Page 9 of The Sovereign, Part One (The Sovereign Saga #1)

Just as Bellam began to settle into the comfort of having twice overexceeded Lourdes Vasthane’s expectations, Lourdes tilted her head and pivoted the exchange. “So, tell me, Isara, whatever happened to that Vale-born magnum opus you were so smitten with?”

Bellam perked up, clearly interested in the backstory. “Yes. That is exactly what I want to talk about. Isara would never say much about Joss. Now that you’re here, maybe she will.”

“Never?” Lourdes said, surprised. “It’s all you ever talked about before. I thought for sure you’d relocate to The Vale.”

“What?” Bellam gasped, as if she’d heard the most scandalous disclosure of the year.

I exhaled, absently tracing the stem of my leir between my fingers before answering. “You know I’ve always wanted Maxim. But the Bacchanal Years of our twenties exist so we can explore, figure out what we truly want before the Veritas. Joss was the only one who ever made me question it.”

Lourdes stifled a giggle. “And they never even… you know… went beyond a few hours of lip chaffing.”

“Wait a second,” Bellam said. “How long did you two date?”

I adjusted in my seat. “Almost two years.”

“You dated Joss for two years without going beyond a Tier Three mesh session… when you were supposed to be engaging in absolute hedonism?”

“They’re… religious… in The Vale.”

“They are ?” Bellam said, seemingly more shocked by that revelation than by the fact that I’d spent nearly two years voluntarily locked in a courtship fit for a Hyperion-approved archive on virtue. “Which one?”

“He didn’t divulge. Besides, not everyone enjoys the Bacchanal. It was a relief to have just one person to attend events with without expectations.”

Bellam’s brows shot up. “Did you consider marrying him?”

I tilted my head and gave an infinitesimal shrug, a barely perceptible lift of one shoulder, as if the answer was both obvious and irrelevant now. “No. But, I loved him.”

“Who are you kidding?” Lourdes interjected. “You still do.”

“Maxim is my accordant. It’s… complicated.”

“Indeed, and I want to know every intricate detail,” Bellam said, settling in for the story.

I continued, “Joss was Auren. He wanted a different life. That’s the extent of what I know.”

“Two years and that’s all you know about him?” Bellam asked, her eyes dancing between Lourdes and me. “He didn’t tell you why he left?”

“From the little he shared, they were happy there. That’s what I don’t understand. He could never explain why he wanted to live here, other than to carve a path for Vale-born. But like it is for everyone from The Vale, it was just… a struggle for him.”

The Vale was the counterpart to Hyperion Proper—a refuge for those who had rejected technological intervention, a place where Auren lived with minimal reliance on AI.

It had formed in the wake of the revolution a century ago, when a faction of humanity resisted being paired with Supplicants.

They wanted organic relationships, natural conception, and autonomy over their lives.

The revolution had been bloody. Families fractured, loyalties torn apart, and our streets ran red with the bloodshed that followed.

Hyperion Proper had emerged victorious, its promise of stability, efficiency, and optimization proving too enticing for most to resist. The allure of streamlined living, where every need was met, every moment choreographed to perfection, had won over the majority.

Yet, in the shadows of this shiny new world, Auren had persisted.

Stubborn holdouts, they stood as a testament to the choice that Hyperion had finally come to realize was necessary.

The Vale, with its ragged edges and untamed essence, had become a necessary counterpoint to the world Hyperion had built.

It was a place where Auren could live without the suffocating structure of engineered perfection, where they could retain their freedom of choice and chance, to live happily in their imperfection.

For all the order Hyperion promised, it became clear that without The Vale, without an alternative to escape the confines of a perfectly designed society, there would always be a simmering tension, a conflict that would never truly end.

Hyperion’s leaders learned one very important notion: choice was power.

It wasn’t just about the systems they could perfect, it was about allowing Sovereign to live up to their name, and with that came the freedom to reject the very thing that made Hyperion Proper what it was.

In a moment of frustration, my papa once revealed the dark underbelly of Hyperion’s seemingly benevolent truce.

Aurens were only spared total annihilation because they, as outliers, served a purpose.

They weren’t just a rebellion to crush but unwitting accomplices for creating the illusion of choice.

A place for Supplicants and Sovereign alike to look to and see what they could become or escape.

