6/18/2001 - 2:15 AM {1 Year After Birth}
Decayed Foundation – Dream Land
I am one year old.
In the waking world, my body is small. My legs are still learning to hold my weight for long periods. But here, in the white room, I am ten years old. I have been ten years old every night for six months.
The vocabulary has expanded. The paradigm was simple. Now I know Thermodynamics. I know Sociology. I know Metaphysics.
The Instructors feed us words like coal into a furnace. If we do not burn, we are discarded.
I look at the rows of students.
There are empty spaces now.
Designation 000042. Designation 000073.
They are gone.
They did not wake up three nights ago. The Instructor called it "Neural Overload." Their brains could not process the syntax of the Calculus of Limits. They tried too hard to understand the infinite, and their minds simply stopped.
They died in their sleep. Their bodies in the real world turned cold while their minds were trapped here, burning out.
To the Foundation, it was a calibration error. To me, it was a warning.
If you do not process it quickly, you cease to exist.
The Instructor stands at the front. The slate in his hand glows with lines and angles.
"Today's subject is Mathematics," he states. His voice is a flat line. "Specifically, the properties of non-Euclidean geometry applied to multi-dimensional spatial folding."
I stare at the slate.
Non-Euclidean. Geometry that does not follow the rules of flat space. Curved space.
I grasp the definition. I hold it in my mind. But the application is slipping away.
"In a standard three-dimensional plane," the Instructor says, drawing a cube in the air with a trail of black light, "the shortest distance between two points is a straight line. However, within a mana-distorted field, space curves."
He twists the cube. It folds inside itself. It becomes a shape that hurts to look at.
"This is a Tesseract Projection. To calculate the mana efficiency of a spell traversing this space, you must calculate the volume of the hypercube relative to the distortion factor."
He turns to the class.
"Designation 000012. Stand."
A boy in the front row stands up. His face is blank. His eyes are sharp.
He is a Genius.
He does not think; he simply knows.
"If the distortion factor is phi, and the side length is x, calculate the surface area of the projection as it rotates through the fourth axis."
I try to visualize it.
Side length x. Surface area of a cube is 6x squared. But it is rotating. Fourth axis. Time? No, spatial depth. Hypercube. 8 bounding volumes...
My mind builds the equation brick by brick. Step one. Step two.
"8x cubed times the derivative of phi," Designation 000012 answers instantly. "Accounting for the curvature tensor."
The Instructor nods. "Correct. Sit."
000012 sits. He did not struggle. He saw the shape, saw the numbers, and spoke the answer.
I am still on step one.
How?
I look at my hands. They are trembling.
The lesson continues. The Instructor moves faster.
"Trigonometry of the Void," he says, writing formulas that look like jagged teeth. "Sine and Cosine waves represent energy flow. Tangent represents the breaking point."
He draws a wave.
"If the frequency increases by a factor of ten, calculate the asymptotes."
The other children are nodding.
I see their heads moving. Up. Down.
They understand. They see the waves. They see the math.
I see only lines.
Frequency... ten times... Asymptote is where the function is undefined...
I am trying to reason. If x is zero... then y is...
"Designation 000056. Explain the result."
"The asymptotes compress," the girl says. "The stability of the spell collapses at intervals of pi divided by ten."
"Correct."
I am lagging behind...
Every topic is a race, and I am running with weights on my ankles. They are flying. They are born for this. Their minds are sponges that soak up the complexity.
My mind is a stone. I have to chisel the information into it. It takes time. It takes effort.
And here, time is the only thing we do not have.
The Instructor erases the board with a wave of his hand.
"The logic of high-tier magic relies on the Golden Ratio," he drones. "You must see the pattern in the chaos. If you cannot calculate the geometry of a spell instantly, you will be dead before you finish the incantation."
He draws a spiral.
"Calculate the sequence."
I stare at the spiral. It spins. It makes me dizzy.
1... 1... 2... 3... 5...
Fibonacci. I know this.
But then he adds a variable.
A chaos variable. The spiral fractures.
"Adjust for entropy," he commands.
The children nod. They see the new pattern.
I squint. I try to force the numbers to line up.
Entropy means disorder. So the sequence degrades? By how much?
My head hurts. A sharp, physical throb behind my eyes. Is this Neural Overload?
Am I going to die like 000042?
