The war had no beginning. No single gunshot to mark its start, no grand declaration to set the world ablaze. It unfolded in whispers—of vanished resources, of forests stripped bare, of minds that could have saved us being snuffed out before they ever had the chance.

  By the time the world realized it was at war, it was already lost.

  And then they came.

  Prometheus. A company that transcended its purpose. More than a weapons manufacturer, more than a conglomerate—it became a kingdom in the shadows. It ended the war not with treaties, but with control, suffocating the world beneath its iron grip. Its CEO stood above the ashes, not as a ruler, but as something far worse. A savior.

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  That was the lie they sold us. The promise of paradise, bought with the blood of the forgotten.

  I was ten when I first understood that paradise had a price.

  When the officers came for my mother, they didn't need chains. Just a piece of paper. A polite command. The illusion of choice. I was too young to stop them, too weak to break the system that had already decided her fate.

  But I wasn’t too young to remember.

  Now, beneath a house that no longer felt like home, I stare at the impossible—a blueprint that should not exist, a machine that should not be built. My uncle says it’s the only way. A door through time itself, a single chance to rewrite everything.

  A chance to save her.

  But time is a river, and men are not meant to swim against its current.

  I don’t care.

  Let it drown me.