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The dull murmur of ceiling fans echoed through the classroom as sunlight filtered in through half-drawn blinds, casting long shadows on dusty desks. At the front, a weary teacher scribbled dates and names across the board with dry chalk, his coat creased, eyes tired.
Turning back to the students, he began in a low voice — one heavy with both knowledge and regret.
"In the past 30 years, this world has seen more than just technological revolutions. It has witnessed war after war, conflict layered on conflict… What followed wasn't just destruction. Famine, poverty, and the collapse of administrations—entire governments failing to save their own people.
Innocent lives were lost. Tyranny spread under the disguise of order.
And now, Earth… Earth is slowly being destroyed by the very beings it nurtured — humans."
A brief silence followed, thick with discomfort and disbelief. Most students avoided eye contact, unsure whether to absorb the words or dismiss them as exaggeration.
Then a teenager in the front row raised his hand. "Sir," he asked, voice puzzled, "why are you telling us all this now?"
The teacher smiled—not the polite smile of someone obligated to teach, but the tired, crooked grin of a man who'd lived through what he was explaining.
"Because it's more than your syllabus.It's the truth.
Humanity is failing—not because we don't have the tools to save ourselves, but because we refuse to use them.
The administration is corrupted. I speak not as a teacher now, but as a victim.
You children were born into riches, born safe from the collapse and chaos the rest of the world endured. But that doesn't mean the fire hasn't touched you—it just hasn't reached your house yet.
People believed technology would save us, uplift us…But in the end, it only amplified our downfall."
In the back corner of the classroom, a quiet smirk tugged at the lips of a boy—sharp eyes hidden beneath tousled hair. His name was Vayunesh Athisay, and unlike the others, he wasn't surprised by what he heard. If anything, he'd expected worse.
Later that day, as the school bell rang and students flooded into the courtyard for dismissal, the atmosphere felt oddly subdued. Laughter was replaced with whispers; excitement overshadowed by confusion.
While most headed toward their transport pods or family limos, Vayunesh lingered behind, sitting alone on a stone bench shaded by rustling leaves. He crossed one leg over the other, gaze fixed on the departing crowd, eyes unreadable.
A moment later, someone approached.
Nirvarth Joshal, his closest—perhaps only—friend, plopped down beside him with a slight grin.
"Strange class today, huh?" Nirvarth muttered, glancing sideways.
Vayunesh returned the grin, faint but sharp.
"Tell me something," he said. "What's the point of understanding everything… and then hesitating?"
Nirvarth blinked, confused. "What do you mean?"
Vayunesh didn't answer directly. He watched a group of laughing students step into their auto-cars, then looked up at the polluted sky where even the sun seemed faded.
"Humanity had a chance, Nirvarth.
They were given time, resources, even warnings.
But instead of changing, they continued down the same path—knowingly.
The people we call 'adults' now… They were the ones holding the wheel.
And still, they chose the cliff."
Nirvarth fell silent, trying to make sense of his friend's words. But the meaning—like most truths—didn't arrive immediately.
Vayunesh stood up, brushing dust off his trousers, a shadow falling across his face.
"You'll understand it later."
And with that, he walked away—leaving behind not just Nirvarth, but a mystery that would soon unravel into a game unlike anything the world had ever known.