July 27, 2032.
The day everything changed. The day humanity stopped being alone.
It began on what should have been an unforgettable night—the final match of the Summer Olympics. A packed stadium in Los Angeles, nearly a hundred thousand people roaring in excitement, and millions more watching from their homes. The air buzzed with the fever of competition, of human achievement at its peak.
Then the sky split apart.
It started as a flicker, an anomaly mistaken for an aurora at first. But within seconds, it became undeniable. A massive tear—a wound of writhing darkness—appeared in Earth's orbit, devouring the stars around it. The cameras caught it live, and then—static. Every broadcast went dark. Every satellite flickered out of existence.
The stadium lights trembled. The air itself felt heavier, like the atmosphere was pressing down on us. Phones buzzed with emergency alerts, but no message came through. A low, droning hum filled the air, vibrating through our bones. Then came the screaming.
I remember gripping Maya's hand, the warmth of her palm the only thing keeping me tethered to reality. She turned to me, eyes wide with a terror I had never seen before. "What's happening?" she whispered. It was barely a breath, but in that moment, it felt louder than the stadium collapsing into chaos around us.
"I—I don't know." My voice felt distant. Hollow.
A second later, the power grid failed. Half the city went dark, the skyline swallowed by the abyss above. And then came the first tremor.
Not an earthquake. A planetary convulsion.
A rupture along the Earth's crust that no Richter scale could measure. Roads cracked open. Buildings twisted and collapsed like paper under unseen pressure. The ground beneath us lurched, and I yanked Maya into my arms as the bleachers caved inward.
The screams turned into something else—something primal. Survival instinct overtook reason. People trampled each other in the mad rush to escape, but there was nowhere to run. The very planet was breaking apart beneath us.
Somewhere, distantly, I could hear a news anchor still broadcasting in sheer denial.
"We are experiencing a global anomaly... Scientists are reporting an unknown gravitational distortion... We urge everyone to remain calm..."
But there was no calm. The sky howled, the tear widening as if reality itself was being pulled apart. From within, something shimmered—something vast, something not meant to be seen. And then, the rift swallowed the light entirely.
The last thing I remember was Maya screaming my name as the world beneath us gave way.
Then—darkness.
TIMESKIP: 1 YEAR
ASHES AND FOUNDATIONS
A year had passed since the Shift—since the sky ripped open, since Earth was hurled into an unknown galaxy. The initial months had been nothing short of a nightmare. Governments collapsed, entire nations were wiped off the map, and the world had been thrown back into an age of desperation.
Now, a fragile peace existed, but tension brewed beneath the surface. The United Front, formed by 34 nations, was supposed to keep order, but alliances were already fracturing. America and its allies sought control over reconstruction, while Russia and China challenged their dominance, pushing for resource allocation to be equal among all nations. The scars of old-world politics hadn't faded. Humanity had survived the Shift, but whether it could survive itself was another question.
Still, despite the power struggles, the world was beginning to heal. Cities were slowly being rebuilt, agriculture had restarted, and humanity, for all its flaws, was adapting.
The scene shifted to a modest, makeshift apartment complex, a former office building repurposed into housing for survivors. Inside, a man pushed open a rusty metal door, shaking the dust off his jacket.
"Home, sweet home," the gruff voice of Rajiv, the MC's father, echoed through the small space. He tossed his security jacket onto the chair, sighing as he removed his boots. His thick beard was flecked with gray, and fatigue clung to him like a second skin, but there was warmth in his deep-set eyes.
The MC, sitting at the table, raised an eyebrow. "Didn't think you'd be back so early, old man."
Rajiv scoffed, grabbing a tin mug and pouring himself a cup of what barely passed as coffee. "Kid, I've been pulling double shifts since last week. Figured I'd let the young ones handle it today."
MC chuckled. "Since when did you consider yourself old?"
His father smirked, taking a sip. "Since my back started sounding like firecrackers every morning."
They both laughed—a rare, genuine moment in a world that had lost so much.
"How's work?" Rajiv asked, settling into his chair.
MC sighed, rubbing his temples. "Same as always. Constructing prefab housing, moving steel beams, digging foundations. Nothing exciting. I also got on the radio again, relaying messages between outposts. Feels like I'm just... existing, you know?"
His father studied him for a moment before speaking. "You're keeping a roof over our heads. That's not nothing."
MC frowned, clenching his fists. "It's not enough."
Rajiv leaned forward, his voice calm yet firm. "Listen, I know it's hard. You were a tech guy before all this, living in a world that ran on screens and signals. And now? We're back to analog, back to bricks and muscle. But survival is survival. You're here, doing your part."
MC exhaled through his nose, running a hand through his hair. "I just... I don't know if this is who I'm meant to be. I feel like I've lost myself."
Rajiv smiled knowingly. "You're young. You'll find your way. Just don't spend too much time looking for purpose and forget to live in the process."
The words lingered, heavier than MC wanted to admit.
As the conversation shifted to lighter topics, Rajiv's eyes twinkled with mischief.
"So, when are you giving me grandkids?"
