PREVIOUSLY
["Fine," he replied softly. "I knew I could trust you."
Fiba bowed her head, but this time her gesture was accompanied by something different: a minute softening of her lips, a nearly suppressed smile. "We do our duty, Child of Heaven."
He watched her for a few moments.
Since when had he treated her with such formality, even in private?
Perhaps the distance was necessary; hierarchies made it possible to maintain the order they both had helped to build. Yet, as she turned back toward the window to record new notes, Chuta felt something akin to the satisfaction of hearing the gears of a great machine turning without error.]
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Year 12 of the SuaChie Calendar, Ninth Month.
Central City (Tunja, Colombia), South-Central Region.
The City Palace.
After the health report—specifically regarding the preparations for his mother's labor—both had decided to pause and delight in one of the new beverages arriving through transoceanic trade: tea.
The rim of the cup was still warm against my fingers as I let the last sip of tea sear my tongue. It possessed that elegant bitterness of leaves brought from Europe, distinct from our own infusions, with a light perfume that lingered upon the palate. I set the cup upon the table, listening to the soft strike of ceramic against wood, and took a deep breath.
Fiba, across from me, had already moved the empty cups aside, lining them up as if they were soldiers. Her hands returned to the papers with the familiar efficiency that defined her. The aroma of the tea mingled with the dry scent of parchment and ink, helping to focus my mind on what was to come.
"Let us continue," I said, resting my elbows upon the armrests of the chair. "I wish to hear the remainder of the city reports."
She nodded. Not a single superfluous gesture, nor an unnecessary word of courtesy. She took up another stack of documents, thicker than the previous one. The pages rustled as she straightened them—a sound like a small, contained thunderclap.
"The infrastructure works in the outer districts remain on course," she began. "The new districts to the east and south now have definitive layouts. Wide streets, subterranean drainage, plazas for commerce. The first dwellings are under construction, and teams of architects are working on blueprints for additional libraries and new faculties independent of the Simte Academy."
As she spoke, my eyes lingered on one of the corners of the map hanging behind her. There, in red ink, the city's expansion zones were visible—like roots stretching out into the fields. I recalled the scent of upturned earth the first time we proposed erecting two-story buildings, and the incredulous stares of the elders. Now, however, such growth was almost routine.
"Furthermore," Fiba continued, "the expansion of the medical centers has commenced, in accordance with the plan you approved for the great cities. The outer districts will have their own points of primary care, which will alleviate the pressure on the healing houses of the center."
I nodded slowly. The brush of my fingers against the arm of the chair brought back the varnished texture of the wood. That sensation carried me, for a moment, to the room where my mother rested. The same care, the same attempt to foresee all. I breathed deeper.
"The basilica," I asked then. "What of its progress?"
Fiba set aside the current papers and took up another set. The slight change in her expression told me this subject required her to sharpen every word.
"As you suggested last year, I arranged with the Kingdom's House of Government for the project to be undertaken by the general government of the realm. Delegates from several regions have joined the work. It is no longer merely a construction of the Central City, but a symbol of the kingdom as a whole."
I imagined it: columns rising by the hands of many provinces, stones brought from distant valleys, artisans of differing customs working upon a single design. That had been the intent from the start. A place that belonged not to one people, but to all.
"Good," I said, feeling a faint warmth in my chest. "In that way, it will be accepted as their own, in the islands and the mountains alike."
She nodded without smiling, but the firmness in her gaze was enough.
"Regarding the population," she continued, "the city has grown holistically. Entire families have moved from other regions. Not just young men seeking labor, as in the beginning, but entire clans."
She took a breath, and I saw her hesitate for an instant before adding: "Moreover, the number of newborns has increased remarkably. More than anticipated. It is… a cause for some concern."
I leaned forward. The back of the chair creaked, reminding me I was too tense. My fingers interlaced without my realizing it. "Concern for capacity, or for resources?"
"For both, sire," she replied. "In the short term, the increase in the younger population demands more space, more care, more provisions. While current production permits it today, I am troubled by what might occur should a poor harvest year catch us with these numbers."
