Rachel’s dreams often betrayed her. As sleep pulled her under, Eden dissolved around her. Walls
of cold steel gave way to scorched horizons, and she was sixteen again trapped behind glass as
fire consumed the woman she could never save. Outside the dome, her mother stood alone
against the churning chaos, her figure illuminated by the unnatural, orange-red glow of the
storm. Elizabeth was an older, hauntingly familiar reflection of Rachel herself. Her face, though
streaked with sweat and ash, carried the same sharp cheekbones and defiant jawline. The same
deep-set stormy eyes and full of life—peered out from beneath sweat-dampened strands of dark
hair that had begun to streak with silver. Time had etched faint lines at the corners of her eyes,
hints of both laughter and worry, and though her frame was leaner, her presence radiated the
same quiet strength Rachel would one day grow into.
Even now, standing against the chaos, Elizabeth’s features were fierce, almost regal, as if she
were defying the storm itself to take her. Her resemblance to Rachel wasn’t just physical, it was
in the way she carried herself, her shoulders squared, and her head held high, even as the flames
closed in. Looking at her mother was like staring into a mirror of her future, one shaped by
courage, sacrifice, and unyielding love.
The first solar flares licked the horizon, arcs of fire splitting the ash-filled sky as the heat
shimmered around her, distorting the edges of her silhouette. Her sweat-soaked hair clung to her
face, her chest heaving as she turned to glance over her shoulder at the figures behind her.
Harland stood just beyond the sealed dome’s glass, his posture rigid, his expression carved from
stone. His cold, unyielding gaze betrayed no emotion, no regret, no acknowledgment of the
woman condemned to die. Beside him stood Gabriel, younger then, his face contorted in
confusion and grief. His hands twitched at his sides; fists clenched so tightly his knuckles were
white. He stared at his mother, frozen, torn between loyalty and helplessness.
Elizabeth’s lips pressed into a thin line, her eyes locking on Harland’s for what would be the
final time. For a fleeting moment, there was a flicker of something in her gaze—pity? Loathing?
Perhaps both. Then, as the storm howled behind her, she let out a slow, trembling breath and
turned away from him. Her choice had already been made.
Her eyes found Rachel, her daughter, who stood on the other side of the impenetrable glass,
pounding her fists against the barrier with desperate, futile force. Rachel’s tear-streaked face was
pressed against the cool surface, her sobs silent in the sterile stillness of the dome. Her lips
formed the same words over and over: “Come inside! Please, Mom!”
Elizabeth pressed her palms against the glass, aligning them with Rachel’s smaller hands, the
gesture futile yet intimate. Her eyes softened as she gazed at her daughter, her heart breaking
under the weight of what had just been taken from her. The barrier between them might as well
have been an ocean, but Elizabeth willed her love to reach Rachel through the cold, unyielding
glass.
Her lips moved slowly, deliberately, mouthing the words “I’m sorry.” Her tears fell freely now,
carving streaks through the ash and grime on her face. She took a steady breath, forcing her
expression into one of calm strength, though her voice would never reach Rachel’s ears.
“You must survive,” she mouthed, each word exaggerated so Rachel could read her lips clearly.
Her trembling hand moved to her heart, then pointed toward her daughter. “For me. For Gabriel.
For yourself.”
Rachel’s sobs grew more frantic. “No!” she screamed, her fists hammering the glass. “Don’t do
this! Please! Come with me!” Her words dissolved into silent pleas as she pressed her face
against the barrier.
Behind Elizabeth, Gabriel’s breath hitched audibly. “Don’t let this happen,” he said, his voice a
broken whisper directed at their father. “Bring her inside. It’s not too late.” He took a step
forward, but Harland’s hand shot out, gripping his shoulder with enough force to stop him in his
tracks.
“There’s nothing we can do; everyone will die if we open the dome” Harland said flatly, his gaze
never leaving Elizabeth. His voice was devoid of feeling, as if the woman standing on the other
side of the glass was a mere stranger rather than the mother of his children.
