Book of Sins. Luxury Redefined

“Whatever will be, will be,” he told me when the perfect system was coming apart at the seams. At the time, I had absolutely no idea what he meant. It seemed absurd to me to watch the world falling apart and do nothing about it. And, like a puzzled young human, I tried to prove to him that the system had to be changed, that what was happening was “not order”... And then I realized that I was using his own words.

Power. Blood. Addiction. Luxury. Adrenaline. Sensation. Death. Life. Achilles’ heel.

Every system has a weak spot. And if a system denies it, that is called recklessness.

Luxomoris was not simply a beautiful country. It was called the Land of the Phoenix — a state reborn from destruction. But it was reborn in such a way that its light blinded the world. Gold covered its lands, and the old called Luxomoris a “diamond,” because it had been created under pressure.

I had heard a lot about this country, but I perceived it as something abstract — too fantastical to exist in reality. Something any philosopher would have considered hedonism in its most sophisticated form. However, Luxomoris was not a country of hedonists. Quite the opposite. It was a country of workaholics who fiercely clung to their status and spilled wine so they would not forget how to create it.

Luxomoris truly looked like a dream. Especially Adastra. It was the rebirth of glamour. The eight-pointed star atop the highest tower said that the summit was ahead. But for some reason, I never saw anyone at that summit. I only saw it being illuminated... How they wanted it.

I once saw Dobermans in elite clubs, and once a peacock stared at me right in a hotel... A strange sight. I encountered tiger lilies at every celebration, while cypresses stood everywhere along the state avenues. Luxury seeped even into the living — and sooner or later, it reached people. They were dressed in suits, surrounded by it so tightly that they seemed to be part of it. Indispensable. Creating.

But behind the façade of loud laughter and business attire, fatigue and restlessness seeped through their eyes. They were all trying to catch up with something, but could never quite make it, and they would not even admit to themselves what exactly it was. They guarded their time so carefully that they tried to buy it back.

Smart, hardworking, witty — and sick. Sick with the idea that their lives were determined by the balance on a card and reputation. When I asked them why they had started, they no longer remembered the answer. Maybe that was why I respected these people and feared for them at the same time: I was afraid they were exchanging themselves for something they had never been.

It seemed that success had become a moral category. Society began measuring a person by their usefulness.

I often heard slogans: “I built myself.” “We built the country with our own hands.” As if there were only three words in their heads: prestige, efficiency, order.

They desperately believed that destiny could be changed through hard work, knowledge, and one’s own value. That was why even a thing without a function was considered bad taste. And beautiful was considered anyone who looked as though they had earned their place.

The media supported this image of possibility. They constantly proclaimed on television that Luxomoris had recovered through reason, not force. “Analysis of the indicators shows: this policy increases the country’s efficiency.”

Stories constantly appeared about people who had improved the system, made decisions that changed a thousand lives. About the elite, who had become proof that the system worked.

But even from them, society demanded constant improvement.

The improvement of a person was regarded as development, but gradually turned them into a project. And unlike a person, a project must have clear specifications.

Therefore, even illness was not considered an excuse. It was not supposed to destroy a person’s potential. And violating the rules was despised even more.

The truth was, there were simply too many rules. They had supposedly been created to protect society, but gradually began shaping people according to their own logic.

This was proof of what lay behind the façade.

They said Luxomoris was the richest country. But I looked at them and said that Luxomoris was the most controlling country.

The Phoenix State did not want a market. It wanted to determine what should develop within that market and control those who produced anything in it. The state set the direction, and corporations picked it up with speed. Luxomoris did not say that it controlled the future. It screamed that it was part of it.

Metacapitalism. Second-order capitalism. This was the face the country showed the world.

But there was another side that was never shown. Luxomoris had crowded districts filled with old people who rejected everything new and kept talking about injustice and evil corporations. And perhaps they were right in some ways... But they talked too much.

These places were quiet, but quiet in a deeply depressing way... You know, the kind of places you want to escape to just to feel what it is like when everything starts from zero... And sometimes people escaped there.

And sometimes they stayed.

But Luxomoris was not seen only from within.

Other countries often criticized it for excessive consumption and propaganda, which they privately called “a deal that smelled of money.” Yet for some reason, they continued gratefully accepting its investments and broadcasting the incredible scale of their cooperation on the news.

There were specific participants in this deal. Nexus Financial Group. Lumina Holding. Verivitae Group. International law firms. Investment centers.

They all had their headquarters in Arkvel — a district of Adastra made of metal, glass, skyscrapers, perfect geometry, and automation.

Everything was recorded here.

There were so many records in Luxomoris that it was forced to create a separate police network, which it named Lupilegis, and give it a uniform as well.

Everything followed protocol. Everything had confirmation.

But order was protected from chaos, not from the one who understood its archive. And if trust is data, then what happens if someone learns how to control trust?

A system could only make a mistake where the data itself was wrong.

But what happens to a system founded on rationality, calculations, and efficiency if its calculation leads to the emergence of someone whose behavior cannot be calculated?