Fear spikes in my chest. Not fear of math, but fear of the blankness that follows failure.
The lecture ends. The white room hums with silence.
"The lesson is concluded," the Instructor says. He places the slate on the desk.
He looks at us. Ninety-eight children.
"Do you understand the principles of spatial geometry and entropy calculation?"
The nods begin.
The front row nods instantly. Yes.
The second row nods a second later. Yes.
The ripple moves back.
Yes. Yes. Yes.
It reaches me.
I look at the spiral on the board. I look at the variable.
I... I do not see the pattern.
I cannot nod. I cannot lie. The Instructor knows when we lie. Lying is a failure of logic.
The room is still. Ninety-seven heads have nodded.
I sit frozen. My neck will not move.
The Instructor's eyes scan the room. They stop me.
"Designation 000981."
His voice is not loud. It is inevitable.
"Stand up."
I stand. My legs feel heavy, like they are filled with sand.
The Instructor walks to me. He looms over me. He is a tower of black in the white room.
"You are the youngest here, 000981," he says. His voice is not kind. It is a blade. "Do you recall the Biology lecture from rotation four?"
I nod.
Biology. The study of life. The study of the body that carries the mind.
"Then you know the synaptic potential of a neonate. A newborn brain creates connections at a rate of one million per second. Your neuroplasticity should be absolute. You are at the peak of acquisition."
He leans down.
"Compared to Designation 000050, who is three years old, your capacity for absorption is theoretically 200% higher. Yet, you are the disappointment dragging this class into the mud. Why is your processing speed so inefficient?"
I try to reason.
Neonate. That is me. One year old. Neuroplasticity. The brain is changing. If I am faster... Why am I slower? The biology does not match the result. Is my mind broken?
"Perhaps your logic center is undeveloped," the Instructor sneers. "Let us test Statistics. The probability of survival."
He raises a finger.
"A spell has a stability rating of 90%. It is cast in a field of High Entropy, which degrades stability by a factor of 1.5 per second. The caster hesitates for 0.4 seconds. What is the probability of a catastrophic backfire?"
I close my eyes. I see the numbers.
90% stability. Entropy reduces it. 1.5 factor.Time is 0.4 seconds.90 divided by 1.5... no, minus the degradation...
I calculate. I push the numbers together.
"The stability drops to 60%," I say, my voice small in the big room. "The probability of failure is 40%."
The Instructor stares at me. The silence stretches.
"Wrong."
My chest tightens. "Wrong?"
"You calculated the linear decay," he says, his voice bored. "You forgot the Chaos Variable we discussed ten minutes ago. In High Entropy, error does not subtract. It compounds. The instability multiplies."
He writes the equation in the air. The numbers twist.
"The stability is not 60%. It is 12%. The probability of backfire is 88%. You are dead, 000981. The spell exploded in your face."
I stare at the equation.
Compounding. It grows on itself.
I missed it. I missed the basic.
"Ask another," I say. My voice trembles, but I say it.
The Instructor raises an eyebrow. "You wish to die twice?"
"Ask."
"Very well. A harder one."
He clears the air.
"A barrier requires 500 units of Mana to hold. The caster regenerates 10 units per second but leaks 5 units per second due to a fracture. The external pressure on the barrier increases by the Fibonacci sequence every second, starting at 10 units of pressure. How many seconds until the barrier breaks?"
I focus. The world disappears.
There is only the white floor and the numbers.
500 units start.Net gain: 5 units per second.Pressure: 1, 1, 2, 3, 5, 8, 13, 21...The pressure is exponential. The regeneration is linear.At what second does the total pressure exceed the current mana?
I count the sequence. I watch the mana pool fill and drain in my mind.
Second 1... Second 5... Second 10...At Second 12, the pressure is 144. The mana is 560.At Second 13, the pressure is 233.At Second 14, the pressure is 377. The mana is 570.At Second 15... pressure is 610.
"Fourteen seconds," I say. "It breaks at the fifteenth second."
The Instructor pauses. He looks at me. He does not smile.
"Correct."
I let out a breath. I did it. I reasoned.
"However," he says, turning his back on me. "You are Second-Rated."
I freeze. "Second... rated?"
"You failed the first question. In the Dream Land, failure is a lesson. In the Real Tests that approach, failure is final. There are no retries. There is no 'Ask another.' If you fail once, you are expelled. And here, expulsion is a synonym for disposal."