MC nearly choked on his drink. "What?!"
Rajiv leaned back, arms crossed. "Arin. you and Maya have been together for years. You're still here, still standing. Maybe it's time to start thinking about family."
Arin groaned. "Jesus, Dad, we're still figuring things out."
Rajiv chuckled. "I'm just saying. The world may be different, but some things never change. Family is what keeps us going."
Arin shook his head but couldn't help but smile. "I'll think about it."
His father patted his shoulder, standing up. "That's all I ask."
For the first time in a long while, Arin felt something close to peace. But deep down, the restlessness never truly left. He still wanted more—not just for himself, but for Maya, for his family, for something greater.
And soon, the world would give him a chance to find it.
Dinner was a quiet affair that night. The kind where the silence carried more weight than words ever could. The radio crackled in the background, broadcasting a list of missing persons—voices searching for the lost, echoes of lives torn apart by the Shift.
"Another name you recognize?" Rajiv asked, his voice calm but weary.
Arin shook his head. "Not this time."
Maya reached across the table, squeezing his hand lightly. He gave her a small smile, but even that felt hollow. He could feel his father's gaze lingering on him, studying him the way he always did when Arin was lost in thought.
The conversation drifted to work, rations, and the latest government updates, but Arin was barely listening. The weight in his chest only grew heavier. Eventually, he put his spoon down, the half-eaten meal staring back at him like another unfinished piece of his life.
"I need some air," he muttered, pushing his chair back.
Maya frowned. "Arin—"
"I'll be back in a bit," he assured her, though he wasn't sure if he believed it himself.
He made his way up the rusted metal stairs, the rooftop offering a clear view of Novam Domum's sky—his new home. The stars here weren't the ones he had grown up with, but he had memorized them anyway. A forced habit. Something to replace the past he could never return to.
Down below, the Smiths were fighting again. Arin wasn't sure what it was this time—food, money, maybe just exhaustion. He tuned them out, running a hand through his hair.
What am I even doing?
He had skills once—skills that meant something. Now? He was just another worker in a construction firm, another voice lost in the crowd, another man struggling to find his place in a world that had already moved on.
The door creaked behind him.
Maya.
She walked over, her arms wrapped around herself against the night breeze. "You keep running off like that, people might start thinking I'm the problem."
He huffed a quiet chuckle. "Maybe I'm just bad at dinner conversations."
She sat beside him, tucking her legs up. "Or maybe," she nudged him with her shoulder, "you just think too much."
He didn't answer. He didn't need to. Maya knew him too well for that.
A few moments passed before he finally said, "I should be doing more. I should be—"
"Stop."
She turned to him, her gaze firm yet warm. "You're here, Arin. You're alive. We made it this far together. That's enough."
He let out a slow breath, shaking his head. "It doesn't feel like it."
Maya sighed, then reached into her pocket. "Guess it's good I came prepared."
She pulled out a small bracelet, simple but carefully woven. His brows furrowed as she took his hand and slipped it onto his wrist.
"It's... early for my birthday," he murmured.
"I know," she admitted. "But I figured you needed it now more than later."
He ran his fingers over the fabric, the weight of it light but grounding.
Maya smiled softly. "So every time you start overthinking, every time you feel like you're not enough—you look at that and remember you're wrong."
For the first time that night, Arin felt something inside him settle. He pulled her closer, pressing his forehead against hers. They stayed like that, wrapped in each other's warmth, gazing at the alien stars that had become their new sky.
And for a brief, fleeting moment—Novam Domum didn't feel so foreign after all.
Morning in the New World
The sunrise over Novam Domum painted the sky in shades of deep violet and ember gold—colors that had once been foreign to Earth's atmosphere. The air was thinner here, sharper, carrying the scent of freshly cut timber, damp metal, and distant salt from the ocean that now separated what remained of the continents.
Arin woke to warmth. Not just from the sun creeping through the half-cracked window, but from the steady rise and fall of Maya's breath against his chest. She was still asleep, curled into him, one arm draped lazily across his stomach.
For a moment, he just lay there. Listening to the soft hum of the radio that had been left on overnight, crackling faintly with the day's first broadcasts.
"...Survivors from Sector 5 are being relocated to Unity District... Reports of tremors near the old coastal fault line remain unconfirmed... The search for missing families continues..."
A reminder that the scars of the Shift hadn't fully healed.
Maya stirred beside him. She always knew when he was lost in thought.
"You're thinking too loud again," she murmured, voice thick with sleep.
Arin smirked, brushing a strand of hair from her face. "Didn't know my thoughts had a volume knob."
"They do. And right now, it's on max."
She blinked up at him, still drowsy, before pressing a kiss to his jaw and sitting up. The sheets slid off her shoulders, revealing the thin scars running down her arms—souvenirs from the first days of chaos. Neither of them talked about those days much.
"Breakfast?" she asked.
Arin sighed, stretching. "If you mean the usual stale bread and protein cubes, then sure."
Maya rolled her eyes but smiled, swinging her legs off the bed. "One day, I'm gonna find a way to make real food again."
