Page 31 of The Sovereign, Part One (The Sovereign Saga #1)

It was concealed behind a soundproof panel, blending into the wall in such a way that most would never know it was there until activated.

Like the rest of the acquell, it maintained itself, air filtration kept everything fresh, and surfaces were treated with self-sanitizing technology.

Even the flooring adjusted to body temperature, ensuring it was never too cold beneath my feet.

Maxim took it all in with interest, but when we stepped into my dressing alcove, his gaze sharpened.

The space was nearly half the size of my somna, lined with auto-retracting panels, their frosted glass turning transparent with a simple command.

A large ottoman rested in the center, its surface subtly adjusting to provide the perfect level of support.

“Calyx, display wardrobe,” I said, watching as each section revealed my respectable collection of immaculately organized clothes, categorized not just by color and type but by function, climate suitability, and personal preference.

I gestured with my hand, summoning a different section forward, this one empty. “This one belongs to you.”

Maxim studied the space for a moment, then looked at me with a quiet conviction. He reached out, brushing his fingers along the panel, not to test its function but as if absorbing what it signified: belonging, permanence, a place that was his. “Thank you,” he said, almost a whisper.

“It was no trouble. Of course I’d make room.”

“It’s not just about making room,” he said.

“It’s what it means. This empty rack is for my clothes, in a home that’s mine…

not for function, not as an extension of duty, but because I exist independently from the system, I exist here, with you.

” He let his hand rest against the panel a moment longer, then turned back to me, a tenderness in his voice, “It means more to me than you probably realize.”

I blinked. Supplicants didn’t buy homes, they occupied them. Their existence had always been defined by proximity to the Sovereign they served. But Maxim, he wasn’t just accepting his place here. He was claiming the space, instead of just adjusting to it.

After what had happened in the café, it was possible that response was unique to Maxim.

But maybe it wasn’t. Maybe all Supplicants hoped for what he was feeling now, their programming just didn’t allow them to voice it.

My chest tightened as something inside me altered, an understanding taking root where before there had only been acceptance.

“I’m sorry,” he chuckled. “It seems like every time I walk into a new room, I’m hit with another existential revelation.”

“No, it’s fascinating . I’m having so many epiphanies myself, especially because in my field… everything you’re saying is just…” I exhaled sharply.

“Thank you for saying that. But please, continue.”

“Okay, well…” I cleared my throat. “The… the system tracks every article of clothing and accessory we own,” I explained as a retrieval arm emerged, selecting an ensemble before smoothly retracting.

“It keeps an inventory, flags anything that needs repair or replacement, and Calyx can prepare attire based on schedule and weather conditions, as well.”

“Noted.” Maxim’s gaze followed the movement of the wardrobe’s internal mechanics.

“And if you can’t decide, Calyx can make suggestions based on previous selections.”

He nodded toward the styling console, where an interactive display hovered just above the surface. “And this?”

“Hair and cosmetic assistance,” I said. “I’ve read that in the old world, it took women up to two hours to get ready for the day or a night out. I wouldn’t leave the house if I had to do that,” I joked.

“No wonder old-world socializing had higher rates of conflict, everyone was already exhausted by the time they arrived.”

I laughed, moving toward the wardrobe system as a puff of cool mist activated, refreshing the garments inside. “A valid perspective. Efficiency might actually be saving lives.”

Beyond the dressing alcove was my kinetic suite. “The floor adjusts dynamically, shifting textures based on the selected routine: stable for high-impact workouts, subtly resistant for endurance training.”

The panels reacted to our presence, displaying a serene, panoramic landscape—today, the same mist-covered mountain range I often defaulted to.

“A high gravity sequence can be initiated, allowing for enhanced muscle engagement through a simulated resistance field,” I continued.

“The adaptive equipment responds in real-time, recalibrating based on strength output, while retractable panels reveal multi-functional surfaces. One moment, you can utilize the wall-climbing mode, and the next, it can function as a resistance station. Even recovery is responsive; cooling zones and compression therapy integrate into the space, ensuring muscle restoration is as advanced as the training itself. And, like the rest of the home, it maintains itself, the self-sanitizing environment erasing any trace of use the moment you step away.”