Elizabeth turned her head slightly, just enough to look at Gabriel over her shoulder. Her lips
parted, and though her voice was lost to the roar of the storm, her meaning was unmistakable:
“Protect her.”
Gabriel froze, his expression shattering under the weight of her words. His mouth opened, but no
sound came out. Harland’s grip on him tightened, and Gabriel’s fists fell limp at his sides.
Elizabeth turned back to Rachel, her face a mixture of fierce determination and heartbreaking
tenderness. “I’ll always be with you,” she mouthed, her eyes locking onto Rachel’s with a depth
of love that could not be put into words. She placed her palm firmly against the glass, willing her
strength to pass through it.
The sky beyond the dome burned brighter, the solar flares crawling closer with unrelenting fury.
Elizabeth’s time was running out.
Her lips moved one final time, slow and deliberate. “Remember me, baby girl.” “Ill never leave
you as long as you remember me.”
Rachel shook her head violently, tears streaming as she screamed, “No! I need you!” Her voice
cracked, but her fists continued to beat against the barrier.
Elizabeth’s smile widened, trembling but radiant, even as the ash swirled around her like a death
shroud. Her hand lingered on the glass for a moment longer, and then, with excruciating
slowness, she stepped back. The roar of the storm grew deafening, the air trembling as the first
arcs of fire touched the ground. Elizabeth didn’t flinch as the flames bore down on her. She
turned once more to look at her family—at Harland, at Gabriel, and finally, at Rachel.
Her final glance was for Rachel alone, her eyes filled with love, pride, and the quiet acceptance
of her fate.
The solar flares struck. A blinding flash consumed the sky, washing everything in an all
encompassing light. Rachel’s scream ripped through the dome, unheard and unanswered, as er
mother disappeared into the fire.
When the light faded, there was nothing left but ash and silence. Harland turned without a word,
his expression unchanging. Gabriel lingered, his trembling shoulders betraying his grief as he
stared at the empty space where his mother had stood.
And Rachel, her hands still pressed against the glass, felt her world shatter into pieces.
For a fleeting moment, the world seemed to pause. Rachel’s and her mother’s palms aligned
through the glass, their touch a final, fleeting connection. Elizabeth’s sad smile was a haunting
reminder of the sacrifices made, her eyes filled with love and an inexplicable resignation. Then,
with a deafening crack, the storm consumed her, Elizabeth's form disintegrating into a cascade of
light, leaving Rachel alone in the stifling silence of the dome. The world outside was obliterated,
replaced by a charred wasteland.
Gabriel’s wails dwindled into defeated sobs as Harland finally turned, leading them away with
chilling composure. The memory seared into Rachel’s mind, the pieces of that day now sharper,
tinged with the bitter understanding of betrayal. Her father's role in her mother's fate—a truth
that would unravel her perception of Eden and its architect forever.
Rachel awoke with a sharp gasp, her chest heaving as the dream released its grip. The dim,
artificial light of her quarters greeted her, cold and sterile, a far cry from the fiery chaos that
haunted her sleep. But the weight in her chest didn’t dissipate. It never did.
Her mother’s face lingered in her mind, etched with love and defiance in those final moments.
That last touch through the glass, so close yet utterly unreachable—played on an endless loop in
her memories. Rachel pressed her palms to her temples, willing the image away, but it was futile.
The question she had lived with for twenty-five years clawed its way to the surface yet again:
Why?
The dome had saved her life, but it had also become her prison. She felt its weight in every
breath of recycled air, in the artificial sunlight that never warmed her skin, and in the sterile
order that dictated every corner of Eden. Her father had called it salvation, but Rachel only felt
the suffocation.
She stood, her feet meeting the cool metal floor, and stared at the smooth, seamless walls that
enclosed her. The dome had spared her from the storm, but at what cost? Her mother had died
out there—alone—while Rachel had grown up under the watchful eye of the man who had
chosen safety over her mother’s life.
