Chapter 242: Wife and wife

Lamps lined the street, though they were dormant now in the full light of day. At night they would blaze with soft white light, making the boulevard as bright as noon.

The city felt alive, prosperous, and orderly.

This was the heart of the city.

The world rarely saw the witches as they acted in shadows. Each country has its own witch council.

The Council held absolute authority over all matters of state, from laws to taxation to foreign policy. Below the Council were various administrative bodies, all staffed by women who had proven their competence and loyalty.

Men could hold certain positions—teachers, craftsmen, artists, local administrators—but they were barred from the highest levels of power by law and tradition.

Martha had once asked a historian why this was so, why men were excluded from governance even if they showed talent and ambition.

The answer had been simple: origin energy responded best to female channelers.

And in a world where origin energy was the foundation of civilization, where it powered everyone, those who could channel it most effectively naturally rose to positions of authority.

It was a logical argument, though Martha noted that it conveniently justified the existing power structure. She suspected the truth was more complicated, that historical accident and cultural momentum had played as large a role as any inherent biological difference.

But she kept such thoughts to herself.

Questioning the fundamental organization of society was not a path to professional success, and Martha had other battles to fight.

They arrived at Maeridian Gardens just before nine o’clock. Kate parked the car in a nearby structure, and they walked hand-in-hand through the ornate iron gates that marked the garden’s entrance.

The gardens occupied ten acres in the center of the city, a green oasis surrounded by towers and traffic. The grounds were in perpetual perfection—flowers that bloomed year-round, grass that was always green, and trees that seemed immune to disease or decay. It was beautiful but slightly unsettling, nature frozen in an ideal state that nature herself would never achieve.

They walked the winding paths in comfortable silence, passing other couples and solitary visitors. Martha saw a young woman sitting on a bench, reading from a tablet while her male partner pushed a stroller back and forth, soothing a fussy infant.

An elderly woman fed pigeons from a paper bag while a maintenance worker—a man in his thirties—trimmed hedges with careful precision.

The world in microcosm, everyone in their expected roles.

“Tell me about this dig,” Kate said eventually.

“Really, tell me, not just the scientific details. What do you hope to find?”

Martha considered her answer carefully.

“The truth about the Rupture. About where origin energy came from. The official histories say the First Coven discovered it centuries ago, that they learned to channel and shape it, and that they used it to build the foundations of modern civilization. But that’s not the whole story. I’ve found evidence—fragments of texts, archaeological remains, chemical signatures in ancient rock strata—that suggests origin energy existed long before the First Coven. And there was a counterpart to the origin energy too. Thousands of years before.”

“But if that’s true, why aren’t there records of it?”

“Because something happened. Something catastrophic that destroyed the previous civilization and nearly wiped out all knowledge of what came before.

The Rupture wasn’t just an earthquake or a volcanic eruption. It was deliberate. It was a weapon, or the result of a weapon, something so powerful that it literally tore the world apart.”

Kate stopped walking and turned to face her wife.

“Martha, do you hear yourself? You’re talking about conspiracy theories, about the Witch Council hiding history. That’s dangerous talk.”

“I’m talking about science,” Martha insisted.

“About evidence: the Council doesn’t have to be actively hiding anything. They might simply not know. Several hundred years is a long time. Records get lost, stories get distorted, and truth becomes legend, which becomes myth. I’m not accusing anyone of anything. I’m just following the data where it leads.”

Kate studied her face for a long moment.

“And where is it leading?”

“To Kreeshan Valley. To answers. To understand who we really are and where we came from.” Martha took Kate’s hands in hers.

“I know it sounds grandiose. I know I might be wrong. But what if I’m not? What if there’s a whole history we’ve forgotten, knowledge we’ve lost? Don’t we owe it to ourselves to find out?”

Kate sighed, but there was affection in it.

“You’re going to do this no matter what I say, aren’t you?”

“Yes. But I’d rather do it with your blessing.”

“You have it. You always do.”

Kate leaned forward and kissed her gently.

“Just promise me you’ll be careful. No taking unnecessary risks. No going into dangerous situations alone. And call me every night at eight o’clock, no exceptions.”

“I promise,” Martha said.

They spent the rest of the morning in the gardens, talking about everything and nothing—Kate’s latest project at Ardan Motors, Martha’s team of archaeologists, a vacation they’d been planning for years but never quite managed to take, and the state of their aging garden shed that really needed to be replaced.

Normal things, domestic things, the small details that made up a life together.

At noon, they had lunch at a café on the edge of the gardens, sitting at an outdoor table where they could watch the city go about its business.

Martha ordered a salad she barely touched, too excited about the upcoming dig to have much appetite. Kate ate methodically, the way she did everything, and then spent ten minutes answering messages on her phone, her fingers flying across the screen with efficiency.

“I should get back to the office,” Kate said finally, though she made no move to stand.

“Callahan wants to review the quarterly projections before the board meeting tomorrow, and if I don’t get there soon, she’ll start making decisions without me.”

“Callahan is your rival,” Martha observed.

“Callahan is my colleague,” Kate corrected, though her smile was sharp.

“We just happen to both want the CEO position when Aubrey retires next year.”

“You’ll get it. You’re better at the job than she is.”

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep