Lya Antaris leaned back in her velvet armchair, swirling a glass of Arbor Red as she stared out at the black expanse of the Dome. The city that once was Qohor had become a distant memory, swallowed whole by the mysterious impenetrable black sphere. Scientists, scholars, and corporate agents flocked to its borders, building a sprawling research hub around the Dome—what people were now calling the most well-funded guesswork in human history. The TTOS (Those That Observe in Silence) had pitched up a tent city that morphed into a bustling metropolis of labs and outposts, all struggling to decode the Dome's secrets.
But Lya didn't care about any of that. What interested her was the opportunity. Trade routes had shifted to accommodate the swelling research town, and Edenites, with their insatiable curiosity and gold-plated wallets, flooded in. These pampered citizens, spoiled by their immaculate homeland, were happy to pay obscene amounts for the simplest pleasures—things they considered "necessities," like fresh bread, cheap wine, and, of course, the oldest profession in the world.
She owned most of the high-class brothels in the area, each one carefully designed to appeal to the Edenites' unique sensibilities. Her girls were clean, discreet, and skilled in providing more than just physical satisfaction—they also played therapists, companions, and confessionals for soldiers and scientists desperate for a connection in this strange new world.
Business was booming, and Lya was riding high—until it all came crashing down thanks to a condom and a loose-lipped idiot.
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The first whispers of trouble had reached her ears through a frantic message from one of her managers: "We've got a situation." Apparently, one of her workers—a girl named Tasa—had gotten pregnant by an Edenite soldier after poking a hole in the condom.
At first, Lya had dismissed it. This sort of thing happened occasionally, and she had ways of smoothing over delicate situations. But then things spiraled out of control. Eden had passed a Pregnancy Act—not some dull bureaucratic legislation, but a law orchestrated by Saint Clara Lantrun herself. Under the act, if a child was conceived between an Edenite citizen and someone of lower status, the father was obligated to marry the mother to "honor the sanctity of life."
Unfortunately for Lya, the soldier involved wanted no part of the arrangement, and Tasa—bless her simple little heart—had bragged about the whole thing to her friends. "Hooked myself a husband!" she'd said, probably thinking it was all just a juicy piece of gossip. But someone had recorded her. The clip made it to the Edenite feeds, and the incident went viral.
Suddenly, everyone had an opinion. Eden's pristine public was split down the middle. Some blamed the soldier for shirking his duty, while others accused Tasa of manipulation, calling her "the Dome Baby Grifter." Social media exploded with hashtags—#MarriageScam and #SoldierTrap were trending for days. News anchors dissected every angle. Debates raged in military courts.
Then, as always in Eden, things escalated into politics. The scandal became fuel for the power struggle between the Sacred 69—the old aristocracy—and the rising "new money" elites, each faction leveraging the incident to further their agendas. For a few tense weeks, Lya found herself at the center of the maelstrom, her business interests caught in the crossfire.
But, as quickly as it had flared, the public's attention fizzled out. Some new scandal—a fashion designer plagiarizing vintage Essosi robes—captured everyone's focus, and the Edenites moved on, as they always did. The political factions retreated to lick their wounds, and peace—fragile and temporary—returned.
Yet Lya was not naïve enough to think she'd gotten off scot-free. The Eden administration had long memories, and they were never the forgiving type. As the scandal simmered down, whispers reached her: Inquisitors were being dispatched to the Dome. Their mission was to ensure that future "mishaps" didn't occur—and that the political chaos of the Dome Baby debacle was never repeated.
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Lya's hand trembled slightly as she took a long sip of her wine. She wasn't a coward, but she knew what it meant to attract the attention of Eden's Inquisitors. Slaver's Bay had learned that lesson the hard way—one nuclear firestorm at a time. And while Lya wasn't running a rogue city-state full of slavers, her business was built on human desires that Eden's leaders barely tolerated.
The last thing she wanted was for one of those soulless Inquisitors to start sniffing around her establishments. They weren't the kind of people you bribed or reasoned with. They didn't care about gold, favors, or the pleasures of the flesh. They were surgical. Cold. If they decided you were a problem, you ceased to exist.
And the worst part? Eden didn't even care about the pregnancy scandal anymore. They just needed someone to blame—and Lya had drawn the short straw.
She drummed her fingers against the armrest, her mind racing. The administrative screw-ups plaguing Eden had bought her a little time. Logistics across the empire were a mess thanks to the power struggle between the Sacred 69 and the new elites, creating gaps in the usual perfect flow of supplies. But the Supreme Leader, Mark Lantrun, was slowly stitching the pieces back together, and soon everything would be back to its terrifyingly efficient normal. When that happened, the Inquisitors would come, and Lya needed a plan.
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She glanced out at the black mass of the Dome. Maybe, just maybe, there was an opportunity in the chaos. The TTOS researchers were desperate to understand the expanding sphere. Every day, they threw more resources at the problem, and with Eden's supply chains in disarray, they were more dependent than ever on local merchants and service providers.
Perhaps she could make herself indispensable. If she could weave her way into the research community—offer them luxuries they couldn't refuse—maybe they'd shield her when the Inquisitors came. After all, even the most ascetic scholar needed comfort now and then. And if there was one thing Lya knew better than anyone, it was how to provide comfort.
She set her glass down with a determined clink. It was time to call in some favors, grease a few palms, and remind people exactly why they needed her around. Because in this game, survival wasn't about being the strongest—it was about being the one everyone wanted on their side.
And if that meant throwing a few extravagant parties for frazzled scientists and lonely soldiers? So be it. It was all part of the business.
But first, she'd need to have a little chat with Tasa. The girl clearly didn't understand the concept of discretion.