Elizabeth’s whispered warnings echoed in her thoughts, even after all these years. There’s more
than this. The truth is out there. Her mother had been willing to risk everything for that truth.
Rachel’s fists clenched at her sides. She couldn’t let her daughter grow up believing Eden was
the only way to live. She couldn’t spend the rest of her life beneath a dome, pretending it was
enough.
The image of Elizabeth, her palms pressed against the glass, her eyes brimming with love and
quiet resignation, was as vivid as it had been 25 years ago. Rachel sat up in the dim light of her
quarters, the rhythmic hum of Eden’s systems surrounding her like a suffocating embrace. Her
hands clenched the fabric of her blanket, her breath shaky as the weight of that day settled into
her chest once more.
It was always the same dream, yet it cut deeper each time. Her mother’s sacrifice wasn’t just a
haunting memory, it was a driving force, a spark that refused to be extinguished. For years,
Rachel had carried the ache of loss alongside a provocative question: Why? Why had her mother
stayed behind? Why had her father, Harland, led them away with such cold composure, his grip
on Rachel’s arm a prison rather than a comfort?
She swung her legs over the side of the bed, the cool metal floor grounding her in the present.
Rachel Mooney was no longer the frightened 16-year-old who had stood frozen behind the
dome’s glass. At 40, she was a woman forged in the fire of survival and betrayal. Beautiful and
strong-willed, her intelligence and relentless determination had earned her a place of respect
within Eden, though her defiance often made her a thorn in her father’s side.
Her reflection in the polished surface of a nearby panel caught her attention. The faint lines at the
corners of her eyes and the streaks of gray in her dark hair bore testament to years of struggle,
but her gaze was sharp and unyielding. There was a fire in her, a resilience that even Eden’s
suffocating order couldn’t extinguish.
Rachel dressed quickly, her movements efficient, almost military. Every choice she made, from
the cut of her jacket to the tools she carried at her belt, spoke of purpose and preparation. She
wasn’t just surviving in Eden; she was waiting—for the right moment, the right opportunity to
break free.
The quarters she shared with her husband Donovan and Lizzy, her 16-year-old daughter, were
sparse but functional. Lizzy was still asleep, her soft breathing a reminder of the stakes Rachel
carried. Lizzy was the reason Rachel couldn’t give up, the reason she kept pushing against the
boundaries of Harland’s control. She would give her daughter the freedom Elizabeth had
dreamed of the freedom Rachel had been denied.
Rachel’s fingers grazed the edge of the small, weathered photograph she kept hidden beneath her
desk. It was the only image she had of Elizabeth, her mother’s face frozen in a rare moment of
joy. Rachel traced the outline of her mother’s smile, her jaw tightening.
"You believed in something," Rachel thought, "and I’ll prove you were right."
In the corner of the room, Liz sat cross-legged on the floor, her focus entirely on the intricate
puzzle spread out before her. It wasn’t the kind of puzzle most kids her age would tackle—no
bright cartoon images or simple interlocking pieces. This was a three-dimensional logic puzzle, a
sphere composed of interlocking geometric shapes that needed to be disassembled and
reassembled in a specific sequence.
Rachel glanced up from her screen, catching sight of Liz as she twisted one of the pieces free
with a satisfying click.
“You’re almost there,” Rachel said, offering a brief smile before turning back to her work. “But
don’t rush. The last few steps are always the hardest.”
Liz didn’t respond immediately, her tongue peeking out slightly as she studied the sphere in her
hands. “I know, Mom. I’ve got it,” she replied, her tone calm but confident.
Rachel chuckled softly. “You sound so sure of yourself. That’s good. But sometimes it’s the
pieces that look like they don’t fit that matter the most.”
Liz paused, her fingers hovering over the puzzle. “That’s true for a lot of things, isn’t it?” she
said thoughtfully.
Rachel looked up again, this time fully turning her attention to her daughter. “What do you
mean?”
Liz shrugged, still focused on the puzzle. “Like the archives you’re working on. You said some
of the files are missing or don’t make sense, right? Maybe the pieces are there, just not where
you expect them to be.”
