Prologue

Fifty years ago, something tore through our heavens.

Not a meteor. 

Not a comet.

Something else,

something the world would never forget.

It came down as a white-hot scar across the sky silent for one impossible second—then detonated over the horizon with a light brighter than the sun.

The flash circled the planet twice—beautiful, yet terrifying, igniting the atmosphere with impossible colors.

In that moment, the world felt seen. It felt known. The universe had turned its gaze upon us not to judge, but to remember.

Fragments drifted down like snowflakes caught in slow motion, sinking into the forests, the cities, the oceans, the very air itself. And even the hearts of every living being were touched, acknowledged, marked by a truth too vast to name.

No one died.

It was pure warmth without heat, weight without pressure, sound without noise. Without words, it sang a song older than memory: a lullaby of dreams unspoken, of moments that had never existed, yet somehow had always been remembered.

Scientists fell silent, their voices crushed beneath a revelation that shattered their logic and unraveled everything they believed they understood.

Religious leaders called it Judgment or Salvation, depending on the day.

Everyone else just tried to survive what came next.

Then it began.

Day by day, people Awakened to supernatural abilities—growing stronger, able to summon and control fire, water, lightning, or whatever gifts fate had granted. Yet these powers too often became instruments of evil, domination, greed, and corruption. Across every land, every corner of the world, the balance of life itself began to unravel, and the foundations of civilization cracked under the weight of unbridled power.

Darkness fell upon the world.

Within a year, civilization as we knew it was gone.

Hope should have died.

It didn’t.

In the ruins, a handful chose to fight back to what remained of the world restoring balance to it.

They would later be called heroes. Legends.

Outnumbered, outgunned, and often outlived, they fought to keep the dark from swallowing everything.

Slowly—too slowly—the world clawed its way back.

New cities rose from the bones of the old.

Laws were rewritten for those with supernatural powers.

Called Awakeners.

The scars of the past still lay open, but grass was beginning to grow over them.

The stories have turned into bedtime warnings.

And most people have forgotten how close the night came to winning.

I haven’t—even though I wasn’t there.

My name is Neriah.

And this is my story—not just mine, but humanity’s