I have the whole morning to myself and that's when I put my feet on the ground. My life is a fiction, a deception, a lie. Everything I believed in no longer exists; it has vanished.

Paris locks herself in her room to write the History of the Goddess and the Provinces, since Julie Bell and I convinced her. Her talent as a historian can be pivotal. Moreover, according to Paris, she can kill two birds with one stone: she will make the religion and the Goddess community present in public life and demonstrate her research skills and the importance of History, hurting the Provinces. Even within her study she will be able to introduce her theories on the Collapse, which she knows more and more thoroughly, and the large-scale publication will ensure her readership and that a debate can be opened around this dark period.

The cost to her is incalculable. I don't think she is aware of it. Perhaps I have sinned a little selfishly by dragging her into the abyss where we slaves find ourselves. Instantly I realize that I, as her collaborator, will also be threatened. So, I try to focus on reordering my goals and my purpose in life, which just boils down to gaining freedom and being able to time travel a few more times. I also have to figure out how to help Paris, this time. We are more alike now than we were at first. I leave behind the kisses we've given each other, because it's clear they mean nothing. They hurt me, but always being mindful of who you are is one way to not get your hopes up for anything. I worry about Paris herself, because she's going to give up everything she has for a dream. For the Goddess. For the slaves. And that's what I want and have always wanted, to be free. To stop being a slave. I can only be grateful and do my bit for this cause, because Paris and I, I know, share a destiny. I don't think I will be happy, nor in freedom. The United Provinces will put an end to all resistance, they cannot be defeated. So... we will have to live in hiding. So will she.

—Maybe it's time to be honest with Mr. Stonecraft—I say to Paris as he takes a break—. About your mother. About your research. What you plan to do with her.

—Not yet—neither does she look at me. She's focused, thinking.

—He deserves it, after...

I don't finish speaking because she doesn't seem to be listening to me. She takes a sip of her hot coffee, as she likes it, and continues to stare into nothingness. I walk over and give her a shy hug of encouragement. I'd like to kiss her. Give her one of those kisses. She disengages from me and goes back to her room to resume her project. I sigh. I feel like Paris is the only family I have left. That I have.

—Paris, you know that when you publish that we'll have to disappear, don't you? —I tell her in the evening, when she's exhausted.

—Everything has a price, Eric. You, of all people, should know that.

—You don't mind paying for it? To join the side of the eternal losers?

—I do it with pleasure. I don't know if it will be the losing side, but I do believe it is the right and just one.

—Using History...

—Historians have only limited themselves to reconstructing facts, characters, dates. I'm interpreting all that, to capture what they mean. But I go further, I'm trying to change history. That's not using it, it's having it on your side.

—Will it be worth it? —Why am I trying to dissuade her?

—Is it worth being free, Eric?

She continues to write, typing at her computer screen. I watch her for a few seconds in silence.

—Don't you think it's better to rest? Come on, tell me about it. It will do you good to put all these ideas out loud.

—All I have left is what I have always been looking for. The origin of our world.

—The Collapse?

—The before and after. The rest is all under control—she says looking me in the eyes for the first time all day—the creation of different autonomous governments in the different provinces around 30 A.C., the growth of the cities and the recovery of electricity around 50, the construction of the current political, social, cultural and economic model, based on slavery and landlords between 75 and 100 A.C., the first Football League also around that time, the Great Technoscientific Advance of the Provinces between 100 and 150, the History of the Goddess from the Priestess and the three slave rebellions, related to it. It only remains to fit the Collapse: what was there before, what happened with those bombs Paul was talking about, what does the Collapse represent for the Provinces and what role do the Goddess and the Priestess have in it.

—Wow, I didn't know the United Provinces had so much history to tell.

—I've only given you a summary. Will you read the whole thing?

—Sure, I've gotten much better at it. Get some rest, come on.

I let Paris continue quietly and go to my room to watch the Screen. President Leeparker appears, with her blond hair puffed out, giving a speech about the economy and what she expects from the Provinces in her next eight years in office. I'm interested in what she says, now that I understand a bit of politics and history. But I tire quickly of his technicalities and empty verbiage, so I play soccer. I remember the trial with Brox City, the idea of being able to play soccer, even if it was in the fifth division. And with all the pain in my heart I throw it away. I must give up this dream, for freedom. Everything has a price. And this one is small for me, compared to Paris. I fall asleep.