Rachel blinked, momentarily caught off guard by her daughter’s insight. “That’s... a very good
point,” she said slowly, a flicker of pride softening her expression. “Sometimes it takes a fresh
perspective to see what’s right in front of you.”
Liz smirked without looking up. “Or, you know, maybe you’re just looking at it wrong because
you’re old and stubborn.”
Rachel raised an eyebrow, though the faint curve of a smile tugged at her lips. “Careful, Liz.
That sass might break the puzzle before you finish it.”
Liz twisted the final piece into place, the sphere clicking together perfectly. She looked up,
grinning. “Guess I’ll just have to break every puzzle then. I’m on a roll.”
Liz smiled at the retort, but her focus remained on the sphere. With one final twist, the pieces
clicked together, and the puzzle was complete. She held it up triumphantly. “Done!”
Rachel clapped her hands together lightly, laughing. “I don’t know how you do it. That puzzle
took me days the first time I tried it.”
Liz smirked, a playful glint in her eye. “You were probably overthinking it.”
Rachel raised an eyebrow. “Oh, really? And what about you, Miss Genius? What happens if I
give you a harder one next time?”
Liz’s smirk widened into a grin. “Then I’ll solve that one too.”
Rachel shook her head, returning her gaze to her screen, but the smile lingered on her lips.
“You’re too much like your grandfather, you know that? Always needing a challenge.”
Liz tilted her head curiously. “Grandpa Harland?”
“Hmmm,” Rachel said, her voice carrying a mix of fondness and something else—something
heavier. “He used to say that a sharp mind is like a blade—it needs to be tested to stay strong.”
Liz tilted her head thoughtfully. “Do you think he’d like my puzzles?”
Rachel hesitated, her hands hovering over her keyboard. “I think he’d be very impressed,” she
said carefully. “But he’d probably make you think they were too easy.”
Liz laughed, the sound light and genuine, filling the room with warmth that momentarily eased
Rachel’s tension.
“Maybe I’ll ask him for a harder one someday,” Liz said, her eyes sparkling with playful
determination as she began dismantling the puzzle for another round.
Rachel smiled softly, watching Liz’s nimble hands work with precision and focus beyond her
years. “You’d do great, Lizzy,” she said, her voice quieter now but no less earnest. “Every day,
you amaze me.”
Liz glanced up, catching her mother’s gaze, and for a moment, the bond between them spoke
louder than words. “Thanks, Mom,” Liz replied, her cheeks tinged with the faintest blush. She
turned back to the puzzle, her concentration unshaken, but her smile lingered.
Rachel leaned back in her chair, allowing herself a moment to simply observe her daughter. Each
passing day, Liz’s brilliance shone brighter, her confidence growing with every challenge she
conquered. It was in these small, quiet moments that Rachel felt the gravity of her
responsibilities most deeply—not as a citizen of Eden or the daughter of its leader, but as a
mother.
You’re going to change the world, Lizzy, Rachel thought, a surge of pride swelling in her chest.
And I’ll do everything I can to make sure you have the freedom to do it. She turned back to her
work, her heart lighter but her resolve stronger than ever.
Eden, the underground sanctuary, thrived with the calculated harmony of a well-oiled machine.
Designed as a utopia by Reverend Harland Mooney and a cadre of visionary engineers, it served
as humanity's last bastion following the devastating solar storms that scorched the Earth's
surface. For 25 years, its residents had experienced an uninterrupted peace. Nestled beneath a
vast protective dome, Eden was suffused with artificial sunlight that mimicked the natural
warmth and light of a long-lost sun with eerie precision. The corridors were meticulously
maintained, gleaming under the perpetual glow, and the central square buzzed with the vibrant
life of a community in perfect order.
