Andrew's mind raced through the implications of this strange new world, trying to make sense of male scarcity and genetic collapse, when suddenly his thoughts scattered. Eva adjusted him in her arms and guided her breast to his mouth. The instinctive infant part of him latched on while his adult consciousness recoiled in confusion. The sensation was bizarre—his body responding naturally while his mind processed the oddity of his situation.
The warm milk flowed, and despite his mental discomfort, the sustenance satisfied his hungry body. He found himself settling into the rhythm of feeding, his earlier existential panic temporarily soothed by this primal act.
Amara laughed softly at the sight. "Look how eagerly he feeds. Strong appetite—a good sign."
"The Matriarchy will be pleased," Elder Nuru noted, lingering by the doorway. "Healthy male offspring are evaluated on multiple factors. Appetite and feeding response rank highly."
Eva stroked Andrew's head while he nursed. "I still can't believe my fortune. So many women never get this chance."
"Fortune favors the bold," Amara said with a knowing smile. "And you were certainly bold with Traveler Karim."
Andrew continued feeding but focused on their conversation, picking up crucial details about his origins.
"When he came through Vavilon last harvest season," Eva explained, "I knew I might never get another opportunity. Three nights I spent preparing special meals, wearing my finest clothes."
Elder Nuru nodded approvingly. "The old ways still work. Men may be rare, but their basic nature remains unchanged."
"By the third night," Eva continued, lowering her voice though Andrew could still hear perfectly, "I convinced him to stay in my dwelling. I used every technique my mother taught me."
Amara leaned forward eagerly. "And?"
"Three nights he remained. Three nights I ensured he spilled his seed nowhere but inside me." Eva's voice carried pride rather than shame. "When the moon cycle passed without bleeding, I knew I'd succeeded."
Andrew nearly choked on the milk. The clinical way they discussed his conception disturbed him deeply. In this world, reproduction had become strategic rather than romantic—men valued primarily for their genetic material.
"Many women would have traded everything they owned for your opportunity," Elder Nuru said. "Karim has fathered seven children that we know of—three of them male. His genetic viability is rather good."
Andrew contemplated his future as he fed. As one of the few males in this world, he would be treated as precious, protected—but also exploited. His value wasn't as a person but as a biological resource. Women would pursue him not for love but for the chance to continue their bloodlines.
The initial ego boost of being so desired quickly soured as he realized the implications. Would he have any agency in this world? Any choice in partners or his own destiny? Or would he simply be passed between women deemed genetically optimal by the Matriarchy?
Eva shifted him to her other breast, and Andrew continued feeding, his infant body operating on autopilot while his adult mind grew increasingly troubled. He could only wait and see what this world had in store for him—a rare male in a female-dominated society facing extinction.
For days, Andrew's infant body cycled through the predictable patterns of eating and sleeping while his adult mind languished in boredom. Eva doted on him constantly, her eyes shining with a mixture of pride and relief whenever she gazed at him. Amara visited daily, bringing small gifts and engaging in hushed conversations with her sister that frustratingly fell just beyond his hearing.
On the fifth morning since his birth, a commotion outside the dwelling broke the monotony. Andrew, lying in his crude crib fashioned from woven reeds, sensed the tension rippling through Eva as she hastily straightened her clothes and smoothed back her hair.
"They're here," Amara announced, stepping through the doorway. Her voice carried an edge of excitement tinged with anxiety. "Three representatives from the Central Matriarchy."
Eva lifted Andrew from his crib, cradling him against her chest. "So soon? I expected at least another week before assessment."
"News travels fast when it concerns a male birth," Amara replied. "Especially in Vavilon."
Three women entered without ceremony. They wore identical gray tunics with elaborate geometric patterns along the hems—symbols of authority in this new world. The eldest, a silver-haired woman with keen eyes, approached first.
"I am Examiner Zola," she announced, her gaze fixed on Andrew rather than Eva. "These are my colleagues, Recorder Isha and Geneticist Femi."
Eva bowed her head slightly. "We are honored by your presence."
Examiner Zola's expression remained impassive. "The honor is conditional upon the viability of your offspring. Place him on the examination table."
Andrew felt himself transferred to a cold metal surface that Recorder Isha had unfolded from a case. The clinical detachment in their handling reminded him that in this world, he was primarily a resource—valuable only if his genetic makeup proved useful.
Geneticist Femi approached with a small device that hummed when activated. She passed it over Andrew's body, pausing at different points while studying the readings. Her expression gradually shifted from professional distance to interest.
