Chapter Sixty

He sat on the edge of his balcony, cradling a glass of wine as the glow of the Eden skyline reflected off the surface. A full year had passed since the grand opening of Londonium, and things had changed in ways even he couldn't have predicted. Life in Eden, as always, moved at breakneck speed, and the trends moved even faster. Every time you blinked, something new was in vogue. But if someone had told him that the latest obsession among Eden's rich would be charity, he would've choked on his drink. Charity, of all things! Eden's finest were now scrambling to out-benevolent one another as if sainthood were just another accessory to flaunt.

It was a strange transition from last year's obsession: sick pets. God, that trend had been the worst. Everyone paraded around their half-dead dogs and cats like they were fashion statements, with people whispering admiringly about whose chihuahua had the most severe respiratory condition. He had once overheard someone say, "Wow, you managed to get your pug diagnosed with FOUR heart conditions? That's so chic." The whole thing was both grotesque and exhausting. Thankfully, the madness ended after one particularly sad weekend when several pampered animals shuffled off this mortal coil.

Now, the focus had shifted from terminally ill animals to terminally poor people. It all began with an innocent post from a nun in the Order of Saint Clara. She had uploaded pictures from a remote village in Westeros: gaunt children with threadbare clothes, homes falling apart, and bleak landscapes that were a far cry from the glittering paradise of Eden. The caption read something like, "While Eden thrives, there are places where children go to bed hungry every night." It hit harder than anyone expected. The post exploded across social media, igniting waves of both guilt and fascination among the wealthy elite.

Then, just as things were beginning to simmer, Saint Clara herself threw gasoline on the fire. Appearing in a solemn PSA, she urged the people of Eden to look beyond their flawless bubble. "Perfection is not just a gift," she said in that gentle-yet-commanding way of hers. "It is a responsibility. A responsibility to lift those who are less fortunate." That was all it took—within days, charity was the hottest trend in Eden, and suddenly everyone was falling over themselves to out-philanthropize each other.

At first, the shift was jarring. Seeing the same people who used to organize elaborate dog funerals now sponsoring entire orphanages was surreal, to say the least. His friend Rook, never one to miss an opportunity to stay on top of the social ladder, had been among the first to jump on the trend. One morning, Rook casually mentioned over brunch that he was planning to "do something meaningful" and—get this—import a bunch of poor children from Westeros for a luxury day in Eden.

And oh, did Rook commit. He chartered a private train, outfitted the kids in designer clothes for the day, and gave them a tour of Eden's finest attractions. Cameras followed them everywhere, of course. "Look at how happy they are!" Rook had exclaimed proudly, while one of the children burst into overwhelmed tears at the sight of a chocolate fountain. "It's adorable! Poor kids are so emotional!"

If it weren't so ridiculous, it would've been tragic.

Despite the inevitable posturing, the results were real. Charities that had once languished in obscurity suddenly found themselves swimming in donations. His family had always been quietly sending money to small Edenite organizations in Westeros—they knew what it was like to grow up cold and hungry. But now, those same charities were receiving funding at absurd levels, all thanks to a socialite arms race. Eden was so free of hardship that it needed to import suffering to give its people a sense of purpose. And, strangely enough, he kind of admired it.

At least it wasn't boring. If Eden's elite were going to compete, this was as good a thing as any to compete over. There were endless arguments at parties about who had funded the most schools, rebuilt the most villages, or sponsored the most refugees. He'd even heard someone brag that they had funded an entire new alphabet for a particularly downtrodden region. ("Their language had no vowels, darling. Can you imagine? I bought them vowels.")

The lengths people were going to were both inspiring and ridiculous. One woman he knew converted her entire estate into a rehabilitation center for displaced Westerosi refugees, then promptly moved into the guesthouse and posted about the "humbling experience" of downsizing on every social media platform available. Another guy organized a "Westeros Experience" day at his villa, where rich Edenites could dress in rags and pretend to plow fields for an afternoon, complete with fake mud and animatronic cows.

"You simply must come next year," a friend told him at a gala. "*We're importing real peasants this time! It's going to be authentic."

The whole thing was absurd, but it was also… effective. Schools were being built. Hospitals were opening in places that hadn't seen medical care in years. Entire villages were being lifted out of poverty, and for the first time in living memory, there was a sliver of hope in Westeros. It was hard to argue with results, even if they came with a side of vanity.

He swirled the wine in his glass and smiled to himself. In a weird way, it was almost comforting that even in a place like Eden—where perfection was the baseline—people still needed something to strive for. If they had to invent a cause to feel important, at least it was a cause worth pursuing. And if the price of progress was putting up with a few over-the-top stunts, well… so be it.

Besides, there was a certain charm to watching the world's most self-absorbed people pretend to care. At the very least, it was entertaining. And who knew? Maybe some of them would stumble into genuine empathy along the way.

He took a sip of his wine, letting the evening breeze ruffle his hair. Life in Eden had always been surreal, but somehow, this felt right. For the first time in a long while, the obsession with perfection was being put to good use. Sure, it was still competitive and performative—but at least now, the contest was about something more meaningful than the latest fashion or who had the most tragic chihuahua.

Maybe this was Eden's way of evolving. Or maybe it was just another fad that would fade as soon as the next shiny thing came along. Either way, he figured he might as well ride the wave while it lasted. After all, there were worse things to compete over than who could do the most good.

And honestly? If charity was the new trend, he hoped it stuck around for a while. At least until something less wholesome—like emotionally troubled ferrets—came into style.