Year 3158, after the emergence of the Singularities.

Nature unfolded in all its splendor, teeming with life. Wherever one’s gaze landed, a deep, vibrant dark green seemed to shimmer under the sunlight.

The place was surrounded by an endless number of trees, forming an emerald sea stretching as far as the eye could see—an infinite forest that seemed boundless, even from above.

The sky was simply majestic. There were no clouds to mar its purity, nor the faintest trace of pollution to dull its beauty. It was a pristine blue, so clear and fantastic that it resembled a canvas painted by a divine artist.

The sun, high above, bathed the landscape in its light, intensifying the colors of the trees. The green became even more vivid and radiant, a natural spectacle that needed no embellishment to take one’s breath away.

Perched on one of the high branches of one of those towering trees sat a young man with a peculiar appearance. His eyes shone with an unusual pink hue, and his hair, pure white like snow, fell in soft strands over his face. He sat there, swinging his legs calmly, his curious gaze lost in the horizon.

“It’s incredible! No matter how long I stare, this world never ceases to amaze me,” he exclaimed with a smile that radiated wonder.

He shook his head, brushing aside a few strands of hair the wind had blown across his face.

“It feels like something straight out of a fairy tale,” he added in a murmur, his voice tinged with a mix of excitement and admiration.

Suddenly, a laugh escaped his lips.

“How absurd of me to say that! This is, without a doubt, a fantasy world.”

His eyes took on a thoughtful gleam, and his expression grew slightly more serious.

“But… it’s not just what I’m seeing that has this fantastical vibe. This entire place, everything around me, feels like it’s waiting for me to do something extraordinary.” A spark of enthusiasm lit up his gaze, and a wide smile spread across his face.

“I guess it’s time to have a little fun, isn’t it?”

With determination, he extended his arm forward, opening his hand with a purposeful gesture. He was about to do something… when a feminine voice rang out from below the tree, cutting him off abruptly.

“Nika! Get down here already! You’re taking way too long!”

The sudden call snapped him out of his concentration. With a sigh, he let his arm fall and leaned back against the tree trunk, resigned.

“Ah, they always interrupt right at the best part,” he murmured softly, a hint of irritation in his tone that faded into a quiet chuckle at the end.

“Coming, Lucy!” he called out, raising his voice, though clearly without much enthusiasm.

With one last look at the horizon, he prepared to climb down.

***

June 8th, 2030 After Christ.

The room was steeped in shadows, though not entirely dark. A faint bluish light flickered in the air, just enough to break the darkness. However, that light didn’t come from a lamp, a bulb, or a window. Its source was a rectangular screen, perhaps a monitor or a television, displaying some sort of video game. The vibrant, moving image was the only thing illuminating that somber space.

The room, besides being dark, was an absolute disaster. No matter where one looked, trash covered everything like an uncontrollable plague. The scene was so revolting that anyone stepping into that space would feel immediate disgust.

On the floor lay remnants of food: empty pizza boxes, burger wrappers, and crumpled chip bags. There were also containers of instant noodles abandoned like relics of a repetitive and neglected diet. But that wasn’t the worst of it. Full garbage bags, forgotten in the corners, mingled with scattered debris in no particular order, creating a sea of filth that seemed endless.

It was evident that whoever lived there had completely given up on the concept of hygiene. Yet, amidst all that chaos, one element remained, inexplicably, relatively clean: the bed.

On that bed—the sole refuge from the chaos—lay an individual. His disheveled appearance and listless posture were as depressing as the environment surrounding him. He was lying down, staring blankly at the ceiling. His eyes, dull and lifeless, seemed incapable of reflecting anything but an infinite void.

Those sad, weary eyes, devoid of sparkle and blinking slowly, spoke volumes with so little. They were the eyes of someone who had lost all hope and any will to live.

With a slight movement, he turned his body to one side, letting his face sink into the pillow. His eyes lazily wandered around the room, stopping at each corner as if searching for something he knew wasn’t there.

He let out a heavy sigh, laden with a weariness that went beyond the physical.

“This place is a mess…” he murmured, his voice barely audible. “I don’t even remember the last time I cleaned.”

