The world was not always like this.There was a time when Earth belonged solely to humanity.It was not a perfect world. It never was. But it was theirs.
Cities grew without excessive ambition, sustained by technologies that were sufficient, never extraordinary. People lived, aged, died. There were conflicts, yes. Disputes over territory, over ideologies, over resources that grew scarcer with each passing year. The climate began to turn erratic. The seas advanced. Crops failed. Small wars accumulated like poorly healed wounds.
Nothing apocalyptic.Nothing heroic.Just erosion.
Until erosion became collapse.
Scarcity brought hunger.Hunger brought violence.And violence finally devoured any promise of stability.
The world darkened slowly, like a light flickering before going out.
And then, when humanity no longer looked to the sky for answers but for threats, something descended from the stars.
The first ships did not arrive with fire or destruction.They arrived in silence.
Colossal. Impossible. Suspended above the atmosphere like bodies that defied all known logic. Their shadows crossed entire continents. Satellites stopped responding. Communications collapsed. The world held its breath.
For hours, no one knew what to do.
Then came panic.
Governments activated forgotten protocols. Armies were deployed. Nuclear warheads were prepared. The planet's defenses—fragile but desperate—aimed toward the sky. Not out of bravery, but fear.
Humanity was ready to die fighting the unknown.
When the first ship landed, the silence was absolute.
The hatches opened slowly.
And no monsters emerged from within.
Humanoid figures stepped out.
Too human.
Bipedal. Familiar faces. Eyes reflecting a disturbing intelligence. Skin, hands, expressions—everything recognizable. Everything unsettling.
The truth fell like a blunt blow:they were not entirely alien to Earth.
The Velkari were not arriving for the first time that day.
They had been infiltrating for centuries.
Observers. Scientists. Explorers. Some hidden among humanity, others blending in ways never fully understood. Some had even formed families. Had children.
The revelation was devastating.
To some humans, the Velkari were the answer.An evolutionary leap.A solution to a world falling apart.
To others, they were an ancient betrayal.A silent invasion.The beginning of the end.
The world split in two.
The Velkari declared they came in peace. They brought knowledge, technology, systems capable of reversing environmental collapse, eradicating diseases, rebuilding entire cities in a matter of months.
And they kept their promise.
Impossible machines began to operate. Infrastructure rose where only ruins had existed. Energy sources that defied human physics illuminated entire regions. Cities like Helior rose as symbols of a new era.
But peace was not the same for everyone.
Those humans who opposed them were labeled obstacles.Some were displaced.Others enslaved.Many were marginalized by their own species, marked as enemies of progress.
From the union between humans and Velkari, the Nexum were born.
Hybrids.
Beings who inherited human adaptability and superior Velkari capabilities. Some manifested abilities from an early age—powers capable of altering matter, energy… even space itself.
To the new order, they were a triumph.To many humans, a threat.To others, living proof of everything they had lost.
For years, the resistance was scattered. Ineffective.
Until the wars began.
The Velkari underestimated humanity.
Not its weapons.Not its primitive technology.
They underestimated its endurance.
The human capacity to survive horror. To adapt to suffering. To turn rage into fuel.
Human weapons, though inferior, began to take Velkari lives. "Perfect" cities learned sabotage. Domains were stained with the blood of both races.
From that chaos, something new was born.
A revolutionary movement.
Not composed solely of humans.But also of Nexum.
Children born into a broken world.Raised among ruins, discrimination, and resentment.Who did not see the Velkari as saviors, but as the source of all their losses.
The world was never the same after that.
And even less so for those born afterward.
Like Varen.
_______________________________________________________
NARAK DUMPS — VARKHANE DOMAIN47 years after the arrival of the Velkari / 16 years before the trial
The smell came first.
Burnt metal. Chemical waste. Rotting flesh.
The Narak dumps stretched like an open wound across the land—kilometers of scrap, technological waste, and the remains of human cities that no longer existed. Nothing ended up there by accident. Narak was where what no longer had value went.
Including humans.
"Varen…" A voice breaks into the darkness.Insistent. Close.
"Varen! Wake up!"
Varen blinks.
The world takes a few seconds to settle.
He is thirteen years old.
Small. Thin to the point of fragility. His bones press against dark skin hardened by cold and constant hunger. His dark hair falls in unruly strands over his forehead—too long, impossible to tame without clean water. His eyes, an unusual watercolor blue even for Narak, open slowly, confused, as if always caught halfway between sleep and wakefulness.