He claps his hands. The sound is like a gunshot.
"Class dismissed. The learning cycle is complete. Wake up."
The white room dissolves.
Darkness returns. The smell of Cartethyia's hair returns. But I do not open my eyes yet.
I lay in the dark, and I list them. The weights on my ankles.
My Seven Weaknesses.
Spatial Geometry. I cannot see the shapes in 4D. They hurt my mind.Quantum Mana Dynamics. I cannot calculate the flow of energy that does not exist yet.Metaphysics. The study of the soul. I do not understand what a soul is. The Instructors say it has weight. I cannot weigh it.Thermodynamics. Heat transfer. I always forget the entropy loss.Chaos Statistics. The probability of the impossible. I assume order. The world is chaos.Bio-Alchemy. Transmuting life. I cannot understand how to change blood into mana.Logic of the Void. The hardest one. Thinking in nothingness.
I am failing seven subjects.
I think of him. 000001.
He sits in the front row. He has hair like gold and eyes like the sun. He never speaks unless called upon. He never hesitates.
When the Instructor asks about the Tesseract, 000001 does not calculate. He just answers. It is like he sees the answer written on the air before the question is finished.
He is perfect.
The Perfect Human…
The Instructor calls him a Beyond Genius. He says 000001 was the "Golden Child".
Then he calls me a False Genius.
Why?
We are both children. We are both in the Foundation. Why is his mind a palace and mine a shack I have to build brick by brick?
Why was he born special?
Why wasn't I?
I feel a pressure in my chest. It is not physical. It is the realization of the gap. The distance between the front row and the last row.
I am not special. I am just trying.
I slowly open my eyes.
The ceiling is dark. The air is cold. I am 000981. And I am awake.
The chill of the white room was instantly replaced by overwhelming warmth.
I opened my eyes slowly. The dark ceiling of the Foundation room was blurred. My limbs felt heavy and small again. The ten-year-old body, the geometric horror, the False Genius label—all of it retreated behind a heavy curtain of exhaustion.
But the cold feeling in my chest did not go away.
Before I could sit up, a warm, soft wall moved in front of me, wrapping around my body.
It was Cartethyia.
She was squeezing me tight. Her raven hair tickled my nose. She smelled like soap and the faint, sweet dust of the old bedsheet.
"Good morning, my little prince," she hummed, pulling back just enough to kiss the top of my head repeatedly. "Did you have sweet dreams?"
I looked up at her face. Her black eyes were wide and bright.
My voice was thick and slow. It was hard to form the shapes.
"Cartethyia," I mumbled. I could say that word easily now. "You… watch me?"
She laughed—a sudden, clear sound that filled the small, dreary room.
"I wass! I was absolutely watching you sleep, Kaiser!" She kissed my cheek with a loud, theatrical smack.
"You look so serious even when you're sleeping. I was just making sure the bad thoughts didn't sneak in, you know?"
She confirmed the monitoring. This is a violation of privacy. However, her proximity provides thermal stability. I reason the benefit outweighs the cost.
"Why watch?" I managed to ask.
She lifted me slightly, settling me on her hip. "Because you're my favorite thing to look at! The instructors watch you to see how fast you calculate; I watch you because I love the way your little eyebrow twitches when you're dreaming about numbers."
"Love?" I asked, testing the word. The Instructors said love was an abstract social construct used to enforce cohesion in a Society.
"Yes, love," she said firmly, bouncing me lightly. "It means I will choose you over every law, every rule, and every stupid calculation. It means you are my cherished one."
She looked genuinely fierce for a moment, then winked.
"Now, let's play a game. Ready?"
"Ready," I replied.
"I'm the Instructor now," she announced, her voice adopting a mock-deep tone. "Listen closely, 000981. This is a fundamental concept in Basic Arithmetics."
She held up one finger on her right hand. Then she held up one finger on her left hand.
"What is one and one?"
I instantly recognized the operation. She was demonstrating addition.
I pushed the logic through my small mind.
An unit plus another unit equals two units.
"Two," I stated, confidently.
Cartethyia erupted in a dramatic burst of laughter, clutching her chest.
"Wrong! Completely, magnificently wrong, my False Genius!"
