Every guard appreciates that List, the Archon of Archons, is ambitious and unnaturally shrewd, cultivating the talents of his adoptive son while no doubt wishing to steal Diamond away, earning him a special place on the chart of worries.

No matter how much is known, a great deal is mystery. No opinion should feel like steel. But Diamond has been tested by doctors and scientists. Blood and hair and his skin have been studied with every available tool, and according to the smartest gossip, he is surely the most human among the four.

This intrigues the average citizen more than anything else.

Yes, the boy seems indestructible. But his magic blood looks and tastes like ordinary blood. Under a microscope, his skin is indistinguishable from human flesh. Tree-walkers and the papio have very similar bones, varying a little in shape in shape and size, and it’s the same with Diamond. Every human is assembled according to the same orderly rules. What’s more, Diamond’s voice and most of his manners are familiar enough, and if you didn’t see his odd face, you might think that you were talking to any child.

Unknown beasts and the armored King can make the public marvel only to a point. Similarities are what make Diamond the biggest wonder among the corona’s children, giving rise to dreams and endless and nearly crazy speculations.

Guards should never discuss their duties or observations with the world outside. But in their own realm, when two or five or ten of them are together in the same private room, they’ll trade stories about the boy and his odd ways and the monkey nobody likes and the school where Diamond pretends to be normal. Drinks help the guards share frank opinions about the boy’s friends and his teacher and those old people who pretend to be his parents. Then one of the guards, usually someone who has been off-duty for a few days, will turn to the others, and with a quiet, careful voice, he or she will ask what matters beyond everything else:

“Are his whiskers coming in?

“Is he losing that little kid voice?

“Any sign, anywhere, that his seeds are trying to move?”

Diamond’s parents work to immerse their son inside a happy, half-normal life. The boy has friends and routines that include attending the local school with only minimal precautions in place. Bright children deserve the best teachers, and the boy has a genuine Master named Nissim—a one-time butcher and scientific scholar brought to the Corona District through some fusion of fate and odd opinions.

In principle, Diamond is free to travel anywhere inside the local District, but always accompanied by his guards. Calibrated intrigues try to deflect the uncounted, mostly invisible enemies. Meanwhile, important people have traveled across the world just to shake his hot hand and match his white smile. List has visited the boy several times, usually for important civic events, bringing that odd shrill voice to make apologies for deeds that might be regretted and disasters that were misunderstood. He even brought his monster son for the last visit, which meant that ten guards were stationed in the same room, each hoping for the excuse to shoot King, leaving him temporarily dead. But the armored creature said nothing except polite words, and King left without challenging his brother, not with either mouth or a single one of his armored fingers.

The local Archon has always been the boy’s great champion. Prima was adored long before this wonder-child fell into her lap. No other Archon could have handled her citizens with the same graceful ease.

The other Archons are considered the same as generals and scientists. They can’t visit the boy at home. Home remains a sanctuary clad in nets and guards and sensible rules. Prima is the sole exception. She is welcome to walk through the corona-adorned curtain, and portions of her staff can come along. But nobody will argue if the parents say, “No.” Nobody dares. Master Nissim is also welcome, and certain trusted neighbors have attended occasional feasts held on the big new landing, and every happy boy deserves to have good friends.

For four hundred days, public opinion has held steady as an old blackwood: the boy is a prize leftover from the Creation, and he could well be a treasure too. If the big Archon wants to steal Diamond away from them, then Diamond certainly must be a creature worth knowing.

Hundreds of children attend the Marduk school, but barely a dozen are allowed inside Diamond’s home gate. After classes, once every three or four days, a group gathers on the landing. Ancient contests like tag and spider-scramble lead to new games invented for the occasion, using whatever props and moods are on hand. Diamond isn’t a natural climber. His arms are short, his instincts slow. Everybody else finishes before their friend climbs to the top of the net and back down again. But the boy runs faster than anyone on the flat wood, and he rides a bicycle built to fit his long legs, and when the current game ignores him, he quietly settles down to do nothing while his friends play, sitting next to the stoic guards while gazing at the net overhead, screams and laughter filling the space, right up until Haddi steps outside, arms waving as she chases away the chaos.

Exactly two children are special enough to be invited into the boy’s room.

Seldom is a slight but growing boy, and Elata is still a sharp-tongued girl with a strong build and very little fear.

A team of workmen bearing hammers and chisels enlarged the old room, with the compliments of the local Archon. An oval hole has been cut through the thick brown bark, and two sheets of transparent coral glass have been set inside the new window, tiny bars of the best steel lending strength to that very expensive indulgence.

The three children play near the window. Seldom likes board games with complicated rules that he knows better than anyone else. Elata is fond of puzzles and reading stories. “No better friends could exist,” Haddi often tells him. Diamond understands comfort and happiness when just the three of them are sharing his fine new room. He likes his classmates and always tries to be pleasant, getting along with them and everyone else too. But sometimes Diamond’s hand makes a foolish move before letting go of the wooden disc or the coral warship. His turn is over and those are the rules, except he hears himself asking Seldom for a second chance. He’ll claim that he didn’t mean to do what he did or he doesn’t understand the rules yet. His complaining doesn’t sound like complaining, and he has a big smile, and if Seldom ever says, “No,” then the matter will end. But Seldom never tells Diamond, “No. Now it’s my turn.” He always lets his friend pull the piece back, and sometimes he even coaches by throwing his eyes in an important direction.

Seldom never gives Elata second chances, and noticing as much, she sits on her hands, saying nothing.

Sometimes Diamond complains while playing with the girl’s puzzles, using a tone that isn’t angry but isn’t nice either, convincing Elata maybe half of the time to give him what he wants.

Games are wrapped inside games, and Diamond wages these little battles just to win thin, unnamed prizes.

His attitudes are less subtle when a big group shares the landing. Bodies run and climb, balls flying and the guards standing safely to one side. Diamond invents a new flourish to the current game—something he can do better than anyone else. Explaining himself in a few words, he usually wins allies and believers. But sometimes the other children don’t want to play that way. One or two of them might even insult their host, claiming he isn’t being fair. There have been days when this good boy with his strange life and his various mysteries will walk up to the guards and ask politely that so-and-so be sent home now, and if they can’t learn how to play nicely, maybe that name should be sliced off the friends-list.