"Yeah? I'll believe it when I see it."
She flicked a pillow at him. "Just get ready for work, idiot."
Leaving for Work
By the time Arin and his father, Rajiv, stepped out of the apartment, the streets of Unity District were already coming alive. Vendors set up stalls, workers gathered at transport hubs, and a few military patrols kept watch for any disturbances.
Rajiv, ever the social one, immediately struck up a conversation with their neighbor, Mr. Edgar Smith. A man in his early fifties, once a professor, now reduced to running a small salvage shop.
"Mornin', Rajiv," Smith greeted, adjusting his round glasses. "Another long day?"
"When is it not?" Rajiv chuckled. "But at least we've got work."
Smith nodded, though his face held the same exhaustion everyone carried these days. "Lucky you. Most people are still waiting on assignments from the Reconstruction Committee."
As the two men talked, Arin zoned out, slipping in his earphones to listen to the morning radio updates. The static-filled voice of the broadcaster echoed in his ears.
"...in other news, the supply convoys from the Eastern Zone have been delayed again due to ongoing disputes... Authorities urge citizens to remain patient... tensions among leadership continue to rise..."
Same old problems. Different day.
The world was healing, but the fractures weren't just in the land—they were in the people, too.
Rajiv clapped him on the shoulder, snapping him back to reality. "Come on, beta[referring to son in hindi], let's get moving."
The construction yard stretched across what was once a ruined district, skeletal frames of buildings rising from the rubble of the past. Heavy machinery groaned, workers moved in coordinated chaos, and the air smelled of sweat, steel, and sunbaked concrete.
Arin and Rajiv clocked in, joining the flow of laborers already at work.
The worksite was a strange place—a melting pot of the past and present, where people who had once ruled boardrooms or engineered spacecraft now hauled bricks and welded beams.
Arin began looking around seeing some familiar faces amongst the crowd he wasn't sure he could say he was glad to see them, it was manageable.
Professor Eli Stern – A former biochemist now working as a bricklayer. Once spoke at global conferences, now he barely spoke at all.
Carter Hayes – Ex-CEO, the kind of guy who used to wear thousand-dollar suits. Now he carried cement sacks, his hands calloused from work he never thought he'd do.
Sergeant Viktor Petrov – A former soldier who had fought in the early conflicts after the Shift. He didn't talk much, just worked with a quiet, simmering frustration.
And then, of course, there was Gaurav.
The sun was merciless today.
Arin wiped the sweat from his brow, dust coating his skin like a second layer. The midday heat of Novam Domum made everything harder—the steel beams weren't any lighter, and neither was the weight of the world on his shoulders.
"Oi, tech boy!"
Arin turned as Gaurav, the former aerospace engineer turned construction worker, shoved a rusted datapad into his hands.
"This thing's busted. You were a tech guy, yeah? See if you can fix it."
Arin sighed, taking the device. "I was a software guy. This is hardware."
"Yeah? And I was designing space probes before the Shift," Gaurav muttered, lighting a cigarette. "Now I carry cement. Fix it."
'this asshole' Arin thought to himself.
Arin glanced at the half-broken device, fingers running over the old circuits.
Something stirred in his chest.
Maybe, just maybe, he wasn't completely useless after all.
Gaurav thinks to himself "Kid doesn't realize how much potential he's still got. Maybe I see a bit of myself in him—before everything went to hell. Before I became just another pair of hands in the dirt."
unknown to Arin some were looking at their interactions
"The way Arin carries himself... He still thinks he can 'figure it all out.' That's the kind of thinking that used to make people rich. Now? It just makes you naive." Carter thought to himself.
"I see it in his eyes. The same thing I see in the mirror. A man looking for a fight, for a purpose. The world broke us both. The only difference is—he still thinks he can fix himself." the soldier in the distance thought to himself.
As the workday ended, Arin stared at the datapad in his hands, deep in thought.
The world had left so much behind—technology, knowledge, dreams.
And for the first time in a long time...
He wondered if he was meant to do more than just survive.
Location: UF Headquarters, Orbital Command Station "Eden Prime"
A darkened room loomed over the Earth below. The high-ranking officials of the UF sat around a reinforced steel table, their faces cast in cold, blue light from the holographic displays.
Chairman Elias Roarke leaned forward, his sharp eyes fixed on the data screen. The Nevada Signal was still transmitting.
It wasn't random static.
It was coordinated.
Dr. Nakamura adjusted her glasses. "This... whatever it is, it's sending patterns. It's intelligent."
Roarke's voice was like steel. "And does it pose a threat?"
Commodore Kasim folded his arms. "We don't know. But if the URC finds out—"
"They won't," Roarke cut him off. "The Council exists to keep civilians from panicking."
Nakamura hesitated. "And if this thing isn't hostile? If it's trying to make contact?"
Roarke exhaled. "Then we make sure humanity has the bigger gun."
Silence filled the room.
In the end, it didn't matter if the unknown was friendly or not.
The UF would treat it as a threat either way.