—Eric! —Paris shakes me in my sleep—Wake up!

—What's wrong? —I say, startled.

—We are going to collapse.

—It's five o'clock in the morning, Paris...

—It's going to be the last trip—. She tells me, serious. I understand that she is about to finish her research and that her life, as she knows it, is coming to an end.

I get up and get ready, while thinking about what will come next. Whether we're going to live in the catacombs of the Goddess or what. In just a few minutes we are in the basement, where Mr. Stonecraft is working on setting up a new time jump.

—I've upgraded the microchips in the watch, to avoid problems—he says—you can go and come back whenever you want, without alerting the control panel. It's like an autopilot, a portable machine.

—You have to send us to the same place and the same date you sent Lunetta Gordon back in time—Paris orders her father—. And this time, for heaven's sake, it has to work.

—You don't mean to bring her back? —Matt worries.

—We can't do that, dad. Lunetta has an important role in that era, we will not change one iota of what it is and has to be.

I look sideways at Paris, what is she up to? He takes me by the hand and leads me to the stage.

—We both need this trip, at last. We both need to clear up a lot of things...

She says. I nod and accept it, because she's right. She needs to find out what the world was before the Collapse and what could have happened to destroy it and I...I need another chance around Lunetta, because she can explain to me who I am, once and for all. Paris closes the glass on us. Matt Stonecraft is still setting coordinates and dates. I grab the pistol from my belt, just in case it might happen. The fog covers us, I see Mr. Stonecraft smiling and waving goodbye. I'm short of breath. A dense darkness eats us.

The first signal that reaches me is auditory, the noise is deafening. Then the smell, the atmosphere is charged and smells of smoke and food in equal parts. I cough, open my eyes and sit up. Paris is right behind me. In front of us, imposing buildings and a grand avenue lined with hundreds of four-wheeled pneumatic vehicles making a lot of fuss. They have a design I've never seen before, they look very old. Digital signs and huge screens on the facades of the buildings show the news of the day, which reminds me of New America. Skyscrapers are the buildings that cover the whole city, different from those I have seen in the Provinces, as they have straight lines and shapes, a multitude of windows and are of muted colors. People walk and dress very strangely: they wear blue pants whose fabric seems very rough and rough and baggy T-shirts. They also wear tight designer suits. The women are wearing tight dresses and high heels. Everyone seems to be in a hurry, with electronic devices in one hand and plastic cups in another.

—This is not a city of the Provinces—Paris analyzes.

We walk hand in hand through the streets of a city that is totally new to us, noticing everything. Paris keeps pointing things out to me. The hamburger peddler, signs with flashing lights, the pets of a passerby, the yellow cars. We arrive at a huge park, very green, located in the center of the city. An oasis of nature among so many buildings. It is very busy with people strolling, playing sports, reading. They have something different in their countenances, something that the citizens in the Provinces do not have. More tranquility, less fear. Perhaps more happiness.

—Excuse me, what year is it? —Paris asks an older man walking hand in hand with what must be his wife.

—Miss, land on the ground and get off the drugs. New York, 2020—he gives us both a look of contempt and continues on her way—. Of course, these Europeans are getting more vicious and more ignorant every day.

—¡2020! —Paris holds her hands to her face—. Do you know what that means? There are 2020 years before the Collapse!

—It's impossible, I can't fit so many years in my head—I tell her—. And it's even more impossible to find Lunetta here.

I don't get Paris' attention because she is still taking in what it means that History has more pages than can be written in the Provinces. I guess she must understand me now, when I say that my whole life is a lie. Your History seems to be one too. Maybe your crazy theories were reality, but if this is confirmed, your theories fall short. The Collapse killed one civilization and gave birth to another. I still have my misgivings, it has to have a simpler and more logical explanation.

—Are you Eric and Paris? —A young colored man in a tank top and bermuda shorts, with his socks almost up to his knees and bulky white sneakers walks towards us.

—Yes...