His gaze once again swept across the chaos, but this time with an indifference that bordered on cruelty toward himself.

“Should I clean?” he asked, not expecting an answer. His tone was as empty as the room.

After a pause, he shook his head and muttered to himself, “I don’t feel like it… and, anyway, it doesn’t matter.”

The words echoed in the gloom, heavy with resignation.

"Nobody is going to come here. Nobody will say anything if I don't do it."

An uncomfortable silence filled the air. Only the hum of the monitor and the sound of the video game broke the stillness.

"Talking is exhausting..." he finally murmured, closing his eyes heavily.

His body remained motionless on the bed, as if the mere act of staying awake was an insurmountable effort.

"I don't feel like doing anything anymore… much less getting out of bed," he whispered, barely audible, breaking the heavy silence that dominated the room. His body stayed still on the mattress, as if any effort was beyond him.

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Sadness was etched painfully across his face. The deep bags under his eyes were evidence of sleepless nights—or perhaps a mind incapable of surrendering to rest.

His clothes were a mess: dirty, wrinkled, and covered in stains of unknown origin, seemingly accumulated after weeks of neglect. His appearance was so disheveled it was almost painful to see. Anyone who stumbled upon him in that state would feel a mix of pity and despair.

With a slight movement, he turned over again, assuming the same position as before. His gaze drifted back to the ceiling, vacant and unfocused. A faint, bitter smile curled his lips.

When did everything start going wrong? he thought, letting out a dry chuckle, so faint it barely sounded like a sigh.

But it didn’t take long for him to find an answer to his own question.

No, there was never a moment when everything started going wrong. Because from the moment I was born, nothing has ever gone right.

The thought sank deep into his mind, like a painful truth that had always been there but now weighed heavier than ever. He closed his eyes, allowing a pair of silent tears to roll down his cheeks. Covering his eyes with his arm, he tried to hide the inevitable: the storm of memories beginning to overtake him.

Fragments of his past appeared chaotically, like broken pieces of a puzzle his mind refused to piece together.

From the moment he could remember, life had been an unending series of struggles.

As a child, around eight or nine years old, all he wanted was something so simple and natural for others: his parents’ attention. He just wanted them to look at him, to hug him the way parents do with their children, to say kind words like, "Well done, son," or "We’re proud of you."

For other kids, receiving affection and praise from their parents was an everyday thing. But for him…

From as far back as he could remember, he had never received anything more than the bare essentials for survival. There were no words of affection, no kind gestures. Just the basics: food, clothes, and a roof over his head.

His family was large, consisting of seven children in total. He was the fourth, stuck in the middle, sandwiched between older and younger siblings who, for some reason, always seemed to be the center of their parents’ attention. The older siblings were praised for their achievements. The younger ones were coddled and spoiled. But he… he was always left out of the equation.

Why did they get everything, and I got nothing? he wondered over and over, unable to find an answer.

Unlike his siblings, he didn’t have a maid exclusively assigned to him. Well, technically, there was one, but she wasn’t truly his. She was in charge of the general administration of the family, and while she occasionally seemed to care for him a little, her time was always limited. He only saw her now and then, and those encounters were fleeting.

As for his siblings, the relationship was... nonexistent—or rather, hostile. They always bullied him, always belittled him. There was never a moment of peace between them.

And his parents... they were almost like ghosts. He barely saw them, and when he did, it was never for long. There were days, even weeks, when he didn’t get a shred of their attention. There were nights when, completely forgotten, he went without dinner, forced to endure hunger in silence.

From a young age, he had observed his siblings closely, trying to understand why he didn’t receive the same treatment as them. He spent weeks, months, analyzing every detail of their lives. What he discovered was as clear as it was painful.

Everyone in his family was special, except him.

His siblings possessed unique, almost perfect facial features, as if sculpted by the gods themselves. They had a presence that radiated confidence, a light that drew everyone’s attention—even that of their parents. In contrast, he was the complete opposite. His face was plain, his presence insignificant.

If I wasn’t born special, then I’ll have to create something that makes me stand out, he thought with the naive determination of a child desperate for love.