Eden’s technological marvels ensured a near-perfect simulation of Earth’s lost ecosystem. Fresh
air, purified water, and controlled weather maintained an illusion of natural balance. Gentle rains
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in the synthetic rainforest fell precisely at dawn, nurturing vibrant greenery and offering a
fleeting taste of the outside world. These systems were so seamless that many forgot their world
was artificial, a sanctuary engineered for survival.
Harland structured Eden around unity and order, where every citizen’s path was predetermined
for the greater good. Education centered on science, technology, and Eden’s history, reinforcing
a narrative of survival and progress. Careers were assigned in adolescence, ensuring the
community functioned as a well-oiled machine—but at the cost of personal freedom. However,
the artificial environment had deeper psychological impacts on Eden’s populace. The constant,
unchanging conditions led to a phenomenon known as the "Eden Effect," where residents
experienced a subtle but pervasive sense of unreality, a detachment from the natural world that
some had never truly known but felt an ancestral pull towards. This sometimes resulted in
malaise among the older residents who remembered the world before, and a restless curiosity
among the younger ones born inside the dome.
Beneath Eden’s bustling central square lay a quiet unease. Cameras, hidden in architectural
flourishes, ensured constant surveillance, while Harland’s weekly addresses reinforced the
principles of unity and obedience. Conversations faltered when uniformed guards appeared, their
presence a reminder that Eden’s harmony came at a price.
As Rachel Mooney meandered through the marketplace, the meticulously organized stalls stood
in stark contrast to her unsettled thoughts. Vendors, with beaming smiles, hawked their vibrant
synthetic fruits and intricately crafted wares. Children's laughter echoed as they darted around
the central fountain, their exuberance permeating the air—a picturesque scene of serene
perfection, yet Rachel's heart was weighed down by a deep melancholy.
She paused at the fountain, her fingers tracing the contours of its cool stone edge. The gentle
murmur of cascading water was meant to be calming, but it did little to silence the haunting
memories that persistently lingered in her mind—vivid flashes of her mother, Elizabeth, standing
resolute at the colossal dome doors amid mounting chaos. The details of that day were elusive,
fragmented by the terror of the storm and the abruptness of her father pulling her away to safety.
The specifics of what transpired remained veiled in obscurity, yet the burden of unresolved
questions and unspoken truths pressed heavily on her soul.
Her complex feelings about her past and her mother's mysterious death shaped her interactions
with the Eden residents, casting a shadow over her perceptions of the society she inhabited.
Conversations with neighbors often left her feeling disconnected, as their contentment with
Eden's controlled existence contrasted sharply with her growing doubts. Her polite nods and
forced smiles masked an internal struggle, as each exchange subtly reinforced her sense of
isolation and fueled her skepticism of the world her father had so meticulously constructed. This
internal conflict was evident in her wary gaze as she observed the artificial perfection around her,
wondering what truths lay buried beneath Eden’s idyllic façade.
Elizabeth had been a visionary in her own right, desperate to reveal something crucial to Eden’s
residents. She spoke cryptically about truths hidden behind Eden’s pristine walls, warning
Rachel of the dangers of blind obedience. Her passion to expose these secrets had grown over
time, clashing with Harland, who dismissed her concerns as hysteria. Rachel remembered
fragments of whispered conversations—words like "control," "deception," and "surface" that
hadn’t made sense to her as a child but now loomed large in her adult mind. Elizabeth’s
desperation had been palpable, as if she carried the weight of an unspoken truth too vast to share.
Rachel had never fully understood what her mother had been so determined to reveal, only that it
had driven a wedge between her parents. Elizabeth’s death—left outside Eden as the solar storms
consumed the surface—had been officially explained as a tragic accident. But Rachel could not
shake the feeling that there was more to the story, something her father wasn’t telling her.
The marketplace bustled around her, but Rachel noticed subtle signs of unease. A vendor’s
cheerful greeting faded, his eyes darting nervously to the nearby drone that hummed overhead,
its cold, mechanical lens sweeping the crowd with calculated precision. The low hum seemed to
vibrate in the air, a reminder of Eden’s omnipresent surveillance. Conversations faltered mid
sentence, voices lowering to whispers as the drone lingered for a moment longer than necessary.