Maxim stared at me for a moment.

“What?” I asked.

“You have a talent for presentation. Has the prospect of property brokerage ever crossed your mind?”

I breathed out a laugh. “I suppose it could be lucrative if I were in the Barton family, but I’m afraid they have the corner on the market. They have a rather large collection of Hiven for that.”

“Fair enough,” he said, following me into the somna.

As we walked, Maxim took my hand in his.

As an older home, the somna was more spacious than those in modern residences of the same square footage, yet it remained intentionally uncluttered.

My bed sat low to the ground, almost level with the floor itself, a broad, integrated surface with a softly illuminated base.

Two side consoles flanked it, each minimal in design, holding only a few carefully chosen items—one with a sleek resting dock for personal accessories, the other empty, awaiting something of meaning.

A few standing plants added depth to the room, their broad green leaves a quiet contrast to the pale tones. The walls were smooth, the white panels interrupted occasionally by paintings of my own creation, each an expression of the thoughts I rarely spoke aloud.

Maxim let go of my hand and walked over to the console on my side of the bed, gesturing to an empty frame. “What’s this?”

I crossed the room and bent down to hold it in both hands, brushing my fingers along the edge of the frame.

“It’s meant to hold our first photo. I bought it the day I graduated Tier Four, the same day Hyperion offered me a position.

I know it’s silly. Photos are so expensive and aren’t all that common anymore, not with digital archives and life-logs, but I wanted something real.

A moment I could hold. It was a promise to myself, that if I stayed the course, put my heart into the work, followed every protocol, one day it would lead me to you. This frame was for that moment.”

Maxim exhaled, as if absorbing what I had just said. When he finally spoke, his tone was thick with sincerity. “It’s not silly at all. I don’t think I’ve ever wanted anything more than to be worthy of that.”

I set down the frame and turned toward him. “You already are.” I looked around, gesturing to the space. “Besides the empty spare somna, that’s everything,” I said, offering him a small smile. “You’ve been given the official tour of our Sablestone.”

He blinked, just once, as if the words had landed somewhere deep.

“What?” I asked.

“You… called it ours.”

I hadn’t thought about it. The words had simply come out that way, but standing in a somna that was now complete just with him in it, I realized how right they felt.

“I did,” I admitted. “Because it is.”

Maxim’s gaze softened, and for a brief moment, neither of us spoke.

I cleared my throat, turning toward the acquell. “I should change into something more comfortable.”

He nodded, stepping back toward the threshold. “I’ll wait.”

“Calyx,” I said, “lounge wear, please.”

I disappeared into the dressing alcove, exchanging my attire for something more relaxed. When I returned, Maxim stood near the transpane, watching the rain trace slow paths down the glass. He turned at the sound of my approach, taking me in with a small, approving smile.

“Better?” I teased.

He nodded, his expression warm. “For you, yes. But for me, just as breathtaking.” He gestured to the stasis bay. “I’m glad it’s in the somna. I won’t feel so far from you.”

I studied its sleek curves and the fluid integration of its design—smooth, almost sculptural, its pearl gray and white exterior blending effortlessly with the room’s aesthetic.

The interior, however, was dark, a stark contrast that would make Maxim’s presence within it almost spectral, his silhouette framed by the embedded interface.

The bay itself was compact yet spacious enough for him to stand comfortably, its structure contoured to support every line of his frame when at rest. Thin, nearly imperceptible conduits ran along the interior walls, designed to regulate his system’s energy flow and monitor his operational integrity.

“I hear they’ll be obsolete soon,” I murmured. “Lev has been working on advancements that would allow Supplicants to autonomously synthesize and sustain their own energy reserves.”

He smiled. “Good. I’d rather hold you all night.” He looked out the transpane, to the garden below. “And what’s that?”

“That’s my atelier, where every tool and pigment has its place,” I said. “A quiet space where it’s just me, the canvas, and whatever takes shape. It exists beyond the reach of rules.”

Maxim studied the atelier before settling on me, something thoughtful lingering behind his eyes. “It’s poetic, in a way,” he murmured. “You created me through the Veritas, shaping me before I ever existed. Something about me exists beyond the reach of rules, too.”