I stared at her. "Illogical. The sum of two separate units is the number two. This is a foundational theorem."
"No, no, no, no, no," she sang, playfully tapping my nose. "I didn't say 'one plus one.' I said one AND one."
She brought the two fingers together, lining them up side-by-side.
"One and one makes... eleven! It's right there!"
I frowned.
I searched for my acquired knowledge. This is an illogical arrangement of data.
"That breaks the rules of Mathematical Axioms," I insisted. "It is not two, but it is also not eleven. It is merely a visual misrepresentation of numerical value."
"Nonsense!" she cheered, kissing my forehead. "The game is game, and I win! I beat the False Genius! So, if I win, you have to listen to Mama and you have to smile today. Okay?"
I let the question sit. Her logic was flawed, but her emotional state was high (joy/amusement). To maintain the positive thermal stability, I should comply with the secondary request.
"Okay, Miss Cartethyia," I conceded.
"Good boy!"
She stood up suddenly, lifting me high over her head. I felt the familiar rush of shifted gravity, but this time, it was followed by a dizzying spin.
"Wooosh! Fly, little one! Fly, fly, fly!"
My head felt light. My reasoning circuits sputtered under the rapid motion. I tried to focus on the stability of the room.
"The Centripetal Force is high," I tried to point out. "The risk of ejection is increasing."
"Nonsense! My arms are reinforced steel," she declared, lowering me back down and hugging me tight against her neck, rubbing her cheek against mine. "You are completely safe. I will keep you safe from everything!"
The warmth that enveloped me vanished instantly.
Cartethyia set me down on the edge of the bed. She moved quickly toward the door—not with the joyful energy of the spinning game, but with a sudden, rigid focus.
Knock.
The sound was sharp, metallic, and official. The kind of sound that meant the rules were arriving.
She pulled the door open, blocking the opening with her body. The Guard standing there was tall, with light, brown-colored hair and brown eyes. He wore the standard uniform of the Inner Sector.
"Guard 55," Cartethyia said, her voice dropping. All the goofiness was gone. "That's less than yesterday. You missed the feeding window."
The Guard held a small, plastic tray that contained only a thin, grey paste. The nutrient ration.
"Ration is calculated based on current performance metrics, Caretaker Cartethyia," the Guard stated, his voice monotonous. He barely looked at her.
"No, it isn't. His requirement for his age is constant. You know the baseline," she argued, her hand gripping the doorframe.
"Designation 000981 is the lowest performing unit in the current cohort by a factor of 4. He is designated a False Genius with high risk of termination," the Guard recited, as if reading from a placard. "Resources are redirected to higher-value assets. He receives the minimum required for cellular survival. This is a directive from Sector Command."
Cartethyia's face flushed. The color in her cheeks was a rapid change, a sign of extreme distress.
"That's illegal! You can't starve a baby because he's slower than other children!"
"The Foundation's definition of legality supersedes yours. Accept the ration and cease obstruction."
He shoved the tray into her hands, ignoring her sputtering protest. The door clicked shut, final and absolute.
Cartethyia stood frozen for a moment, the plastic tray shaking in her hands. She turned back to the room, her shoulders slumped. The black eyes that had been so bright seconds ago were now dull and wet. She was hurting again.
Observation: Her positive emotional state has been hurt. The cause is the Guard. His actions resulted in her emotional failure (sadness).
If the Guard is the cause of her pain, and her pain is negative, then the Guard must be eliminated. The system is designed to hurt her. The Guard is a function of the system.
I looked at the closed door. I did not know how to open the door, but I knew what I wanted.
If I was ten years old, if I had the knowledge... I would make the Guard stop breathing.
Before I could process the sudden, dark thought—the desire to remove a factor causing her distress—she was back.
She rushed to me, dropping the tray gently on the bed. She scooped me up, burying her face in my shoulder for a moment, breathing deeply.
"Forget him," she whispered, her voice rough. "He's just... a nobody. He's nothing. Now, it's time to eat! Time to get strong for Mama."
She settled onto the white bed, putting me on her lap, facing her. She picked up a spoon and scooped up the grey paste.
"Okay, let's talk about the Crystal River," she said, forcing a smile that didn't quite reach her eyes. She was attempting to return to the Affectionate Humor state.