He is an orphan.
Though in the dumps, that word does not mean much.
"Varen!"
A girl stands in front of him. Alice. Intense even when still.
Her green eyes shine with an energy that never seems to run out, even surrounded by filth. Her brown hair—so coated in dust and soot it sometimes looks black—falls in a wild tangle down her back. She is missing a few teeth, newly lost to growth, and when she frowns at him half-asleep, the expression makes her look more annoyed than she really is.
She is as thin as he is. But not the same.Alice does not look breakable.
"What are you doing sleeping?" she snaps. "I told you yesterday! We can't be late today!"
Varen tries to sit up, still trapped in the fog of sleep.
"Late for what…?" he murmurs.
The answer is a slap. Not hard, but direct.
The blow cracks sharply, knocking the air—and the last traces of sleep—out of him.
"That's for being slow!" she says, without a hint of guilt.
Varen brings a hand to his cheek, startled, and stares at her wide-eyed.
"Alice!"
"You forgot, didn't you?" she continues, crossing her arms. "I told you not to stay up late. Today's the day."
That stops him.
The day.
Something settles in his chest. A memory pushing through exhaustion and hunger.
"…Today?" he asks.
Alice's smile appears instantly. A dangerous smile.
"Today," she confirms.
She spins around and runs toward the entrance of their improvised shack. It is not a door, but a curtain made of torn fabric, old sacks, and hardened pieces of sun-baked plastic. She yanks it aside.
Light floods in.
Not clean light.
Gray. Dusty. Heavy.
It illuminates the inside of the "home": broken tiles leaning against each other, rotten wood held up by sheer stubbornness, scraps of metal used as walls. The floor is compacted dirt, damp in places, marked by old footprints.
Outside, Narak breathes.
Mountains of technological waste rise like artificial hills. Remains of Velkari machines, human scrap, pieces impossible to identify. All mixed together. All watched.
Varen slowly sits up, still sore, staring at the exit.
The world waiting for him.
Alice stands at the entrance, impatient, with that energy of hers that seems incapable of understanding fear.
"Come on," she says. "Before the soldiers arrive."
And for the first time that morning, Varen smiles.
Varen follows her out.
The curtain falls back behind him with a dull sound, and the air of Narak hits him full force. Colder outside, thick with metallic dust and old smoke. A constant smell of rust, burnt oil, and damp garbage that never leaves, clinging to the throat from the moment one learns to breathe.
The dumps stretch as far as the eye can see.
There are no real streets, only irregular paths carved by footsteps—routes winding between mountains of debris: twisted metal plates, ruined Velkari machine casings, the remains of human vehicles no one remembers seeing work. Some piles still emit a low hum, residual energy trapped in broken cores—dangerous if touched, but valuable if you know how to sell them.
Alice is already ahead.
She runs lightly, dodging puddles of dark liquid reflecting the leaden sky, leaping over loose cables, slipping between improvised structures built from whatever has not yet disintegrated. She moves as if Narak belongs to her.
"Hurry up!" she shouts without looking back.
Varen runs after her.
His bare feet know the ground. They know where not to step. Where the earth gives way. Where a sharp plate can split skin if you don't jump in time. Each step is fast, automatic, learned through falls and scars.
Around them, the dump awakens.
Human figures emerge from makeshift shelters. Some adults are already working, rummaging through scrap heaps with rusted tools, searching for anything useful before official collectors arrive. Others simply watch, with tired, wary eyes, always alert to the sky and the main access routes.
Children like them run too, in small groups, with backpacks made of patched fabric or sealed bags. Some laugh. Others say nothing. In Narak, childhood is brief and selective.
From an improvised tower built from Velkari structural remains, a blue light flickers.
Surveillance.
Varen catches it out of the corner of his eye and instinctively lowers his head as he runs. Alice does not slow down, but subtly changes course, veering into a narrower corridor between waste mounds.
"Did you see the patrol yesterday?" she asks without turning.
"Yes," Varen replies. "They passed twice."
"Today there'll be more."
No explanation is needed.
Above them, through the smoke, a metallic silhouette moves slowly: a low-class surveillance drone. It does not descend. It does not attack. It only watches. Records. Remembers.
Velkari soldiers do not always enter Narak.
When they do, no one runs.No one screams.No one fights back.
You survive.