The cold had settled in early that year a dry, merciless cold that seemed almost artificial, as if the global climate algorithms, refined over decades by artifactual technologies, had opted for a calculated austerity to test the resilience of urban populations. In this vast expanse of the Unified Americas a sprawling megacity that had absorbed the old borders, merging cities like New York, Toronto, Mexico, and many others into a coherent entity named Unity Prime snow was nothing more than a memory archived in holographic databases. The elders, those born before the great turning point of the Arrival, spoke nostalgically of those white, chaotic winters when flakes covered the streets in an unpredictable blanket. But for the younger generations, like Elior Kael, it was merely digital legend: the world they knew was one of clear, harsh, silent winters, where frost cracked the smart pavements without ever burying them.
The faction engineers explained this by the necessities of expansion: a stabilized atmosphere to optimize orbital launches, channeled winds to streamline the air corridors of cargo drones, and reduced precipitation to minimize logistical disruptions. For Elior, however, it was simply everyday reality an environment where nature had been tamed in the service of human efficiency.
That morning, the entire city seemed to have emerged from its modular habitats to converge on the central square a human tide stretching as far as the eye could see along the monumental avenues. These arteries, wide as space corridors, had been designed not only to absorb immense crowds but also to integrate omnipresent surveillance networks: spherical drones with iridescent hulls floated at regular intervals, their multispectral sensors scanning the multitude with infallible precision, detecting biometric anomalies or deviant behaviors in real time. The buildings lining these thoroughfares were angular towers, erected from self-repairing alloys derived from artifactual advancements, capturing the pale light of the winter sun and redistributing it in bluish reflections that illuminated the citizens' faces like an artificial aura.
Between these architectural colossi rose transparent screens holographic veils suspended in the air like digital specters projecting live feeds from Earth orbit and beyond: the Moon, transformed into a grid of logistical platforms where swarms of self-replicating robots assembled modular habitats for colonists; Mars, with its nascent pressurized cities scarlet bubbles glittering under force domes that defied Martian dust storms; and the orbital transit stations, those interconnected hubs linking Earth to near space, where hybrid vessels propelled by quantum engines inspired by the artifacts transported resources, equipment, and humans to new worlds.
One hundred years earlier, on that same fateful day of December 10, 2055, humanity was already navigating an era of impressive technological progress, but advancing at a human pace laborious and often hampered by its own limitations. The early chapters of this history, as recounted in the official archives, depicted a world where autonomous vehicles plied smart roads, delivery drones zigzagged between solar towers, and neural interfaces augmented daily interactions. Breakthroughs in artificial intelligence, renewable energy, and bioengineering had raised global living standards, with lunar colonies in gestation and gene therapies eradicating common diseases. Yet this progress was slow, punctuated by crises: geopolitical tensions over scarce resources, growing inequalities despite distributive economies, and increasing dependence on digital systems that, though advanced, remained vulnerable to human flaws. Nations competed for space supremacy, but without an external catalyst, expansion remained a distant dream, constrained by budgets and ethical debates.
Then came the Arrival that pivotal event which, according to the official narrative propagated a century later, had saved humanity from inevitable decline. A massive spherical object of unknown origin had appeared without warning over the North Atlantic, defying all satellite and quantum surveillance networks. Descending in western Siberia, it caused local destruction villages swept away, lives lost in the shockwave but revealed five artifacts: advanced technological entities, each emitting flows of energy and information that transcended human understanding. Governments, in a mix of panic and opportunism, entered frantic negotiations. The distribution was not an act of global generosity but a strategic calculation: each major power the United States, China, the European Union, India, and Russia claimed an artifact, threatening war if necessary. Ultimately, an accord was forged, allowing each to physically control its artifact on its territory while theoretically sharing benefits through expanded alliances. In reality, however, the powers found subtle ways to maintain dominance: shared security protocols masking backdoors, biased data exchanges, and emerging factions that centralized power around these extraterrestrial relics.
According to the official version taught in augmented schools and recalled during these commemorations, these artifacts had not only accelerated human progress but made it essential to survival. Without them, the propaganda claimed, humanity would have succumbed to its internal crises famines amplified by climate, mutant pandemics, conflicts over energy. With them, it had leaped forward: infinite energy to power megacities, biological advancements to conquer premature death, spatial manipulations to conquer the stars. The artifacts were portrayed as benevolent guardians, integrated into societies to ensure stability. In truth, this narrative exaggerated their salvific role; the pre-Arrival world was advancing, albeit slowly, and the artifacts had mainly served as accelerators, amplifying existing forces for better or worse.
At the heart of this compact crowd stood Elior Kael, a twenty-four-year-old young man with medium-length brown hair and green eyes inherited from his mother. He stood beside his younger brother, Lirian, a seventeen-year-old adolescent with an impulsive temperament, hands thrust into the pockets of his thermal coat that automatically adjusted its temperature to counter the biting cold. Around them, millions of silhouettes families in unified attire, workers in factional uniforms, students with blinking educational implants murmured in low voices, their breaths forming faint clouds in the glacial air.
The commemoration of the Arrival was not an exuberant celebration with fireworks and festivities; it was a solemn ritual, a collective moment to honor the past and reaffirm the present order. Speakers integrated into the drones broadcast a subtle symphony synthetic harmonies inspired by the artifacts' energy signatures, evoking cosmic majesty mingled with imposed humility.
Elior raised his eyes to the suspended holographic projections, immense and enveloping, transforming the square into an immersive virtual dome. The alien vessel was depicted there in its captured glory from a century before: immense, spherical, smooth as a black pearl, descending silently toward Earth. The official narrators AI voices calibrated to inspire trust and unity recounted the story with pedagogical precision: "On December 10, 2035, humanity, already on the path of progress but hindered by its terrestrial limits, received a visitor from the stars. Without aggression, without declaration, it offered us five artifacts catalysts for our accelerated evolution. Thanks to them, we transcended our crises: depleted energy become infinite, diseases eradicated, spaces conquered. The nations, united in distribution, evolved into factional alliances. The artifacts are not mere tools; they are the pillars of our collective survival, integrated to optimize our existence."
The images scrolled by: the tense diplomatic distribution, where each power had secured its artifact on its soil while extending benefits through regional pacts. For the Shapers the dominant faction in the Unified Americas zone, encompassing the former United States, Canada, and various Central and Latin American countries the artifact had been allocated to the United States, nestled in a fortified complex at the heart of the country. This alliance, wealthy and highly organized, exercised centralized decision-making power, optimizing the global economy through artifactual algorithms that predicted trade flows and societal needs, and politics through simulations that avoided internal conflicts. The Shapers excelled in production and automation, transforming raw resources into complex systems: self-replicating orbital factories, modular space habitats, and terrestrial infrastructures that adapted in real time to demographic needs. Their artifact, specialized in matter manipulation, was the beating heart of this machine, controlled from the United States but benefiting the entire alliance via quantum distribution networks.
That was how the distribution had worked: each power retained physical control over its artifact while sharing limited access to maintain a precarious balance, avoiding total war while consolidating their domination.