A mother pulled her child closer, casting a wary glance upward before hurriedly moving away.
The tension was palpable, a stark contrast to the idyllic marketplace setting. Conversations
shifted to whispers when uniformed guards passed by. Beneath the façade of harmony, cracks
seemed to form in the perfect veneer.
"You seem far away," Donovan noted, his voice pulling Rachel back from the edge of her
thoughts. She turned to find him approaching, his presence as steady as ever. At forty, he carried
the calm authority of his position in Eden’s security leadership, his uniform a constant reminder
of his role as second-in-command.
"Her again?" he asked quietly as he joined her by the fountain.
Rachel managed a small, distant smile. "I can't seem to escape it."
Her eyes lifted to the artificial sky above. Wisps of simulated clouds drifted by in an all-too
perfect rhythm, the sunlight never shifting from its meticulously calibrated warmth. As she
watched, a subtle dissonance emerged flicker in the projection, barely noticeable yet enough to
stir a sense of discord within her. "It's never quite right, is it? The sun, the clouds, they don’t
change like they should."
Donovan followed her gaze, his response measured. "It’s controlled, predictable... safe."
"But dead," Rachel interjected softly, her voice carrying a hint of sorrow rather than bitterness.
"That’s what they tell us."
Her words hung between them, a silent acknowledgment of the questions they had both stopped
asking aloud. His eyes met hers, a flicker of shared understanding passing briefly before he
looked away, a silent nod to the unspoken realities of their life under the dome.
Before Donovan could respond, the sound of measured footsteps interrupted them. A tall figure
emerged from the crowd, his presence commanding immediate attention. Colton Vance. At 68
years old, Colton stood as an imposing figure, his broad shoulders appearing as though they had
been sculpted from stone. His commanding presence near the square was undeniable, a testament
to decades of discipline and strength. “Colton moved through the bustling marketplace with an
ease that belied his size. The crowd parted instinctively for him, sensing the authority radiating
from his imposing figure. His black uniform, pristine and sharply tailored, bore the silver
insignia of Eden's security mark both respected and feared by the citizens.
As he walked, Colton’s steel-gray eyes missed nothing. They flicked over the stalls selling exotic
spices and handmade fabrics, yet his mind was elsewhere. He was here for a purpose, his usual
surveillance mission tinged with a specific urgency today. He had received intelligence about a
potential threat in this very crowd, and his instincts, honed by years of service, were on high
alert.
Colton's gaze finally settled on Rachel and Donovan. Rachel, with her keen analytical mind, was
a rising star in the tech division, while Donovan, ever the charmer, was known for his
negotiations with external traders. To most, they were engaging in casual conversation, but
Colton's trained eye caught the subtle exchange of data chips between them. Something was
amiss.
He approached them smoothly, his expression betraying none of his suspicions. As he neared,
the faintest hint of a smile played on his lips—an attempt to appear benign. "Rachel, Donovan,"
he greeted, his voice deep and resonant. "Enjoying the market?" His question was casual, but his
eyes were sharp, searching for any sign of deceit.
Unbeknownst to them, Colton had already orchestrated a discreet surveillance net around the
marketplace. Today, he was not just the head of security but a hunter closing in on elusive prey,
and every step he took was part of a meticulously planned dance.
His steel-gray eyes scanned the marketplace, lingering briefly on Rachel and Donovan before he
approached.
“Donovan,” Colton greeted with a curt nod, his voice low but firm. “Harland wants to see you.
There is a council update that requires your input.”
Donovan straightened, his demeanor shifting to match the seriousness of his superior.
“Understood. I will be there shortly.”
Colton’s gaze flicked to Rachel; his expression unreadable. “Mrs. Mooney. Good to see you
out.”
Rachel returned his nod but said nothing. She had always found Colton’s presence unsettling, his
unwavering loyalty to her father a constant reminder of Eden’s rigid structure.
