The dream came without warning.
Zirinos was back in the palace of Z, but it wasn't the palace he knew. The walls, once golden and red, were now covered in black moss. The floor, once polished marble, was cracked, and from the fissures rose a smoke that smelled of blood and ash.
She was sitting on the throne.
His mother.
She was younger than he remembered—younger than when she fled, younger than when she died. Her hair, a blonde that shone like gold, fell over her shoulders in perfect waves. Her eyes, green, fixed on his with a sadness he couldn't bear.
"Son," she said, her voice soft, like a lullaby. "You came."
Zirinos tried to speak. His mouth wouldn't open. His legs, rooted to the floor as if they had roots, wouldn't move.
"Why did you flee?" he asked, finally, his voice coming out hoarse, broken. "Why did you leave me?"
She didn't answer. She just kept looking at him, her green eyes fixed on his.
The scene changed.
Zirinos was in a bed, naked, his body sore. The woman, the prostitute his mother had sold him to, was on top of him, her eyes empty, her mouth whispering words he didn't understand. The man, his mother's killer, was at the door, laughing.
"You're just like your mother," he said, his voice slurred, as if he had drunk too much. "Weak. Useless. Prey."
Zirinos tried to scream. He couldn't.
The man advanced.
Zirinos woke up sweating.
His body trembled. His breathing, gasping, echoed in the dark room. His hands, once still, were now clenched, his knuckles white.
The dream. Always the dream.
The guilt. Always the guilt.
'Why did you flee, Mother?'
Zirinos sat up in bed, his back against the stone wall. His eyes, once closed, were now fixed on the void. His trembling hand touched Zequila's necklace. It was still there. Still heavy.
'If she hadn't fled, if she hadn't sold me, if she hadn't died...'
The question had no answer. It never had.
The thought came to his mind, cold and sharp as a blade: I blame her. I blame her for my pleasure in killing. But is it...
He looked at his hands. The hands that had killed. The hands that had violated. The hands that had destroyed a world. The damned hands that had corrupted vulnerable minds and touched the souls of many.
'Can a lion truly stop hunting gazelles?'
The question echoed in his mind like a note that didn't want to end.
The answer came, cold and inevitable: no. Unless the lion dies. Or stops being a lion.
'And I? Am I a lion? Or am I just a monster pretending to be a lion?' Zirinos, finally in his blind animalistic will, questioned his being. Questioned everything he had done, without knowing if what he felt was guilt or something more. He knew he shouldn't act like a poor wretch, like a victim, so he tried to stop the thoughts that seemed never to be silent.
The thought was interrupted by the sound of a knock on the door.
Light. Hesitant. Almost shy.
Zirinos didn't respond. He just kept staring at the void.
The knock came again.
"Zirinos?" Xiollor's voice, muffled by the wood, was softer than he remembered. "Can I come in?"
Zirinos closed his eyes. The exhaustion, deep and ancient, weighed on his bones like lead.
"I won't activate the Julqam-Totalus," he said, his voice hoarse, broken. "You can leave."
Silence settled. For a moment, Zirinos thought she had gone. Then, the voice returned.
"I'm not here because of that. Can I come in?"
Zirinos sighed. The sound was tired, resigned, like that of a man who no longer had the strength to fight.
"Come in," he said, finally.
The door opened.
Xiollor entered. The room, once dark, was now illuminated by the faint light coming from the hallway. And Zirinos saw.
The dress she wore was short, made of a fabric so thin it seemed made of smoke. Her body, once hidden by formal clothes, was now almost naked. Her skin, pale and smooth, shone in the dim light. And her nipples, hardened, marked the fabric like two rosebuds.
'She wants me to see her and wants me to react like any man.'
Zirinos felt desire, an old familiar friend, rise to his throat. The urge to grab her, to throw her on the bed, to make her scream. The urge to destroy her, to possess her, to turn her into another memory of guilt that seemed not to be guilt.
But the exhaustion was greater. The disgust for himself was also greater.
"Sit down," he said, his voice cold, pointing to the chair by the table, next to the door. "There. Not here."
Xiollor hesitated. Her eyes, once full of confidence, now fixed on him with an expression he couldn't decipher.
"Zirinos..."
"Sit down," he repeated, his voice harder. "Or leave."
Xiollor sat down. The dress, short and thin, rode up her legs, revealing more skin than she probably intended. But Zirinos didn't look.
"If you're here to seduce me," he said, his voice still cold, "to make me do things I don't want to, you can leave. Now."
Xiollor paled. Her face, once full of confidence, was now distorted by anger.
"Control your mouth," she said, her voice trembling. "We're protecting you. We're giving you shelter. We..."
"We?" Zirinos laughed. It was a dry laugh, without humor, that echoed off the stone walls. "You and your sister? You and your galaxy?"
"Yes!" Xiollor rose from the chair. Her hand, once still, was now raised, pointed at him. "We!"
Zirinos looked at her. His eyes, once empty, now fixed on hers with a calmness that made her step back.
"All galaxies except A," he said, his voice low, calm, "are willing to have me as a second king. Ready to serve me. Ignoring their own kings. Ignoring their own laws."
Xiollor trembled. Her eyes, once full of anger, now fixed on him with an expression that was simultaneously hatred and fear.
"You..." she began, her voice faltering. "You are a monster."
"Do you think I don't know? I know what I am. I know what I did, and I know what I didn't do. I know everything about myself! And you, what do you know about yourself?"
Xiollor fell silent. She spent minutes looking at him, her eyes shining with a will she couldn't hide. She wanted to hit him. Wanted to violate him. Wanted to make him suffer and feel pleasure. Wanted to embrace him and ask him what made him feel so much sorrow and regret.
But she couldn't.
No matter how weak Zirinos was, he only needed to raise an arm to kill her. And Zirinos was no baby looking for his mother's breasts.
Xiollor sat down again. Her hand, once raised, was now resting on her lap.
"There are envoys from other galaxies at your door," she said, her voice low, almost a whisper. "They want to see you. They want to speak with you."
Zirinos didn't respond. He just looked at her, his eyes empty.
"If you accept their offers," Xiollor continued, her voice even lower, "they can help you. They can give you power. They can give you..."
"Leave," Zirinos said, his voice neutral. "Leave here, before I myself join the man who wants your throne. I lost everything, and I owe you nothing. Thank you for the bed and for your body, but I don't want any of this. Leave! Leave!"
Xiollor stood up. Her eyes, once fixed on him, were now fixed on the floor.
"Leave," Zirinos repeated. "Now."
Xiollor said nothing more. She just walked to the door, her steps quick, almost running. The door closed behind her with a bang that made the walls tremble.
Silence returned.
Zirinos sat on the bed, staring at the void. His body, once trembling, was now still. His breathing, once gasping, was now calm.
'How long would I have lasted as a human being?'
The question came to his mind like a knife.
'If she had jumped on me with lust, how long would I have lasted before violating her? And before killing her?'
The answer was simple: not long.
His hand touched Zequila's necklace. The metal, cold and heavy, was a constant reminder of what he had done. Of what he had lost. Of what he had destroyed.
Zirinos looked at the clock. The hours—31h and 73m of the fourth circular day—shone in the darkness like fiery eyes.
*Fourth day. And already there are envoys from other galaxies at my door.*
The question came, calm and inevitable.
*Should I go?*
The thought hung in the air, like a note that didn't want to end.
Zirinos closed his eyes.
"Perhaps," he murmured to himself. "Perhaps I should."
The silence, outside, continued.
The universe waited for the answer of its most beloved and destroyed son.