Year 1984 A.C. (After Convergence).
The year is 1984 A.C., and that time reference probably makes you pause. Confusing, isn't it? Don't worry, I'll explain—it's a long story, but one that defines the world we live in today.
This is how humanity measures time now, ever since the Event we call the Convergence. A reset. A desperate, collective decision to erase the chaos of a shattered past and begin anew. Yet, even now, nearly two millennia later, one question lingers:
Where did we go wrong?
Some say it all started with Dark Energy, the discovery that reshaped reality itself. Others blame humanity's greed, its unquenchable thirst for power. Whatever the cause, the result was catastrophic. We tried to play gods with powers we barely understood and paid the ultimate price for our hubris.
Let's take a step back. Before the Convergence, life was mundane—predictable to a fault. People longed for magic, for miracles, for anything to escape the monotony of existence. They wrote stories, built myths, dreamed of powers beyond comprehension.
Then, one day, we found it.
Dark Energy. A force so immense it makes up 68% of the universe's total energy. For centuries, scientists theorized its existence but dismissed it as a mystery beyond reach. Until we reached too far.
At first, the discovery was miraculous. Dark Energy allowed humanity to achieve feats once thought impossible. We bent reality, creating miracles out of thin air. We built civilizations that rivaled the heavens. We became masters of a power we didn't deserve to wield.
But with great power came even greater chaos. Wars erupted. Empires fell. The very force that elevated us nearly destroyed us. The Echelons—those who mastered Dark Energy—emerged as saviors, but even they couldn't contain the destruction.
By the time Convergence happened, humanity was on its knees. The reset wasn't an act of triumph—it was a cry for help, a chance to wipe the slate clean. We left behind the ruins of our mistakes, hoping the future would learn where we failed.
And yet, for all our resets, the scars remain. I would know—I've lived through them all.
For three thousand years, I've watched humanity rise and fall. I've seen their greed, their hope, their endless cycle of creation and destruction. I shouldn't be here, but I am. Trapped in a world that keeps asking the same question:
Where did we go wrong?
And I fear if the answer isn't found soon, the cycle will repeat itself.
---
[In a small room, in a faraway village]
A child, barely two years old, sits on a wooden chair, scribbling furiously in a diary far too sophisticated for someone his age. He pauses, tapping the pen against the page, a frown tugging at his delicate face.
'Why are they so obsessed with me?' he wonders, his thoughts far too complex for his tiny frame.
This wasn't his first life. Or his second. The truth was, this child had lived twice before. And both times, he had witnessed the rise and fall of humanity, each life consumed by the weight of knowledge he could never escape.
This time, though, things were different. His family wasn't poor—modest, perhaps, by the world's current standards, but comfortable enough to give him what he needed. It was far better than the trials of his past lives.
'Maybe they're obsessed with me because they still want to punish me,' he muses, bitterness flickering in his eyes. 'But I made amends for that already. I wasn't even that bad in my past life.'
A sigh escapes his lips as he leans back in his chair. "I wonder when I can leave this place and see the world outside."
A soft voice answers from the doorway, startling him.
"Already? My little thinker wants to leave his mama so soon?"
It was his mother, her voice warm and sweet like honey. She steps into the room, her presence a comforting light in the dim space.
"My little philosopher," she teases, ruffling his dark hair. "Always planning your escape, huh? Maybe you'll take after your father after all."
A bright smile breaks through his serious demeanor. "Upsies!" he demands instinctively, raising his arms like the child he is—or at least the child he appears to be. Despite how this may seem, he is not really acting. Maybe there will be some explanations in future.
His mother laughs, scooping him up into her arms. He lets himself relax in her embrace, letting her warmth soothe the storm of thoughts raging in his mind.
But even as they leave the room, the diary remains on the table, its pages filled with secrets too dangerous for the world to know. Yet invisible to those the creator of it deems unworthy. And as if sensing it was no longer needed, the diary slowly fades away, vanishing into the ether.