As Colton departed, Rachel turned to Donovan, her voice barely above a whisper. “Does it ever
bother you? The way he is always watching?”
Donovan hesitated. “It is his job, Rachel. Harland built Eden on order, and Colton ensures it
stays that way.”
Rachel frowned. “But at what cost?” The question lingered in her mind, heavier than she
intended. What did this rigid order strip away? The freedom to question? The truth about her
mother’s fate? Each rule and watchful eye felt like a chain, tightening around Eden’s residents.
Harland called it protection, but Rachel saw control—a relentless grip her father refused to
loosen. Did anyone else feel it, or was she the only one straining against the walls closing in?
Her gaze lingered on Colton’s retreating form. The marketplace’s hum seemed to falter as a
guard barked orders nearby. Rachel couldn’t shake the feeling that Eden’s perfection was slowly
unraveling, and that whatever lay beneath its surface was more dangerous than anyone dared
admit.
Rachel turned away from the marketplace, Donovan’s words still fresh in her mind. “You need to
decide, Rachel—what matters more: survival or freedom?” The question had hit harder than
she’d let on, his bluntness stirring an unease that wouldn’t settle. She had no answer. Not yet.
The hum of the crowd seemed distant now, the weight of her thoughts dulling the noise around
her. As she wove through Eden’s pristine corridors, the fluorescent lights above buzzed faintly,
an ever-present reminder of the artificial world Harland had built. The air was cool and sterile,
but it did little to cool the heat rising in Rachel’s chest.
Her footsteps quickened, almost involuntarily. She needed to find Lizzy.
It wasn’t just a mother’s instinct—though that gnawed at her too, a constant undercurrent of
worry. It was something deeper, a pull she couldn’t explain. Lizzy was her tether, the one thing
that made this suffocating world bearable. She had to see her, hear her voice, remind herself that
the fire in Lizzy’s mind still burned, untouched by Eden’s rules.
Turning a corner, Rachel passed a group of workers unloading supplies, their murmurs ceasing
as a guard strode past. They avoided his gaze, their silence more telling than words. Rachel bit
the inside of her cheek. Protection, Harland called it. But all she saw was fear.
The atrium was just ahead, its glass walls gleaming under the artificial sunlight. Rachel’s pace
slowed as the familiar sound of the fountain reached her ears, its soft trickle a balm against the
storm in her mind.
She paused at the threshold, her gaze sweeping the space. It didn’t take long to spot Lizzy,
perched at the edge of the fountain, her fingers tracing the marble base as she stared up at the
statue of Tiamat. Rachel exhaled, the tension in her shoulders easing slightly.
Lizzy always came here. To her, the atrium was a sanctuary, a place where the chaos of the
world could be drowned out by the hum of water and the presence of something ancient and
unshakable. Rachel didn’t fully understand her daughter’s fascination with the statue, but she
envied the certainty Lizzy seemed to find in it.
As Rachel stepped closer, she heard Lizzy’s soft voice, her words carrying the weight of
curiosity and conviction.
“Tiamat gave everything to create the world. And they still called her a monster.”
Rachel’s chest tightened. She wasn’t sure if Lizzy was talking to herself or the statue, but the
words struck a chord, echoing in the hollow spaces of Rachel’s own doubt. For a moment, she
hesitated, unsure if she should interrupt. But then Lizzy turned, her bright eyes lighting up when
she saw her mother.
Lizzy sat cross-legged at the edge of the fountain, her fingers tracing the cool marble of the base.
At the center stood the statue of Tiamat, the goddess of saltwater, her serpentine body coiled in
an eternal dance of chaos and grace. Tiamat’s features were striking: a blend of human and
dragon-like forms. Her face was serene yet fierce, with wide, almond-shaped eyes that seemed to
look straight through you. Scales shimmered in the light, painstakingly carved to catch every
glimmer, and her coiled tail wrapped protectively around the base of the fountain. The fountain’s
water flowed from her hands, cascading like tears over her outstretched arms.
