2034.
The final countdown to the year 2035.
That night, nothing appeared to be wrong with the world—at least, that was what humanity believed before the sky changed.
Major cities were filled with light. Streetlamps, New Year decorations, and large digital screens blended into a single scene of celebration. Roads were crowded with vehicles carrying families and friends, along with small hopes they wished to bring into the coming year.
In remote villages, the sound of firecrackers mixed with children's laughter and the quiet conversations of adults.
Across the oceans, ships continued their journeys with navigation lights glowing steadily.
Above the planet, in Earth's orbit, astronauts looked down at the blue world with calm gratitude—a home that appeared fragile, yet remained beautiful from a distance.
The world continued as usual.
Second by second, time moved toward zero.
Ten.
Nine.
Eight.
Across different regions of the world, digital screens displayed the same countdown. Televisions, mobile phones, and electronic clocks all followed the same measure of time humanity had used for centuries.
Three.
Two.
One.
At the moment the countdown reached zero and the first fireworks appeared in the sky, the sky itself changed.
Not lightning.
Not a meteor.
A light appeared without warning, as if the space above the atmosphere had opened. A bluish-white glow emerged from nothingness. It was so bright that cameras could not adjust properly, and lenses were overwhelmed by light they could not process.
However, its brightness was not what disturbed people the most.
It was its calm.
The light did not fall like a natural object from space. It moved slowly and steadily. Then, as if following a clear purpose, it spread outward and surrounded the Earth. From the ground, it appeared as a massive ring encircling the planet in silence.
The sky had changed.
For several seconds, no one screamed.
In an apartment in Seoul, a middle-aged woman slowly lowered her wine glass. Her hands were shaking, though she did not notice at first.
"What is happening?"
Her husband did not respond. He stood near the window, his face pale, his eyes fixed on the glowing sky.
In the streets of Jakarta, a young man laughed nervously while holding up his phone.
"Is this a new effect?"
No one answered him.
In Times Square, music stopped suddenly. The sound of celebration disappeared, replaced by confusion. People looked at one another, unsure of what to say.
"Is this part of the event?"
"Why did the music stop?"
"Why are the cameras not focusing?"
The light did not behave like fireworks. It did not fade. It did not explode. It produced no sound.
It simply remained.
A small child pulled at his mother's coat.
"Mom, what is that?"
She opened her mouth to answer, then closed it again. She could not find the right words.
Minutes passed.
In a small village, an elderly man slowly knelt on the ground. His breathing became uneven, as if his body reacted before his thoughts did.
"What is that?"
His voice was quiet and uncertain.
People around him stopped moving. Others stood still, looking up at the glowing sky.
Then, mobile phones stopped working.
"I lost my signal."
"So did I."
"The internet is gone."
"My television just turned off."
Inside a news station control room, a producer raised his voice.
"Contact the satellites. Now."
Only static answered.
In Earth's orbit, an astronaut spoke into a radio filled with interference.
"Houston, do you see this?"
There was no reply.
In hospitals, infants stopped crying almost at the same time. Nurses looked at each other, unsettled by the sudden silence.
"Why are they all quiet?"
On the streets, people began to whisper. Then the whispers stopped.
Not because anyone told them to be silent.
But because everyone felt the same thing.
An invisible pressure, like something heavy pressing against their chests.
A young man spoke softly, almost to himself.
"It feels like something is watching us."
No one laughed.
The light was beautiful.
Unnaturally beautiful.
Some people cried without understanding why.
Nine minutes passed. They felt much longer than they should have.
Then, without warning and without sound, the light disappeared.
The sky returned to darkness.
Stars became visible again, as if nothing had happened.
No one cheered.
No one applauded.
People remained standing in silence.
Finally, a woman spoke in a low voice.
"This is not over, is it?"
No one answered.
From Jakarta to New York.
From quiet mountains to cities that never slept.
From deserts to space stations in low Earth orbit.
All of humanity witnessed the same event.
Nine minutes that would later be remembered as the moment the world stopped being the world humanity thought it understood.
During those nine minutes, the entire global internet network was cut off without warning. Communication satellites stopped transmitting signals, as if something had deliberately severed the connection between Earth and the sky. Digital clocks on countless devices froze at the same moment—neither moving forward nor backward.
In hospitals, babies who had been crying earlier fell silent with their eyes open. Their gazes were empty, directed toward the sky that had already returned to darkness. Animals crouched low, howled, or tried to hide; their ancient instincts screamed that something far greater than humanity had just passed through the world.
