Mark Lantrun's office was cold—almost unnaturally so. The chill seemed to seep through the thick stone walls and coat everything in a thin layer of frost, metaphorically speaking. His office was grand yet minimalist, reflecting the seriousness of the man who occupied it. Tall, sleek windows let in muted, frosty light, bathing the room in an almost ethereal gray. The warmth of life seemed to stay at the door.
Mark sat at his enormous black desk, the kind of desk that could swallow a person whole if they weren't careful. It was buried beneath mountains of paperwork—documents needing his attention, blueprints, strategic reports, and financial breakdowns. The task at hand was never simple. Every paper carried with it the future of Eden. Today, he was going over the detailed plans for the reconstruction of Slaver's Bay—railway lines leading to the ruined cities, logistic routes for decontamination, and more. Every small decision here rippled across the empire.
Across the room, his mother, Saint Clara Lantrun, the second most powerful person in Eden, was lounging comfortably on a luxurious couch, her laptop on her lap. Her posture was relaxed, the stark opposite of her son's rigid demeanor. Clara's elegant fingers flicked through document after document with the efficiency of someone who had done this for decades and perfected it.
"Still signing papers?" Clara asked in a gentle yet teasing tone, her gaze briefly lifting from her screen. "You'd think by now you could just delegate all that to someone else."
Mark didn't look up. His fingers danced over the papers, signing one after the other with robotic precision. "It's not that simple, Mother," he replied, his voice cool yet respectful. "These are crucial. We're building the railway lines to the ruins of Slaver's Bay, and we need to make sure the personnel and equipment are perfectly aligned for the decontamination and reconstruction process. The new city is going to be massive. A logistical failure could cripple the entire operation."
Clara closed her laptop with a soft thud, setting it aside. "I trust you to get it done. But honestly, you work too much. You need a break, Mark. You've been at it since dawn."
"You say that every day," Mark murmured with a slight smirk. "Yet somehow, the work doesn't decrease."
Clara rose from her seat, smoothing down her crisp white dress, and walked toward him, standing behind his chair and placing her hands gently on his shoulders. She looked down at the pile of papers. "What's the name of this new city?"
Mark finally stopped signing and leaned back slightly, relaxing under her familiar touch. "I'm still deciding. Nothing seems to feel right. We're building it on the ashes of a slave empire. It needs to represent something grand, something historic."
Clara tilted her head thoughtfully. "What about Londinium? After the great city from the Old World, symbolizing both rebirth and strength."
Mark considered it, rolling the name over in his mind. "Londinium..." he repeated, nodding slowly. "Yes, that fits. It has the gravitas, the weight of history behind it. Thank you."
Clara smiled, pleased with herself. "You're welcome. Besides, with your recent breakthrough in your research, we'll be able to visit the new city in person. We'll finally see the ocean. Decades of planning, and now we can."
Mark's steel-blue eyes flickered for a moment with something close to excitement—an emotion he rarely displayed. "Yes, the breakthrough is significant. We'll be able to use our powers even when not in Eden ofcourse it will be somewhat temporary"
Clara's smile widened as she hugged her son from behind, her arms wrapping around his shoulders. "Oh, Mark, this is wonderful news! We'll finally be able to enjoy the beauty of the world again."
Mark chuckled softly, the sound rare in the cold office. "Beauty? I'm not sure if a radioactive wasteland counts as beautiful, Mother."
Clara stepped back and moved around the desk, grabbing his hand. "That's not the point. The point is the journey. And speaking of journeys, I think it's time we take a small one to the dance floor."
Mark blinked, confused for a moment. "The dance floor?"
Clara tugged at his arm, her eyes playful yet determined. "Yes, the dance floor. You've been cooped up in here for hours. It's not healthy. You need to clear your mind, let your thoughts breathe. And I'm not asking, I'm telling."
Mark hesitated. "Mother, I have work to—"
Clara cut him off, her tone suddenly stern but still filled with warmth. "You've been working non-stop for weeks. One little dance won't bring Eden crashing down. And besides, when was the last time we danced together? I miss those moments. Don't you?"
Mark softened, his usual mask of authority slipping just a bit. He stood up slowly, towering over his mother but still succumbing to her pull. "Fine. One dance."
Clara grinned triumphantly and led him away from the desk, the cold office suddenly feeling a little warmer with each step. She reached for a small device on the side table, pressing a button to play soft classical music, the kind they used to dance to when Mark was younger.
Mark looked slightly uncomfortable but allowed himself to be pulled into the rhythm, his movements stiff at first but gradually loosening under his mother's guidance. They swayed together in the middle of the room, Clara light on her feet, leading her son with surprising grace.
"You used to be much better at this," Clara teased, looking up at him with a raised eyebrow.
"I haven't had much practice," Mark muttered, though a small smile tugged at the corner of his lips.
Clara laughed, a sound so genuine that it echoed warmly through the room. "Maybe you need to make time for it. Life isn't just about building empires and ruling nations, you know. Sometimes it's about the small moments."
Mark's eyes softened as he met her gaze. "I know. I'm just not very good at them."
"Well, you have me to remind you." Clara winked, twirling him lightly, much to his surprise. "And I'll keep reminding you until you get better at it."
Mark chuckled despite himself, feeling the tension in his shoulders finally start to ease. For a moment, the weight of leadership, the burden of the Supreme Leader of Eden, seemed lighter. For a moment, he was just a son dancing with his mother.
As the song came to an end, Clara pulled him into a final embrace, her voice soft and filled with affection. "We're going to see that ocean, Mark. And when we do, it'll be more than just another conquered land. It'll be a moment for us. A moment to live, not just survive."
Mark nodded, closing his eyes for a brief second. "We will, Mother. I promise."