I observed the line between her brows—that furrow that appeared only when something truly kept her awake. It was not fear; it was calculation tempered by responsibility.
"It is not necessarily a ill omen," I said slowly. "If we manage to weather these years of adjustment, that new generation will be the force that pushes this city higher. Hands to build, minds to learn, hearts that will grow up seeing this as normal, and not as a miracle."
Fiba lowered her gaze, thoughtful. She nodded, but the tension did not entirely leave her face. "I understand, but even so…"
I stopped her with a gentle gesture.
"There is something else that will make this concern seem… small, compared to what is coming."
That made her lift her gaze to mine once more.
"Next year, a reorganization of the continental regions will begin," I continued. "The current ten regions will not vanish, but they will be grouped differently. The Central City shall be one of the regional capitals."
The word "capital" hung in the air like a stone dropped into a still lake. I could see the impact upon her features: first surprise, then comprehension… and finally, an expression I rarely saw on Fiba: a slight pursing of the lips, barely contained. Almost anger.
"That implies a notable increase in responsibilities," she said, her voice colder than usual. "More delegations, more conflicts to mediate, more reports to oversee."
Her reaction took me off guard. Fiba, who always accepted additional burdens with the same serenity others accepted praise, was now showing resistance. I raised both hands in a conciliatory gesture.
"It will also imply more support," I clarified. "You shall not carry that weight alone. As a regional capital, the city will have its own ministry that will share the work with you. New cadres, resources, personnel. It is not a chain; it is a more solid structure."
She remained silent for several seconds. I saw her inhale slowly, as if measuring every consequence behind my words. At last, she nodded. The hard line around her mouth softened.
"If such support is guaranteed, then the Central City shall fulfill its role."
Another half-hour slipped away in minor details: supply routes, small tensions between guilds, adjustments to night-lighting schedules. My mind, however, drifted between what she described and the image of my mother in her armchair, her womb heavy with the future. Every time the aroma of the tea was revived from the tray, I felt an echo of my worry for the birth.
As I prepared to rise, an idea darted like a mischievous fish across the surface of my mind. I smiled, unable to help myself.
"By the way," I said, my tone lighter, "my mother wishes to have grandchildren soon."
Fiba blinked, thrown by the abrupt shift in subject. "I beg your pardon?"
"Grandchildren," I repeated. "And not only from me. She insists that Upqua and you have delayed far too long."
The change in her face was almost comical. First, she went rigid, then the blood rushed to her cheeks. Her lips tightened, and she averted her gaze to a random point on the wall. Shame, guilt, something akin to fear—all in a single sequence.
"Sire…," she murmured. "That… matter is private."
I chuckled softly. "Private, yes. But when my mother is involved, nothing remains hidden for long. Besides, I too have the right to plan my calendar. I should like to marry after my elder brother, not before."
Fiba let out a huff, half-tired, half-resigned. She brought a hand to her forehead and ran it through her hair, undoing the perfect order of her braid. That gesture, so human, endeared her to me more than I expected.
"I spoke with Upqua," she said at last, with a surrendered sigh. "We shall marry a month after your next birthday. That is in… about four months."
I stood frozen for a second. I felt a smile blooming from within, impossible to stop.
"Truly?"
She nodded, not daring to hold my gaze for long.
"Then…" I rose from the chair, feeling a new energy surging through my legs. "Congratulations, Fiba. And welcome to the family… in advance."
Upon hearing that, for the first time in the entire meeting, Fiba pressed her hand to her chest, as if needing to ensure her heart was still where it belonged.
"I shall do my utmost to be worthy," she said.
I left the office amidst her huffs and my own stifled laughter, still hearing, from behind the door, a muffled murmur that might well have been a soft curse directed at Upqua… or at me.
And as I walked through the illuminated corridor, I could not help but think that, amidst wars, reforms, and maps, there was also room for these small battles that defined the world we were building.
Two days later, Simte Academy.
The inner courtyard of the Simte Academy smelled of warm stone and paper freshly dampened by the morning mist. The voices of students mingled with the scratching of quills on tablets and the murmur of formulas recited in various accents. A gentle breeze carried toward us the echo of a song in a tongue of the islands, thinning it among the pillars carved with symbols of the Sun and the Moon.