"This was before I was... here. When I was learning Elemental magic at the Asura Academy, I had to do a research project for my History class. We had to study the river that runs right through the capital of the Empire—the Veridian Current."
She held the spoonful of paste in front of my mouth. I opened it and took the bite. It tasted like nothing.
"The Veridian Current isn't just water, my little Kaiser. It's filled with ambient Celestial Mana. So the water looks like liquid light, especially at sunset!! It's called the Crystal River because of that."
"My four friends—Lyra, Tamsin, Jace, and Elara—were all Celestial users. Aria could make the water freeze just by looking at it through her silent incantation, and Tamsin could make it glow so bright you couldn't tell the difference between the river and the sky."
She scooped up another spoonful.
"They were all so good with Celestial magic, and me? I only had weak little Earth Elementals. I could make a pebble float. I had to pout for hours, telling them it was unfair that they had the better magic!!!" She paused, laughing a little at the memory.
"But they were my best friends."
I chewed the flavorless paste. The story was rich with World-Building details. She is trying to tell me about the outside world again.
"I... I can use Celestial magic for you," I pronounced, the words feeling awkward on my tongue.
Cartethyia stopped, her eyes softening completely. She looked at me with a profound, sudden love.
"Oh, my sweet honey," she whispered, tears actually welling up again, but these were different—soft, joyful tears. "You will, I know you will. You are already the greatest thing I've ever seen. Okay, okay. Once we're out of here, I'll take you straight to the Veridian Current. We'll go at midnight so we can see all the stars reflecting, and you can cast a Celestial Light Flare so bright it makes my old friends jealous."
She fed me another spoonful.
"We were camping by the river for the project—it was an all-night thing. And Jace and Aria, the absolute enemies, decided to pull a prank. They knew I hated bugs. So, while I was sleeping, Jace used his Wind Mana to create a tiny cyclone and herd every cricket and firefly within a mile radius under my sleeping bag. And Aria, she froze the top layer of the ground so I couldn't move!"
She shuddered dramatically. "I woke up in a panic! It took me an hour to thaw the ground with my Earth magic. I was so furious! But when I finally got free, the air was clear, and the stars were so huge and close, you felt like you could grab a handful of them!! They looked like diamonds scattered across a velvet cloth!"
She finished her story with a dramatic sigh, then held the grey tray.
I watched as her hand subtly dipped the spoon into her side of the tray—the side that was designated for her, not me. Her food was a slightly darker, more solid-looking paste.
She moved the spoon toward my mouth. The spoonful was bigger than the previous ones. She was trying to give me her share. Her need to compensate for the reduction in my food was overpowering her common sense.
I looked at the spoon. I looked at her eyes.
I kept my mouth shut.
She smiled gently. "Come on, honey. One more for Mama. You need it."
I shook my head slowly.
"No," I said, my voice barely a whisper. "Your food."
The spoon hovered in the air. Cartethyia's smile faltered, replaced by genuine shock. She was completely surprised by my refusal.
The spoon remained hovering. Cartethyia looked from my closed mouth to the small pile of darker paste on her side of the tray. The shock on her face was clear.
"Kaiser," she whispered, her voice tightening. "What's wrong, honey? It's just a little bit extra. You need to be strong for the Dream Land."
My small hands came up, gripping the edge of the tray. I shook my head, fighting to form the words I had pieced together in my small mind.
"S-s... sto-p. No. Y-you been twicking me." I pointed at the different colored paste. "Your... your food. You need to eat too."
She immediately put on her brightest, most artificial smile—the one she used when the Guard was nearby.
"Oh, nonsense, my prince! Mama is absolutely not hungry! I had a huge breakfast already. My tummy is so full, I could float! Now, open up, come on!"
I stared at her face. Her words were positive. Her body was speaking a different language. The Instructors had taught us to read simple human actions, claiming emotional tells were easily predictable variables.
I listed the Tells:
Lip Pressing: She was pressing her lips together, hiding the moisture that comes with salivation (hunger).Hand Clench: Her right hand, holding the tray, was clenched tightly. The tension indicated suppressed stress (anxiety over not eating).Eye Dart: Her eyes were darting to the left side of the room, avoiding direct, sustained contact, a behavior pattern associated with deception.Swallowing: She performed a hard, audible swallow twice in quick succession, a physiological response to a dry throat often associated with hunger or lying.