All he wanted was to be seen. For his parents to notice him, to recognize him as one of their own, and to treat him with the same affection and admiration as his siblings. However, every time he tried to approach his mother, she pushed him away coldly, as if his very presence was an uncomfortable reminder of something she wanted to forget.

Aware that he couldn’t compete with his siblings’ natural gifts, he made a decision: he would become the best student. Throughout elementary and high school, he dedicated every second of his time to studying. He worked harder than anyone else, always hoping that his academic achievements would be enough to earn his parents' attention and affection.

But the recognition never came.

His parents remained indifferent, no matter how many times his name topped the honor rolls. That lack of acknowledgment, combined with the stress he imposed on himself, led to anxiety that soon took its toll. His only source of comfort was food, and before long, his body reflected the weight of his frustration.

Years later, his world was turned upside down.

It was his eldest sister—one of the few people who treated him kindly—who revealed the truth that had been hidden for so long: he wasn’t the son of the woman he called mother.

In reality, he was the result of an affair between his father and a 17-year-old girl. According to his sister, that young girl had been sold by her family in exchange for financial or political benefits. The marriage was a loveless arrangement, more of a transaction than a union.

The truth hit him like an avalanche. Finally, everything made sense.

The questions that had tormented him for years found their answers. His place in that family had never been secure because his very existence was a reminder of an uncomfortable past.

But that clarity brought him no relief—only fury.

The anger he felt was like a fire he couldn’t extinguish. He hated himself for having spent so many years trying to earn the love of people who had never truly considered him part of their world. And he hated his father even more—the root of it all.

His biological mother, as his sister had told him, had died giving birth to him. She was a frail young woman whose body couldn’t withstand the complications of labor. Knowing that the only person who might have loved him unconditionally had disappeared bringing him into the world only deepened the emptiness in his heart.

Despite everything, his older sister stayed by his side. She was his only connection to the woman he would never meet. There was also the maid, the only maternal figure he’d ever known, though their relationship had always been distant due to the limitations of her role.

Thanks to them, he managed to find some stability. With their support, he made a decision that would change his life forever: to leave his family behind.

Time passed, and with effort, he graduated high school with honors. His sister, always willing to help him, supported him as he moved far away—far enough to ensure he’d never cross paths with them again.

Finally, he was alone. He had no roots to tie him down, no chains to keep him trapped in a past full of pain.

For the first time in his life, everything depended solely on him.

His new life started off on the right foot. After moving, he found a stable job and began studying the degree he had always dreamed of: Systems Engineering. For the first time, everything seemed to fall into place.

He lived in his own home, had a well-paying job, and his academic performance was impeccable. He didn’t need anyone’s approval—not from his parents, his siblings, or anyone else who had been part of his painful past. He was free, completely independent, and that feeling was as new as it was wonderful.

At last, he was living the life he had always dreamed of.

Yet, deep in his heart, there was an emptiness nothing could fill. A part of him longed for something he could never have: a family. More specifically, he yearned to meet his biological mother. To talk to her, to hear her voice, even if only once.

It was an impossible wish, but he couldn’t stop dreaming about it.

Everything was going well until, in the second year of his studies, the doubts began to surface. At first, they were small, barely a whisper at the back of his mind. But little by little, those questions grew louder, more insistent.

I remember thinking about quitting my studies at that time, he thought, as a bitter sadness filled his chest. I remember it perfectly, because it was from that moment on that everything started to fall apart again.

He closed his eyes, trying to hold back the tears that were beginning to well up. But he couldn’t stop them.

His mind drifted back to those days, reliving every detail. Every doubt, every moment of anguish.

If only…

Frustration consumed him.

If only I had decided to quit my studies at that exact moment, I wouldn’t be here now, in this filthy place, in this pathetic state! he screamed in his mind as the tears fell uncontrollably.

His hands trembled as he covered his face, trying to muffle the sobs that now filled the room.

What would have become of me if I had dropped out of that program and never met her?

The question echoed endlessly in his mind. And as if it were a cruel reflection, his own voice answered him:

“Surely, my life wouldn’t have fallen apart the way it did.”

-To be continued-