Chap­ter IX opens with a reveal­ing look at the dietary cus­toms of the Ana, the peo­ple of this sub­ter­ranean world, whose food choic­es reflect not only phys­i­cal sus­te­nance but moral prin­ci­ple. To con­sume the flesh of ani­mals is viewed by them as repug­nant, a regres­sion into prim­i­tive cru­el­ty. Instead, they nour­ish them­selves with foods derived from com­plex veg­etable com­pounds and min­er­al infu­sions. These are not sim­ple crops as known on the sur­face but the result of cal­cu­lat­ed chem­istry and botan­i­cal advance­ment. Even the fla­vor and tex­ture of meats can be repli­cat­ed through sci­ence, yet with­out any loss of moral puri­ty or nutri­tion­al val­ue. What they pre­pare bears lit­tle resem­blance to earth­ly cui­sine but accom­plish­es its goal with ele­gance and effi­cien­cy. This refined sys­tem of nour­ish­ment is built not mere­ly for taste or tra­di­tion but around a soci­etal ded­i­ca­tion to com­pas­sion, bal­ance, and bio­log­i­cal sus­tain­abil­i­ty.

The nutri­tion­al sci­ence of the Ana includes a care­ful blend of min­er­als like lime, cho­sen for their bod­i­ly ben­e­fits and incor­po­rat­ed into oth­er­wise gen­tle, easy-to-digest food. Their botan­i­cal exper­i­men­ta­tion pro­duces a range of nov­el plants, many lack­ing in bright col­ors but rich in form and func­tion. These plants not only serve the culi­nary arts but also rep­re­sent how far the Ana have gone in merg­ing ethics with biol­o­gy. Food is not sim­ply fuel—it is an expres­sion of iden­ti­ty and val­ues. With the abil­i­ty to imi­tate sur­face tastes using non-ani­mal mat­ter, the Ana remove the need for slaugh­ter, plac­ing their soci­ety firm­ly beyond vio­lent sur­vival instincts. This trans­for­ma­tion of diet speaks to their cul­tur­al evo­lu­tion, show­ing that tech­nol­o­gy alone does not define advancement—compassion plays a cen­tral role. And so, what they eat becomes sym­bol­ic of who they are: a soci­ety that has cho­sen kind­ness with­out sac­ri­fic­ing sophis­ti­ca­tion or health.

Curi­ous­ly, the same race that has per­fect­ed nutri­tion once flirt­ed dan­ger­ous­ly with destruc­tive tech­nolo­gies. Ancient accounts hint that their ances­tors, in mas­ter­ing explo­sive com­pounds, unleashed a calami­ty that near­ly erased them. This grim les­son led to an out­right ban, for­mal­ized by the Col­lege of Sages, against cre­at­ing any­thing that could pro­duce explo­sive force. Despite this, the ingre­di­ents of such com­pounds are still kept in sci­en­tif­ic repos­i­to­ries. The rea­son­ing is philosophical—knowledge, even of dan­ger­ous things, remains inher­ent­ly valu­able. Their restraint lies not in igno­rance but in wis­dom, bal­anc­ing the pur­suit of truth with the oblig­a­tion to avoid mis­use. This is not hypocrisy but a liv­ing mem­o­ry of how bril­liance, untem­pered by ethics, can destroy even the most advanced civ­i­liza­tions. Thus, their rev­er­ence for knowl­edge is fil­tered through a moral lens.

In a sim­i­lar act of pre­cau­tion, the cre­ation of aer­i­al ves­sels has also been for­bid­den. Though their advanced under­stand­ing of vril and mechan­ics could eas­i­ly lead to air­borne trans­port, they avoid it due to the risk of res­ur­rect­ing dev­as­tat­ing weapons or unleash­ing pow­ers beyond con­trol. A few rebel­lious thinkers occa­sion­al­ly attempt to unrav­el the mys­ter­ies of flight, but these efforts are met with cul­tur­al fear rather than for­mal pun­ish­ment. Super­sti­tion, ground­ed in history’s trau­ma, serves as an effec­tive deter­rent. Still, among the Vril-ya there exists a hope­ful vision that some­day their descen­dants will mas­ter the skies in peace. They believe that when the Ana evolves further—intellectually and spiritually—he will jour­ney beyond this plan­et. Space, then, will become the new fron­tier, not through con­quest, but as a nat­ur­al step in their cos­mic mat­u­ra­tion. This hope reflects not ambi­tion alone, but the belief that the vril ener­gy with­in them is meant for a des­tiny grander than con­fined earth­ly life.

The idea that flight will one day be pos­si­ble with­out dan­ger shows how imag­i­na­tion per­sists even in a soci­ety ruled by log­ic and cau­tion. They envi­sion vehi­cles that can defy grav­i­ty with­out cre­at­ing harm, pow­ered by refined forces rather than com­bus­tion or explo­sion. Theirs is not a dream of escape, but of expansion—of extend­ing peace and intel­li­gence out­ward. The Ana believe the soul of their race is still evolv­ing, and with it, their under­stand­ing of the uni­verse. One day, they believe, mat­ter will yield to willpow­er so com­plete­ly that the air itself will wel­come them. These dreams aren’t mere­ly sci­en­tif­ic; they are deeply spir­i­tu­al aspi­ra­tions. They sym­bol­ize the har­mo­ny between pow­er and restraint, ambi­tion and respon­si­bil­i­ty, that defines the Ana way of life. Through this har­mo­ny, they hope to explore the stars not as con­querors, but as right­ful cit­i­zens of a vast and mys­te­ri­ous cos­mos.