Hyperion Proper could then transcend rejection.

It was a place to aspire to, a reminder that perfection could be earned.

The history we’re handed is that in the end, both Hyperion Proper and The Vale were two halves of a whole—one could not exist without the other. And it was the ability to choose, to live without perfection or within it, that had begun to reshape how the world would move forward.

“He wanted to make it work here,” I continued. “As you know, Vale-born start with a significant disadvantage. “

“Their social and credit scores lag impossibly behind,” Lourdes added.

Bellam frowned. “Is it really that bad?”

“Worse,” Lourdes said. “Vale-born have to work twice as hard just to maintain a mid-tier status. They struggle to understand the scoring system. We’re indoctrinated with it practically at birth. And forget about enhancements. Thank Chiron, it’s a right for every Sovereign to have a base unit.”

I frowned. “Yes, but we all know that law was written for Auren who become Sovereign. For Joss, it wasn’t about that.

He came to Hyperion Proper with an ambitious plan.

If we chose to be together, he’d have to abandon all of his dreams…

everything he’d worked for. And I knew I’d always wonder—if I left everything and everyone I loved for someone who chose me simply because he couldn’t achieve what he set out to do: build a life in Hyperion Proper with a Supplicant more advanced than any Vale-born before him had ever attained.

He wanted to climb the social ladder. He wanted to run in the same circles as the Vanguard. ”

“If you knew that wasn’t the case, would you?” Lourdes asked.

I met her gaze. “I can’t make a decision like that based on a hypothetical.”

“How can you be sure?” Bellam asked. “That Maxim is what you want after being in love? I’ve explored so many relationships, however short-lived. But Isara, I’ve never been in love.”

A man loomed too close to Lourdes, his attire neither the crisp uniform of one of the Celestines Hiven nor the distinguished dress of a patron; an intrusion both in presence and appearance.

“Excuse me, most radiant of ladies, will you be indulging in dessert this afternoon, or does my presence already suffice as a sweet indulgence?”

Lourdes instantly wrinkled her nose in irritation, leaning away. But the moment she gave him a proper once-over, she nearly choked on her tea. “For Chiron’s sake, Roan, was this a detour from a day-trip outside the walls? What are you wearing?” She scanned the room, mortified.

“Lo, I had to bribe a Celestines Hiven and override a Skith just to track you down.”

Lourdes rolled her eyes. “You’ve never set foot in the Skith.”

“Well, by bribe, I mean charm, and by override, I mean mildly inconvenience my driver. But still,” he held his fist to his chest, “the betrayal stings.”

“Go away,” she snapped.

Roan’s grin oozed with undeniable appeal as he turned to me, taking my hand with the unruffled confidence of a man who had never known rejection.

“Isara, you remain a vision. Grace itself woven into form.” But then, his gaze fell upon Bellam.

As if a current had transformed in the room, a slow, knowing smile curled at the edges of his lips, the unmistakable glint of intrigue sparking in his eyes.

“And pray, who is this exquisite apparition before me?”

Lourdes struggled to compose herself, but the effort was evident. “Bellam, my deepest apologies for subjecting you to the spectacle that is my insufferable younger brother, Roan.”

The confused expression on Bellam’s face was expected.

It wasn’t that Lourdes and Roan were polarized in appearance—her porcelain skin and cool-toned hair and eyes a striking contrast to his rich complexion and dark hair.

Not that Lourdes’s delicate frame was the antithesis of her brother’s solidly athletic build.

The only common trait was their blue eyes, but even those were different in every sense, two completely distinct shades of blue.

Siblings in Hyperion Proper were traditionally expected to share similar features, creating a more cohesive family unit.

However, in the past century, it had become a prevailing practice within the Vanguard for each child’s features to more closely mirror one parent, rather than blending traits from both.

Just as surnames were a fixation in Hyperion Proper, so too had the Vanguard turned lineage into an obsession.

Lourdes was a reflection of her mina, her grandmina, and the generations before them, an unbroken thread of inherited perfection.

Given that, Bellam’s surprise was not that Lourdes and Roan didn’t look alike, what caught her off guard was how this theatrically inclined man, behaving like a buffoon and clad in the rugged attire of someone from beyond the walls, could possibly be Lourdes’s brother.