Point of View: Sophia
These past few days have been exhausting.
Not because of the work itself—at least not entirely—but because of the constant feeling that something important was about to happen. Everything was progressing normally… perhaps too normally.
We were doing everything we could to finish the preparations for the grand event.
The idea, like most of the ones that truly mattered, had come from our leader. Of course, he hated being addressed by that title when we were in his office. He claimed that titles created unnecessary distance… though no one ever forgot who held the final word.
"After five years living here, it's time to give it a name," he told us a few days ago.
A name.
Something so simple, and yet so final.
The proposal was approved by the council with unusual speed. There were no debates, no objections. Rather than reassuring me, that unsettled me. When even the most critical voices nodded without argument, it meant everyone felt the weight of the moment.
The council itself had been one of the best decisions we'd ever made. Another of the leader's ideas, born—according to him—out of constant exhaustion. Since we had burdened him with so much responsibility, the least we could do was share part of the workload.
As I walked through the corridors of the city hall, I couldn't help but smile at the memory.
Even so, the council's usefulness was undeniable.
To ease the administrative burden of the settlement, several government positions were created, each one filled by the most capable Primordials. Seven ministers—seven pillars supporting the city.
Minister of Security: in charge of internal defense, the prison, and the guards. His word maintained order.
Minister of Defense: responsible for the army, training, intelligence gathering, and operations beyond our borders.
Minister of Economy: manager of resources, trade, taxation, and funding.
Minister of Infrastructure: architect of residential and commercial zones, and every structure that rose within the city.
Minister of Education: overseer of nurseries, schools, and our two academies.
Minister of Production: responsible for food supplies and all productive professions.
Minister of Health: the silent guardian of the population, in charge of hospitals and healers.
Each of them had a voice and a vote.
But ultimate authority still rested with a single person.
The leader could act without consulting the council if the situation required it. It wasn't a flaw in the system—it was a necessity. Speed saved more decisions than any prolonged debate ever could.
So far, no conflicts had arisen.
On the contrary, progress accelerated with each passing day.
And yet… that feeling persisted.
As I exited the city hall—an imposing building filled with offices and endless corridors—the usual bustle surrounded me. Primordials moved in and out, carrying documents, tablets, and now… books.
A few days ago, one of our explorers had discovered a peculiar plant. When origin energy was infused into its leaves, they became firm and flexible—perfect for recording information.
Books.
The idea of leaving written records of our decisions, laws, and knowledge felt almost natural.
The Minister of Production had been delighted.
It helped us organize ourselves better.
Though, personally, I suspected it had only given us more work.
I shook my head and pushed those thoughts aside. I needed to clear my mind.
I headed to a nearby food establishment. It was a cozy place, peaceful, where the murmur of conversation replaced the constant noise of the city hall.
Although, as our cultivation advanced, we could rely less and less on food, the emergence of the chef profession had completely changed that logic.
Food was no longer just sustenance.
It was a resource.
Chefs enhanced nutrients, infused origin energy, and with enough experience, granted special effects: mental clarity, accelerated recovery, serenity.
And on top of that, it was delicious.
When the dish arrived at my table, I barely looked at it before taking a bite.
For a moment… everything seemed to be in its proper place.
Point of View: Soldier
I was stationed outside the settlement's gates.
My group, composed of ten people, had been assigned to inspect the nearby beast nests. It wasn't a difficult task. In fact, it was the routine that made it exhausting.
Every single day.
The Minister of Defense had kept us constantly busy. We weren't the only ones—other groups were patrolling areas even farther away.
Tomorrow was the event.
And our job was to make sure that everything remained… exactly the same.
As we moved forward, I glanced at my companions.
"We'd better not miss anything," I said, trying to sound lighthearted, "or they'll have us cleaning latrines for a month."
Some laughed. Others simply nodded.
It wasn't a threat.
It was a fact.