And the strangest thing—
there was no sound.
No explosion.
No rumble.
No hum.
Silence covered the world.
Several minutes after the light disappeared, activity slowly resumed. Fireworks continued to explode, music returned, and digital screens finally turned back on. Yet everything felt delayed—as if the world was trying to continue a celebration that should have already ended.
The beauty of the light could not be denied. Many people cried without knowing why, moved by something beyond language and logic. Yet beneath that beauty, a lingering pressure remained in their chests, a heaviness that did not fully fade.
As if all of humanity had just been observed.
Judged.
Measured.
Without warning and without leaving a trace, the event ended.
The sky returned to complete darkness.
The stars became visible again.
The world breathed once more—but never in the same way.
Some video recordings vanished from networks. Some accounts were suddenly closed. Too many theories appeared, and too few facts could be verified. Governments around the world released short statements that explained very little. Scientists spoke at length, yet every explanation led to the same conclusion:
unknown.
In hospitals, lines grew longer. People came not because of injuries, but because their breathing felt short, their hearts raced, or their heads felt light. Every medical test showed normal results.
"You are healthy," a doctor repeated for the nth time that night.
The patient did not look relieved.
Stores remained open. Shelves stayed stocked. Cashiers continued to count change. Yet people moved more slowly, spoke less, and looked up at the sky every time a door opened.
As morning approached, many realized they had not slept at all.
Not because they were not tired—but because every time they closed their eyes, the same thought returned, simple and suffocating:
If something could touch the entire world at once…
and leave without a trace…
then there was no place that was truly distant anymore.
When the sun rose, it looked the same as it had the day before.
But the world it illuminated was no longer the same.
When the new day officially began—whether for those who had managed to sleep or for those who had remained awake all night—the change finally became visible.
On the left arm of every human being, without a single exception, there was something that had not existed the day before.
Newborn infants.
Elderly patients lying in bed.
Prisoners in narrow cells.
Astronauts still orbiting the Earth.
All of them had it.
A transparent object resembling a wristwatch was attached perfectly to their skin. It was not metal. Not plastic. It did not feel cold or warm. It fused with the skin as if it had always been there.
It could not be removed.
It could not be shifted.
It caused no pain.
Yet its presence was impossible to ignore.
When touched, the object lit up and emitted a soft holographic glow. There were no buttons. No complex menus. Only a single, simple display—identical for every individual across the world.
A countdown.
The numbers moved in unison, decreasing second by second, and most frightening of all—every timer showed the same remaining time.
Panic spread faster than any news humanity had ever known.
Some called it a countdown to the end of the world. Others believed it represented the remaining lifespan of humanity. Social media filled with speculation, conspiracy theories, and fragments of prophecies pulled from countless sources.
Fear turned into chaos.
There were those who, convinced that the world was about to end, chose to live without restraint. Stores were looted. Homes were broken into. Lives were taken—not out of hatred, but out of the belief that law and meaning had already lost their value.
Yet as the world had always worked, chaos never stood alone.
Amid the unrest, there were those who remained steady. Officers who guarded the streets despite their doubts. Citizens who protected their neighbors. People who chose to act with kindness precisely because they believed their time was limited.
That day passed under a tension that never truly eased.
And when night fell, the world experienced something else that had never been recorded in human history.
On the second night after the light appeared, all of humanity dreamed.
Not random dreams.
Not ordinary sleep visions.
But dreams that felt real.
In those dreams, people stood in a dark space without limits. There was no sky and no ground—only silent emptiness. Then a voice was heard.
Neutral.
Cold.
Without emotion.
It did not sound like the voice of any living being.
The voice explained.
The holographic device on their left arms was a key.
A key to entering a New World.
The countdown was not the end of the world, but the remaining time before a door would open. The New World was neither paradise nor punishment. It was a place where the rules of the old world no longer applied.
There, humans could do things that were impossible on Earth.
Power would no longer be determined by birth or status, but by something called—
cultivation.
The higher a person's cultivation, the greater the power they could obtain.
However, the voice also issued a warning.
The New World was not a safe place. It contained dangers beyond human imagination—creatures without mercy, and native inhabitants who had long built their own civilizations under laws and powers that could not be measured by Earth's standards.
Opportunity and peril existed side by side.
When people woke the next morning and realized that their dreams were identical, the world could no longer deny the truth.
Governments around the globe finally confirmed the phenomenon.
And for the first time in history, all of humanity faced the same question:
Would they remain in the old world…
or step into a new world they had never known?