I put the facts together. The words said "full." The body said lie.
"You," I said, pointing a finger at her. "You lie."
Cartethyia froze completely. Her mouth actually dropped open. A one-year-old baby had just caught her in a complex deception using observable behavioral science.
She sighed, the forced smile dissolving. "Alright, you little detective. Maybe... maybe I am a tiny bit peckish, but you need the calories more than me, Kaiser! I'm an adult. I can wait! So please open up!" She tried to move the spoon again, gently tapping my lips.
I clamped my mouth shut, making a low, stubborn sound: "Mmm-mhmm!"
She pulled the spoon back, rubbing her temple. "You are so stubborn."
I countered instantly, pointing at her and then to the food. "You are dummy! You have to eat!"
Her eyes softened. She brought my small face close and kissed my forehead, her heart clearly melting at my refusal to let her self-sacrifice. "My little protector," she murmured. "Okay, let's make a deal. What do I have to do for you to eat that food, huh?"
This was a negotiation. I had to use the logic of the Dream Land.
"You," I stated, trying to sound authoritative, "You eat ninety percent of your food. I eat ten percent."
I used the largest number I could think of. The Anchoring Principle: setting the initial offer so high it makes the logical target look like a victory.
Cartethyia stared at the numbers.
"Ninety percent?! Kaiser, that's almost all of it! No! That's completely unfair!" She threw her hands up in exasperation. "I can't even argue with you! How did I raise a child who uses negotiation to manipulate his own mother?! I fail! I fail talking to my one-year-old son!"
The high anchor was set. Now I moved to the real target.
"I cannot eat more," I conceded, slowly. "More is less for you."
"Yes! Exactly!" she seized on the concession. "So you eat more, and I eat less! I'll eat fifty percent, and you eat fifty! How about that?"
She went too high. I held firm.
"N-no. You eat more."
She sighed, running her fingers through her black hair. "Please, sweet pea. At least forty percent of it. Just forty! That leaves me eating sixty percent! Please, Kaiser, Mama will be full with that much, please. I promise! I won't feel hungry. Forty percent for you, sixty percent for me."
She was begging. Her voice was pure emotion.
I waited one more beat. I had reached my true goal: forcing her to take more than half.
"You eat sixty-five percent," I concluded, locking the deal down. "I eat thirty-five percent."
She looked at the tray, at the numbers, and back at my unwavering, stubborn little face. She knew she had lost.
"Fine. Fine! You are a tyrannical little negotiator," she grumbled, but her eyes were full of pride. "65% to 35%. Deal. Now say AAHH."
I opened my mouth. She fed me the portion. I swallowed.
I looked at her. "I have one more request after eating. Will you tell me?"
She chuckled softly. "Of course! Okay, okay, my honey, I'll tell you whatever you want to hear! Now, AAHH," she finished, feeding me the rest of my 35%.
The moment I was done, she moved to put the entire tray of her 65% in my face.
"Okay, last one! Sneaky last one!" she said quickly.
I only stared at her. I pointed my finger first at the remaining paste, then at her mouth.
"Eat," I commanded.
Cartethyia slumped. "Ugh. Fine. You win every single round."
She slowly scooped up her larger portion, looking utterly defeated, but she ate.
As she ate, I reached out my hand toward her head.
"Do you need something?" she asked, immediately lowering her head slightly so my small hand could reach her.
I placed my palm on her messy, raven hair. I moved my hand slowly, clumsily, patting her head just like she patted mine.
"Good girl," I said softly.
The spoon dropped back onto the tray with a clatter. Cartethyia's face went scarlet. She covered her mouth with her hand, then erupted in a fit of giggles.
"Hehehehe! Oh, my god! Good girl?! My own son! Ahaha! You absolute little dummy!" She pulled me into a fierce hug, laughing so hard the tears returned, but this time they were happy and bright. "Oh, Kaiser, I'm keeping you forever. You are a naughty boy."
She looked absolutely delighted, her face still bright with laughter.
"Good girl," she repeated, her voice dripping with amusement. She leaned in, her eyes twinkling.
"Why did you call me that, huh? Did you think I deserved a gold star for eating my veggies? You are already planning how to be the perfect gentleman for all your lady friends, aren't you?" She wiggled her eyebrows suggestively.
I looked at her, confused. I had to state the simple logic.