I walked slowly through the main corridor, letting my fingers brush the columns as we advanced. Every relief beneath my hand brought back a different year, a decision made, a face encountered.
Beside me, Nyia's stride was firm and silent; a bit further ahead, Umza skipped as if she were seeing the place for the first time. Turey brought up the rear, attentive, though her gaze often strayed beyond the rooftops toward the sky.
The Simte Academy had been my first great wager on structured knowledge. It lacked the emotional glow of the first primary schools, but here, among these hallways, I had found those who would sustain the future of the kingdom.
It was here, in Year 5, where I first saw the two of them: Nyia with her hands stained with pigment, Umza with her gaze fixed upon a collection of writings in various languages. Now they walked with me as my betrothed, and that simple thought tightened my chest with a nameless sort of nostalgia.
"Look, Chuta!" Umza exclaimed, pointing to the right.
Her finger indicated one of the open workshops. Inside, students of various ages debated, surrounded by gears, ropes, and glass vessels. One spoke in Chibcha, another replied in a southern tongue, and from the back, a girl intervened in an island language that Umza seemed to follow without effort. Umza leaned forward, trying to distinguish every word with that insatiable curiosity I knew so well.
"Listen to how the sounds change," she whispered, almost to herself. "The same idea in so many tongues… it is beautiful."
I smiled. Seeing her thus, her eyes shining, reminded me of the first time I saw her arguing with a priest over the correct way to record the speech tones of the Pijao language.
Nyia, conversely, walked close by my side. Her steps were measured, almost silent, but I noticed her fingers twitching slightly on the edge of her mantle as we passed large groups. She had always been shy around crowds, but her shyness was not weakness; it was a filter: she opened up suddenly when something truly touched her.
I saw it happen a few meters further on.
Upon reaching the art hall, she stopped dead. The scent of pigment, sanded wood, and oil spilled into the corridor. The walls of the hall were filled with paintings: landscapes of our mountains, scenes of the islands, portraits of figures of the realm. Beside them, on special stands, were pieces brought from Europe: virgins with pale faces, rigid saints, landscapes where the sky seemed too distant.
Nyia took a step inside without waiting for my permission.
I saw her move forward, eyes wide, mouth slightly agape. Her shyness vanished as if someone had extinguished a lamp. She approached a sculpture of polished stone made by one of our artists, then a small European wooden statue, and compared the gestures with the pads of her fingers, not daring to touch them, but as if she caressed them from the air.
"They have improved so much…," she whispered, more to herself than to me. "The shadows, the hands, the way they look…"
I stood observing her. That expression of fascination, that way of forgetting the rest of the world existed, was what had drawn me to her the first time. It was the same gaze with which she now watched the entire city in growth.
Further back, Turey advanced in silence. Her eyes scanned the rooms, but they did not linger long on any point. There were no animals in the Academy—no horses, no dogs, no domesticated birds. Only when a flight of wild birds crossed the sky, leaving a brief cry, did I see her face light up for an instant.
"They are nesting nearby," she remarked softly. "I have heard them since we entered."
Her ear, always tuned to the living things moving beyond the walls, reminded me of something I had not taken into account. The increase of animals entering the kingdom—horses, cattle, new birds—was not being treated with the same seriousness as other areas of study. We did not yet have formal instruction regarding their care.
I ran my hand over the wooden railing, feeling the imperfections of the carving. Every protruding splinter seemed to me a warning. If we did not attend to that flank, the entire structure might suffer.
"We must open a new faculty," I thought aloud, rather than saying it for them. "One dedicated to animals, their care, and their husbandry."
Umza turned, interested. Nyia remained spellbound by a painting showing a European man before a distant port. Turey simply nodded, as if she had been waiting for those very words.
Two hours later.
The scent of ink and metal greeted me in a place I had always felt as an extension of my own mind: the Department of Innovation.
The air was heavy with light smoke, mingled with the aroma of burnt oils and fired clay. The tables were covered with sketches, loose parts, and prototypes that only someone familiar with them could recognize.