—That man over there—he points to a tree at the entrance to the park—well, he's gone. He gave me twenty bucks just to deliver this to you—he hands Paris an envelope—. Pleasure doing business with you. Peace, and don't forget that black lives matter—. He walks away making a funny gesture with his fingers.

Paris opens the brown envelope awkwardly because she is nervous. Could it be Lunetta? I don't see any other option. Inside is just a piece of paper with the address of a library.

—Could it be a trap? —I ask.

—Nobody knows us here, not even Lunetta... It's a library. After all, that's what we came here for.

Stolen content alert: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.

I steal a map of New York City from one of the kiosks in what we discover is Central Park and we orient ourselves to go to that library. We again get between asphalt streets, buildings and vehicles. After twenty minutes of walking, we enter a street in the city where there are some buildings smaller and more archaic than the skyscrapers. One of them has a stone staircase and a large metallic green door. It has a sign: Library.

Paris hurries and a shiver runs through us when we arrive at a grand hall with long tables completely silent, as dozens of people read and write. I remember the university library in New America, where no one was there, and the contrast shocks me. We are more advanced, but we discard knowledge. There is a dim darkness, broken by the electric light of a few lamps. Beyond the room, aisles and aisles of books. Books, books and more books. A feast for Paris.

—I wonder how many we can take with us—Paris is ready.

I follow behind her, as her slave, picking up and carrying all the titles that interest her. Every time she picks up a volume, she throws out an expression of surprise and excitement: "Brief History of the World", "History of the West", "The United States of America. A Socio- Historical Perspective", "The Short Twentieth Century", "Democracy and Dictatorship". In total there are fifteen copies that we drop at the reception desk, where we are attended by a woman in her forties with a rounded face and too much paint on her face. She looks very artificial.

—Do you have a library card? —she asks.

—No.

—Fill in this information, then—she hands Paris a piece of paper and a pen.

As Paris writes, a young girl with a casual manner, long brown hair and honey-colored eyes, stands in line to take three books. Her smell is familiar. Pungent and fresh. It smells like orchid. I tug at Paris' shirt and nod at the girl, who must be only a few years older than us.

—It's her—I whisper to Paris—It's my... It's her.

The librarian informs Paris that she has fifteen days of loan and that she must return the books. We go outside arguing, because she doesn't think this girl is Lunetta. We take a few seconds on the stone stairs so Paris can put the books in her backpack, while we talk. The girl I think is Lunetta comes out of the library door.

—It's her. I'm sure it is.

—It's all right! —Paris seems more busy thinking about her books.

We follow the girl's footsteps, leaving a safe distance and with maximum discretion. She turns the corner and continues to wander through the city. We have to wait for a little light representing a human being on a metal pole to turn green to cross a street because cars will not stop unless they have a little red light in front of them. They are a danger to people and also give off a nauseating smell.

—And this is a civilization? —I joke with Paris, to liven up the wait.

The girl enters a medium-sized residential building in New York City. When we arrive, the elevator is already going up. We have lost her. We look in the doorway, where some of the names of the building's neighbors are listed, but no Lunetta appears. A man enters the residence. He wears sunglasses, a plaid shirt and has white hair. He watches us carefully. I hope he doesn't think we're thieves or something.

—Are you looking for the new truth? —He asks us, looking at us through the lenses of his saddle.

—Yes! —Paris replies effusively.

—Fourth floor, first door on the left. I live just above it, on the fifth.

We hurried up the stairs so as not to share the elevator with that man. We knock on the door of the apartment that is supposed to be Lunetta's with force. Nobody opens. I put my ear to it, but I hear nothing.

—Lunetta Gordon? Is that you? —We come from the same place! —she lowers her voice—. The United Provinces.

The door opens immediately and the girl appears with her face unhinged. She pulls us in and closes it.

—How dare you go around saying such things! It's dangerous!

—But no one knows us here....

—I was scared. I thought you were from the Provincial Police, coming to arrest me, but I see you're just two kids. Who sent you?

—The Provincial Police here? —neither Paris and I understand— How can it be? Nobody knows that you can...

—Time travel? Everyone knows that! That's why they're looking for me.

—How long have you been here?

—Who are you and what are you doing here?

—My name is Paris—she introduced herself.

