot beneath Hyperion Proper’s flawless veneer. “You already know the answer.”

By the time I stepped into my office, the weight of the day settled on me like a heavy coat I couldn’t shrug off.

The translucent walls of my workspace—once a symbol of clarity and transparency—felt oppressive now, their polished sheen mocking the disarray of my thoughts.

I dropped my tresset onto my desk, the structured bag landing with an uncharacteristic lack of grace, and I sank into my chair, exhaling sharply.

“Calyx, transition wall panels to full opacity, maintain window view,” I instructed, my voice steadier than I felt.

The walls dimmed to an opaque frost, cocooning me in a rare moment of privacy.

I had dozens of tasks to complete before my leave began.

Everything had to be in order, scheduled down to the smallest detail.

As the Senior Advisor of Cultural Affairs, I couldn’t let things fall through the cracks.

But now, my mind was brimming with questions I wasn’t supposed to have, doubts I wasn’t allowed to entertain.

In a single conversation, Joss had taken so much from me—the truth I had believed in, certainty, the fragile illusion of peace I had clung to—leaving only the hollow ache of something irreplaceable.

A day ago, I had been steadfast. Assured.

Focused on the life I had spent years curating, on the world that made sense.

And then he appeared, an uninvited ghost from a past I had buried so deep I thought it couldn’t touch me anymore.

Yet here I was, dissecting every word he had spoken, every lingering glance, as if the answers to questions I shouldn’t be asking were hidden somewhere between them.

I righted my posture and flattened my palms against the desk.

I couldn’t let this distract me. Not when I was only days away from meeting Maxim in person.

With a quick gesture, I activated my interface, instructing Calyx to pull up the reports.

I forced myself to scan the data, but determination quickly slipped away.

The thoughts I was trying to suppress crept in, clouding my concentration, until the figures on the screen blurred, lost in the storm raging in my mind.

Joss and his home were in danger. I knew it as surely as I knew that I couldn’t help him.

And yet, I wanted to. Why?