"When I eat," I explained, "You pat my head. You say 'good boy.' Your face... it is happy. I do what you say. You eat. I pat. I say 'good girl.' Your face is happy."
"I will reward you."
It was a clear cause-and-effect sequence. A successful behavioral reward loop.
"AHAHHAHAH…."
Cartethyia threw her head back and laughed even harder, the sound ringing through the small room. "Reward?! Ahahaha! Oh, my heart! My own son is rewarding me!" Her scarlet blush brightened, spreading down her neck.
I reached up to touch her cheek again, my brow furrowing. "Are you sick? You are red."
She melted at the touch, scooping me up and holding me tightly against her chest.
"I'm not sick, sweet pea. That's just what happens when your little brain uses logic to be utterly kind." She pulled back and kissed my nose. "You are going to be every lady's favorite once you grow up. You are too sweet and too smart for your own good."
"Lady... favorite?" I mumbled, still trying to fit her words into a logical framework. "More friends?"
"More than friends, Kaiser," she teased, winking conspiratorially. "You will have a lot of friends, yes, but I feel like most will be girls. You're a naughty one, a smart naughty one."
While she was talking, she tried to sneak a final, larger lump of paste toward my mouth, hoping the distraction would work.
I saw the movement. My mouth snapped shut instantly. I shook my head, my eyes locking on hers.
She sighed, defeated. "It was worth a try."
I pointed at the food, then at her. My tongue fought the complex pairing.
"B-b-bad girl. Cheat."
She giggled again. "Oh, you are going to give me grey hairs before you're two!" She smoothed my hair down.
"Girls will try to trick you, Kaiser. They'll try to get what they want. They'll try to steal you from me, because you're so kind and innocent. I have to keep you safe from their bad intentions," she muttered, pulling me closer in a sudden squeeze.
I registered the intense pressure and the shift in her tone. It wasn't the funny kind of emotion.
Was it amusement? No, her tone felt a little darker. Was it anxiety? Maybe not… her hands weren't trembling like how anxiety causes.Then it was Ownership.
I fought the words out. "A-are you p-p-possessive?"
She stopped rocking, raising an eyebrow at the advanced vocabulary.
"Yes, sir, I am," she said, her voice turning suddenly serious, though her eyes softened. "I am possessive over my son. And I won't let anyone else carry you or feed you! They will just hurt you." She gently pinched my nose.
"Why possessive?" I asked.
"Because I love you, dear. Plus," she pretended to think hard, "you're a naughty boy. I can't let you go near them, or else you'll have fan girls. Ugh, the thought causes me anxiety." She playfully shuddered at her own imagined future.
I didn't understand why she'd be scared of someone liking me, or why they would want me, a False Genius.
I pointed to the tray again.
"Eat," I commanded.
She sighed one last time and finished the final mouthful of her ration. "There. I've eaten every single bit. Now, my baby, what did you want to ask me?"
The humor was gone. My mind returned to the cold, structured analysis of the night's story.
Cartethyia mentioned her friends: Aria, Tamsin, Jace, Elara. But she told the story of the Crystal River with one friend that often appeared: Aria. She often mentions Aria in her quiet stories. When she speaks of Jace and the others, her face is open and light. When she speaks of Aria, her face looks happy, but her eyes become wet and dark at the end, just for a moment.
This indicates a Painful Conflict. Joy is connected to pain.
Reasoning:If a person brings her joy, but also brings her pain, they are a defect in the system. The pain must be removed.
I looked at her face, which was waiting patiently.
"A-Aria," I said. "You talk about Aria."
"Yes, dear. Aria. She was my very best friend," Cartethyia confirmed warmly. "We were inseparable."
"She hurt you," I stated, simply.
Cartethyia's smile vanished. "Kaiser, no! Aria didn't do anything! She was my best friend. Her and I—"
I cut her off. I didn't care about the social rules. I only cared about the truth.
"She hurt you," I repeated, my voice now perfectly clear. "Why she hurt you?"
Her hands trembled. I watched her fingers curl into the fabric of the sheet. The distress was immediate and severe. Aria was not merely a sad memory; Aria was a deep, open wound.
If she is the source of Cartethyia's pain, she must be removed.
"Okie... dear, I'll tell you," she finally whispered, her voice melancholic and raw. "It's a long story."