—Matt's daughter? —she nods—How old you are!

—Well, actually...we've come...This is Eric—Paris doesn't know how to say it, but she does. I greet Lunetta with my hand, shyly. I'm not her son and I don't know if she'll recognize me.

—Eric? My Eric? —she bursts into tears and throws herself into my arms. She looks at my face, my hair, my eyes. Everything. I hug her as best I can, also crying—. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, my son.

She doesn't let go. We sit on the couch and Lunetta continues to hold me tightly. I don't know how to ask her, how to explain to her that I want and deserve to know the truth about myself.

—And what does that moron Matt Stonecraft want? Has he grown up yet?

—We don't really know why we're here either—Paris replies—, but I think we can guide you a little. You can't go back to your own time. You have to stay here. The Goddess has great plans for you that only you have to discover. You will have to survive the Collapse...

—Do you know the Goddess?

—We are your followers—I say—it was the only thing you left me when you left.

—My son, I couldn't be prouder of you.

It's a little weird for a young girl to call you son, except that she's not my mother.

—But you are not my mother, Lunetta! —Now I'm the one crying my eyes out—. I grew up with the Halls, with Greg Gordon, believing that Lunetta Moon was my mother. I went crazy unraveling the riddles of the Bible, of the Goddess, and Paris and I were almost killed for wearing your handkerchief knotted on my arm, because I couldn't part with the little that the one who was supposed to be my mother had left me as an inheritance—I untie the handkerchief and give it to her. I don't want it, let her keep it—. To find out later that you're not my mother, that I'm just an orphan slave you adopted from the slave plantation of old Greg, your father, my owner. I thought you were a slave, I thought... I've been thinking so much at this moment that I can't find the words.

—Who told you such nonsense? Greg? —she wipes away my tears and looks me in the eye—. Eric, you are my son. I carried you in my womb for nine months and nothing and no one can change that. If anyone has made you believe otherwise, they have only done it to protect you. To be faithful to the Goddess, to fight for peace, equality and freedom is not an easy task nor a past to be proud of, there, in the Provinces.

—Am I your son? Really?

—Forever. I swear by the Goddess.

—What about my father?

—Simon Moon.

—He said no. That you only used his last name to your advantage....

—And I did... But what matters, Eric, is that I am your mother. That you are my son.

We spend the afternoon with Lunetta. I forget everything for a few hours, because I try to make the most of my time with my mother. We eat while we tell each other anecdotes, because she wants to know what my childhood was like, how I grew up on the cotton plantation. Paris is very quiet, I guess she understands my position when she has been with her father or her mother, with me in front of her. When she told me everything, she had talked about with Julie Bell the night we became followers of the Goddess.

—I arrived a week ago and I was totally lost. I didn't know where I was and I wanted to die. Someone gave me a letter with the keys and the address of this house. I was able to take refuge here because I had everything I needed: food, books and money.

—There is someone who is always ahead of us—Paris reflects—He sent us to the Library, where you were.

—The police of the Provinces?

—Impossible, Eric. They're helping us. Lunetta too. It can't be them.

—The Goddess?

I roll my eyes and we laugh. Whoever it is, we have to find out who it is.

—It took me a few days to adapt and understand this world—Lunetta continues—. I've read a lot and I've spent hours and hours in front of the Screen, which here is called Television.

—Do they give soccer? —I am interested.

—Oh, yes. Although much simpler and more aggressive than that of the Provinces. Less cameras and more contact.

—Really, Eric? —Paris reproaches me for thinking about soccer—. We have another reason to be here. The Goddess, in our future, needs history. I'm a historian and I'm writing a thesis...where we just need to know what the Collapse was. Impressive as it may seem, we now have the certainty that there was a great civilization with more than 2,000 years of history before, but we don't understand what happened to destroy it in the Collapse and what came after.

Lunetta takes us into a small room where she has stacked books, papers and notes. There is a large map on the wall, but it looks nothing like the one of the Provinces.

—This world is made up of five continents and seven oceans. That gives us an immense number of square kilometers of surface area, far more than the United Provinces. The Collapse will wipe out everything except the area where we will live.