I stood in the center of the main hall, hands behind my back. The silence was deceptive; I knew that beneath that calm, ideas were fermenting like dough beneath a cloth.
Ubatas had not yet arrived.
The young man I once discovered among piles of others' notes had become a solid leader, capable of coordinating diverse teams with a clarity that others envied. Before him, Faoa had been my right hand in these matters. And before Faoa… it was only I, a child trapped in a body too small, with the memory of a world that did not yet exist here.
The smell of damp clay brought me back to that time.
At ten months old, I could barely articulate words, but my head seethed with schemes. I recall the sensation of the cold clay between my fingers as I tried to explain the concept of a reverberatory furnace to the priests. They looked at me as if at a divine envoy; I only felt desperate for not having the throat of an adult to explain it all faster.
I closed my hand over the edge of a table. The wood was firm, but beneath my skin remained the same need as back then: to translate memories of the future into something that could be held, cut, struck.
The Muisca already knew gold and tumbaga—that mixture with copper or silver that had fueled so many jewels. I remember the first flash of red metal I held when I asked them for copper in greater quantities. The metallic scent, the distinct texture beneath the sun. It was a better starting point than I had feared to find.
"If we achieve this," I repeated to myself in silence, "we can reach bronze. And if we reach bronze, iron will not be so far away."
The memory of the first piece of glittering stone brought from the south—tin—struck me with the same force as it had then. I saw it on a table, wrapped in cloth, like a treasure. The priests murmured prayers; I calculated temperatures and proportions in my infantile mind.
With the first bronze tools in my hand, the texture of the world changed. The strikes became cleaner, the pieces more defined. And by the time we found iron, at the end of the second year, I knew that the path toward galleons, cannons, and firearms was no longer merely a dream, but a long, hard, yet attainable line.
The sound of firm footsteps returned me to the present.
"You are late," I said without turning.
"I arrived busy," replied a young voice behind me, laden with a confidence he did not possess a few years ago. "But never so much as to keep the Son of Heaven waiting."
I smiled and turned toward Ubatas. His hands were stained with soot, and a spark of proud exhaustion shone in his eyes.
"Then, show me," I told him, gesturing toward the tables. "I wish to see what has become of all we began with mud, copper, and dreams."
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[A/N: CHAPTER COMPLETED
Hello everyone.
You all: "Wonderful author, are you alright? ... How is it possible that you published two chapters in a row? Are you dying?"
Hahaha, I'm fine, it's just that I have to work tomorrow and Monday too, so in case I end up very exhausted or just want to rest, I got ahead of myself.
But that's not actually the only reason. I also published two chapters in a row because new readers have recently joined (something strange) or others have returned. And I was afraid that publishing only two or three chapters the last two weeks might have given you a bad impression of me. So here's another chapter.
By the way, I brought back some old names; I suppose many of you have forgotten Faoa, the kingdom's inventive genius, and his old assistant Ubatas.
Speaking of old characters, and taking into account Chuta's deceased brother, Hyqua.
Do you remember Sicaza from the chapter: Memories - Chuta I? Well, he'll have his own chapter much later. Let's remember that he was exiled, and we don't know where he went or what he did afterward.
By the way, the next chapter will continue with technological advancements, perhaps other flashbacks to technological development, and mentions of historical figures who will appear in the novel soon.
I also want to open a discussion with you.
How long do you think it will take a people who only use stone tools to transition to copper or bronze, having the materials on hand and knowing the necessary construction and development methods?
I ask because the darn AI keeps saying it would take years to develop bronze, when clearly building a primitive reverberatory furnace would take a couple of weeks at most.
The AI keeps basing its predictions on historical development periods rather than hypothetical situations like the one in the novel.
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Read my other novels.
#The Walking Dead: Vision of the Future (Chapter 91)
#The Walking Dead: Emily's Metamorphosis (Chapter 34) (INTERMITTENT)
#The Walking Dead: Patient 0 - Lyra File (Chapter 14) (INTERMITTENT)
You can find them on my profile.]