Being a civil engineer in the grand city of Eden meant I was used to skyscrapers that pierced the clouds and government departments as large as small villages. Every morning, I walked to work surrounded by towering glass structures and fountains, right in the heart of the world's most advanced city—a tiered marvel that could only be built by a people with far too much money and ambition. Eden was divided into five massive, circular tiers, each one reserved for a specific purpose.
The innermost ring, Tier One, held the White House, where our Supreme Leader resided, along with its immaculate gardens, filled with flowers rumored to be handpicked by Saint Clara herself. Some people called this ring "The Nucleus," which sounded almost ominous if you thought about it too much.
Tier Two was the administrative ring, home to every single department that made Eden run. Think of it as the largest cubicle farm in the world, only with the elegance of Eden's pristine architecture. The massive Senate building loomed there, as did the media headquarters, pumping out polished news to keep the citizens inspired and informed. My personal favorite part of this tier was the Ministry of Public Aesthetics—a department solely responsible for ensuring all buildings in Eden adhered to the Empire's style guide. Once, they actually fined me because my office potted plants didn't match the building's color scheme.
Then came Tier Three, the financial powerhouse of Eden, where the Central Bank reigned supreme. This was the place where decisions about Lantruns were made, the official currency of the empire that everyone pretended they understood but really didn't. There was the EIRS, Eden's Internal Revenue Service, which had its own intimidating headquarters and enforced taxes with the kind of ruthless efficiency that only Eden could manage. Then, of course, there was the EIF, or Edenite Investment Firm, where citizens could buy stocks and bonds. Oddly enough, due to some zoning error that someone in Tier Two never admitted to, the Bureau of Land Management (BLM) was also there. So right next to some of the most valuable properties in the empire, you had the BLM overseeing land leases on forests and deserts from the Red Wastes to the tundras of Westeros. They mostly managed the endless paperwork of who could mine or drill in uninhabitable lands that no one cared about, but I always found it oddly amusing that they were here in the "financial ring".
Tier Four was where people like me and my colleagues actually lived. It was the residential ring, filled with buildings taller than I could see the top of on a cloudy day. Here, there were private homes for the powerful elite of Eden, plush apartments for the more fortunate citizens, and, of course, the University of Eden. The university was so prestigious it made other educational institutions feel like daycare centers. Rumor had it that the Supreme Leader himself attends the New Year Balls thrown by the school, though no one knew exactly when, and no one dared to ask for proof.
Finally, Tier Five, a giant marketplace and trade center where merchants from every corner of the world gathered. You could find everything there, from spices from Dorne to silk from Qarth, though they all had to meet Eden's strict quality standards. They said if it didn't exist in Eden, it didn't exist anywhere, and looking at the market ring, it was easy to believe. Beyond that was the military ring, more or less a wall of soldiers and machinery to keep anyone without a permit from even thinking about stepping into Eden.
But the marvel didn't stop at just five tiers. There was also the famous network of underground tunnels, which, legend had it, were originally built for secret movements of the Supreme Leader himself. However, after a series of "close encounters" between the public and cars that, let's just say, moved faster than the average citizen's reflexes, the administration banned all surface driving for commoners. Now, the only vehicles allowed above ground were those of the Supreme Leader and the occasional foreign dignitary. For everyone else, the underground road system was the only legal way to drive. I had to admit, it was efficient, safer, and surprisingly spacious, even if some of us did miss the thrill of seeing a sports car tear down Eden's immaculate streets.
Today, I'd been invited to brunch by a former colleague of mine, an architect with an absurd sense of ambition and even more absurd ideas. I arrived at the restaurant—a painfully trendy place where the dishes were as small as the price tags were large. Between overpriced bites, he leaned in and told me that a new residential ring was being planned, an entirely new tier to expand the city. Apparently, he was the project head and had been given full freedom to hire his own team.
"This is big," he said, with an enthusiasm that matched the energy of a caffeinated squirrel. "They're letting me choose who I want. It'll be massive, prestigious—exactly the kind of project you need to be on."
I nearly choked on my fork. A new ring in Eden wasn't just a project; it was the project. If I signed onto this, it'd mean leaving everything else I was currently working on, but it also meant a guaranteed spot in Eden's engineering hall of fame. Not to mention, the pay was rumored to be enough to buy out a good chunk of Braavos.
I weighed my options, trying to appear deep in thought while mentally doing somersaults. Who was I kidding? Of course, I wanted the job.
"Fine," I said, trying to keep my voice as casual as possible. "But I'll need a salary bump and a long-term contract."
He smiled, the kind that screamed, I knew you'd say yes. We shook on it, sealing the deal that would, no doubt, lead me into another layer of paperwork and secrecy laws, but hey, that's Eden for you—an empire so advanced it made bureaucracy an art form. And just like that, my next few years were mapped out in a city that was already rewriting the maps.