“Isn’t she beautiful?” Lizzy murmured, breaking the silence. She gazed up at the statue, her
expression a mix of wonder and reverence.
Rachel leaned against the fountain’s edge, watching her daughter with a faint smile. “She is. But
I’ve never heard you call her that before.”
“I’ve always thought so,” Lizzy said, her voice soft but sure. “Tiamat’s more than a goddess.
She’s... she’s a force. A creator. A destroyer. She’s everything.” Lizzy’s eyes sparkled as she
turned to her mother. “Do you know her story?”
Rachel chuckled. “I think I do. But something tells me you’re about to teach me more than I ever
knew.”
Lizzy’s face lit up, her enthusiasm bubbling over. “Tiamat was the goddess of saltwater—the
embodiment of primordial chaos. They called her the Glistening One. Her name probably comes
from Tiamtum, which means ‘sea.’ She and Apsu, the god of freshwater, created the first gods
together. That’s where it all began. Creation itself.”
Rachel tilted her head, marveling at her daughter’s brilliance. “And what happened to her?”
Lizzy sighed, her gaze returning to the statue. “She fought the gods and their creations—humans
and everything else. You know, typical ungrateful children. And then Marduk, her own
grandson, decides to ‘solve the problem’ by splitting her in half. Because obviously, the best way
to honor your grandma is to turn her into a planetary jigsaw puzzle.” Rachel raised an eyebrow,
suppressing a laugh. “You do have a way of finding the humor in everything, don’t you?”
Lizzy smirked. “Well, if you think about it, it’s kind of messed up. Like, Hey, Grandma, thanks
for literally creating the universe! Now hold still while I rip you apart.’ No wonder she’s
misunderstood.”
Lizzy traced the edge of the fountain, her fingertips skimming the surface of the water. “Tiamat
became the sky, the earth, even the rivers. She gave everything to create the world.” Rachel was
silent for a moment, watching her daughter with quiet awe. Lizzy wasn’t just reciting facts; she
was connecting to something deeper. “You’ve always loved this statue,” Rachel said softly.
“I do,” Lizzy admitted, her voice tinged with something almost wistful. “Tiamat… she’s
misunderstood. Everyone remembers the chaos, but she’s the reason everything exists. Without
her, there’d be nothing. She was willing to be torn apart to create something greater.”
Rachel’s chest tightened. The parallels were unspoken but palpable. Lizzy’s fascination with
Tiamat mirrored the precarious balance they all lived in. Chaos and creation. Sacrifice and
survival. Tiamat wasn’t just a story; she was a reflection of the world they’d inherited.
“She’s not just beautiful,” Lizzy added. “She’s divine.”
Rachel reached out, brushing a strand of hair from Lizzy’s face. “You’re amazing, you know
that?” Her voice cracked just slightly, betraying the depths of her emotion. “I can barely keep up
with your mind.”
Lizzy smiled shyly, her gaze flicking to the water. “You don’t have to keep up. You’re already
the reason I think the way I do.”
The moment hung between them, fragile and fleeting. The sound of the fountain filled the silence
as Rachel felt her resolve harden. Whatever the future held, she would protect Lizzy, no matter
what. Her daughter’s brilliance, her vision, her hope—these were the pieces of a world worth
saving. But as Rachel glanced at the statue of Tiamat, she couldn’t shake the thought: creation
always came at a price.
Rachel and Lizzy’s quiet moment was broken by the faint, mechanical hum of a surveillance
drone sweeping into the atrium. It hovered just long enough to send a chill down Rachel’s spine
before disappearing back into the corridor.
“They’re always watching,” Rachel muttered, her voice tight. Lizzy looked up at her, eyes
curious but wary.
Rachel forced a smile and reached for Lizzy’s hand. “Come on,” she said, her voice softening.
“We’ve been here too long.”
But even as they left, Rachel’s thoughts lingered on the drone. Her father’s grip on Eden felt
tighter every day. And somewhere, buried deep within her, was the unshakable belief that he was
hiding something that could destroy them all.