Paris approaches the map and brushes it with her fingers. She moves from place to place. Getting an idea of how big this world is. But I know what she's really looking for.

—Paris—she says—capital of...France.

—That's in Europe, on the other side of the Atlantic—Lunetta explains—. This world is divided into three types of countries: the poor, the developing and the rich. The United States of America is the most powerful country and dominates culturally and politically all other countries. Elitist democracy, like that of the Provinces, where every four years there is alternation of power with votes of the citizens. The only good thing is that there is no slavery. Although if you don't have money...it is very similar. Slavery does exist in some poor countries like those in Africa. There are three major religions... —I disconnect before so much information that Lunetta gives us. I only notice how she moves her mouth, her gestures. She is my mother.

—What is it that can make this world collapse? —Paris asks thoughtfully.

—There is technological and scientific progress, but they have not managed to reach technoscience. In addition, the world economy is increasingly faltering and social inequalities are abysmal: a few control all the wealth, the majority survive from day to day, as best they can.

—A revolt in the face of all that? —says Paris.

—A war? I remember Paul said something about bombs... —I intervene.

—Everything is possible... —Sentence Lunetta.

Paris, though she has traveled to before the Collapse, cannot get to the bottom of the great question that haunts her: how it came about. She has corroborated her theories of an earlier civilization, but she can't answer that. She can't because we're not going to go to the exact time of the Collapse. It would be extremely dangerous.

—I promise to gather as much information as I can, Paris.

Paris' wristwatch beeps. It's time to go home and I don't want to. What if I stay with my mother?

—We will be back. I don't know when or where, but we will— Paris says, by way of farewell. Let's go, Eric.

I don't move from my place. Here I can get freedom, be with my mother. I would give up the future, but so what. Lunetta comes and hugs me again, very tight. It's strange to call someone you don't know mom.

—It's your obligation—she reminds me—. I'm proud of what you are and who you are. I left you as a child and you have become a man who fights for his ideals and believes in what he does. Stop looking at the past, focus on the future. You are my son. The Goddess has wanted us to be separated, but I am sure she has good reasons for it. Let us trust her.

—Thank you for everything, Mom.

A ray of light shines in my mind. Now I understand Greg Gordon, his closeness and his remoteness at the same time, his contempt for having lain with Sophie...Because Sophie...is Lunetta's little sister, my mother. Sophie is my aunt. I feel dirty and disgusting.

—A few months ago, you only knew how to say one word: mom. That you've grown up, that you call me that...here...I'm so confused...will I be able to do what the Goddess wants from me?

She grabs my cheeks and I remember the words of the first Priestess in Monroe: "when I'm confused".

—Mom, you can handle anything and everything. I've seen it. -She smiles at me—. We will meet again. Year 15 AC., June 26. Monroe.

—That long?

—I don't know if we'll be able to come back sooner... But don't forget to tell me that I have to tell you... I'm a bit absent-minded.

She nods as Paris comes over and shakes my hand. She touches the clock and the mist begins to envelop us.

—Are you... a couple? —Lunetta finally asks us.

—No! —we both said at the same time.

I stop breathing, and darkness covers us. We return home with new certainties and with other doubts. Paris pounces on her father, and I leave for my room. Mr. Stonecraft didn't know Lunetta very well after all. I need to take a shower and think about my whole life again. These emotional and temporal ups and downs are not doing me any good because right now, I'm dizzy and feel like throwing up.

—Eric! —I hear Paris downstairs in the living room.

—Give me a few minutes!

I open the bathroom door and stick my head in the toilet. I vomit. Then I wash my face with cold water.

—Are you all right? —Paris speaks to me from the stairs, because she has heard the retching.

—Yes! —I answer, energetically, poking my head out of the bathroom door—. Yes... —I whisper to myself, closing it.

At the back of the bathroom, next to the shower, is Paris. She has a strange expression on her face. I stare at her with my mouth open, unable to articulate a word. I come out of the bathroom.

—Paris?

—Yes? —She answers from below.

—Nothing—I go back to the bathroom and look at the other Paris.

The doorbell rings. Paris opens it. It's Edgar, from what I hear.

—How can there be two Parises at the same time? —I ask the Paris in the bathroom.

—Shut up and listen! —She answers me.