#zafir

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Scene: The Eden Dome on Lindisfarne The sea lay calm beyond the causeway, its surface touched by streaks of ash. The air had a silver cast and the sky was autumnblue. Cyrene’s dome began on the island’s rocky spine. It was anchored into the abbey’s restored cloisters and extended outward over the tidal flats. From the landward side, terraced gardens rose implausibly into the air and overhung the sea: shades of olive green, purple and lime glimmered strangely into the grey of the northern waters. The seaward side transitioned into a string of floating platforms, stabilized by pylons and gyroscopic ballast systems to withstand the sea. Rising from the wounded earth of England’s nearby coast were additional structures, domed shapes rising slowly into the air. Glass facets were catching the sun, scattering rainbows across the hills. A five star red flag was arbored high above the construction zone. The colours of the Huánghǎi Bio-Architectural Corps were crimson and jade. Inside the Eden Dome, the air was warm and lush, held at 28°C with 70% humidity, maintained by a lattice of microclimate regulators embedded in the dome’s struts. Vines curled along titanium trellises, their roots drinking from hydroponic channels that pulsed with nutrient-rich solution. Artificial daylight streamed from spectral lamps calibrated to mimic warmer climates; layered soundscapes—wind, birdsong, distant surf— soothed the instincts of creatures whose majesty was otherwise untamed. And what creatures they were. A brown calf with velvet flanks nuzzled against a sleek leopard, their bodies pressed in easy trust. Nearby, a troop of capuchin monkeys swung from long vines, chattering softly as a male lion—golden, immense, his mane like the face of the sun — dozed beneath a fig tree. His amber eyes flicked open when he sensed Cyrene approach, and he rose with a slow, regal grace, padding toward her on paws that could crush bone but never would. She laid a hand on his brow, feeling the heat of his life, the pulse of his heart. “Peace,” she whispered, and he rumbled like distant thunder—a sound of welcome. He stretched, yawned, paused for a second, then roared his proper roar, drowning the sound of Cyrene’s laughter and the cackle of the yellow birds and the blast of the main waterfall in one gigantic, complete, deafening declaration of love. As they walked together, snakes glided through the undergrowth: a lime-green serpent, slender as a ribbon, coiled around her wrist like living jewellery; a massive albino python, its scales opalescent, draped across a fallen log like a pale creek. Cyrene knelt beside the python, stroking its length with her white fingers. “Hello Teacher” she murmured, and kissed it on the nose. It made her think of archivists — keepers of wisdom, misunderstood by millennia of fear. Above, ravens wheeled in slow arcs beneath the dome’s zenith, their feathers iridescent in the artificial sun. On the ground, sleek rats darted among roots. Every creature was fed on s ynthetic protein matrices, grown onsite in bioreactors . No blood, no hunt—only peace, authentic yet engineered, as the original Creation itself. Cyrene walked among them in quiet confidence. One assistant lingered near the lion enclosure, her breath quickening as Cyrene approached. “Prioress,” she said, her voice faltering slightly “the bonding index between Panthera and Bos.. sorry, between Lumen and Zafir, is… extraordinary.” Her eyes flicked to Cyrene’s face, filled with an uncertain emotion between reverence and fear. Cyrene turned back to the calf and leopard, watching them doze in the dappled light. “Yes” she said softly, “they are very good, aren’t they? Thank you, Clio". She smiled a simple smile. She looked up at the dome, at the engineered sky arching like a benediction over her implausible menagerie. Beyond its glass, the real sky stretched cold and wounded, but here—here was the first of the second beginning. - Thus Cyrene walked together with Peace, and she thought of God.

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