"Stable X-Y chromosome configuration," she announced. "No signs of the degradation we've seen in eighty percent of male births this generation."
The tension in the room lifted slightly. Eva released a breath she'd been holding.
"Cultivation aptitude?" Examiner Zola inquired.
Femi adjusted her device and scanned Andrew again, focusing on his head and hands. "Present. Not exceptional, but definitely viable. Class three potential, possibly class two with proper training."
Andrew wondered what "cultivation" meant in this context. The term suggested some form of energy manipulation or perhaps agricultural skill, but without context, he couldn't be certain. Whatever it was, his apparent mediocrity in it seemed to satisfy rather than disappoint the examiners.
Recorder Isha made notations on a thin transparent tablet. "Designation: Viable Male, Category B. Matriarchy oversight level two with quarterly assessments."
"Excellent," Examiner Zola nodded. "He will remain with the birth mother until age seven, then begin formal training at the Vavilon Cultivation Academy."
Eva's hands trembled slightly as she reclaimed Andrew from the examination table. "Thank you, Examiners. I will ensure he develops properly."
"See that you do," Examiner Zola replied. "His genetic stability makes him particularly valuable. The Matriarchy will provide additional resources for his development."
The women exchanged more technical details about Andrew's care and development schedule. He absorbed every word, cataloging information about this world's priorities. Males with stable chromosomes were rare commodities. "Cultivation" was clearly valued. And at age seven, he would be taken from Eva for formal training.
As the representatives prepared to leave, Examiner Zola paused at the doorway. "You've done well, Eva. Your contribution to humanity's continuation will be recorded."
As the door closed behind the Matriarchy representatives, Eva clutched Andrew to her chest, her entire body trembling. The moment stretched in silence until Amara let out a high-pitched squeal that startled Andrew from his contemplative state.
"Category B! Viable with no degradation!" Amara grabbed Eva's shoulders, careful not to disturb Andrew. "Do you understand what this means, sister?"
Eva's face transformed, tears welling in her eyes as her lips curved into a smile so radiant it seemed to illuminate the dim dwelling. "He won't be consigned to the breeding programs."
"Not just that!" Amara paced the small room, her excitement impossible to contain. "Class three cultivation potential, possibly class two with training! Eva, he could have a real life!"
Andrew listened intently. The breeding programs. So his fears hadn't been unfounded—many males were indeed used as little more than walking seed banks, their only purpose to impregnate as many women as possible in humanity's desperate bid against extinction. The thought made his infant skin crawl.
"I feared it so much," Eva whispered, pressing her lips to Andrew's forehead. "The thought of my son being taken at puberty, kept in a facility, used until his body broke down..." Her voice cracked. "I've seen what becomes of those men, Amara. They're shells by thirty, their minds gone from the fertility accelerants."
Amara stopped pacing, her expression solemn. "I know. Remember Tula's brother? When they finally released him, he couldn't even recognize her."
Andrew processed this information with growing horror. What kind of dystopia had he been born into? Men with degraded genetics being used as breeding stock until they broke, their humanity secondary to their reproductive capacity.
"But Andrew won't face that fate," Eva continued, her voice stronger now. "With his genetic stability and cultivation aptitude, he'll have choices. He can train, develop his abilities, even select his own mates when the time comes."
Amara nodded eagerly. "Cultivators are respected, especially male ones. Less than one percent of people have the trait at all, and most are category four or five—barely able to manifest energy."
"Useless for serious cultivation," Eva agreed. "But category three is where true potential begins."
"And they said he might reach category two with training!" Amara's eyes gleamed. "The Vavilon Academy hasn't had a category two male student in decades."
Eva shifted Andrew in her arms, gazing down at him with newfound hope. "My son could live a long life, Amara. Cultivators who reach the third tier can live past a hundred years. He could have a family—not just offspring, but actual bonds with women he chooses."
"And protect them," Amara added. "The dangers beyond the city walls grow more dangerous each year. Cultivators who can manipulate energy are our best defense."
Andrew tried to piece together this world's reality. Cultivation seemed to involve energy manipulation, extending lifespan and providing protection. It represented his best chance at agency in this female-dominated society.
"The extra resources they promised will help," Eva said more practically. "Better food, clean water allowances, maybe even proper medicines."
Amara placed her hand gently on Andrew's head. "Your son won't just survive, Eva. He'll thrive. He can become someone who matters—not just for his seed, but for his strength and mind."
Andrew felt an unexpected warmth at these words. In this strange new existence, he had apparently won a cosmic lottery. Rather than a life of exploitation, he had the chance to develop power and choose his own path.