A new era of artificial intelligence had dawned for humanity. Access to knowledge exploded. Human development accelerated beyond all prediction.
With that knowledge came greed.
Each nation raced to advance in this era, knowing that the best AI would guarantee advantage over its competitors. The great powers quickly secured their supply lines. Each year, more advanced machines emerged from factories.
Each year, more lethal machines.
Wars erupted across the world. Minerals. Water. Resources essential to this vital industry. What remained for emerging powers? Nothing. Only crumbs from a banquet that was never theirs.
But not everyone accepted this reality of scarcity and submission.
It was then that Brazil, at the height of its prominent biogenetic industry, created its greatest project. They called it Pandora.
Pandora: the most efficient biological processing machine ever created by humanity.
Using brain tissue and genetic modifications, what began as a supercomputer evolved into something more. Each iteration became more efficient. More intelligent.
Pandora, which started as an enormous processing center, was reduced to genetic code. After years of research, its essence could be replicated in any human being.
In a future where every human would be generated in laboratory tubes, ensuring they reached the apex of human intelligence. No biological limitations. No inherited weaknesses.
The project advanced. But not fast enough.
Intervention from other nations was inevitable.
In 2143, NATO, feeling threatened by Brazilian research, declared war on the new power of the global south. This war would become known as the Artificial War.
NATO won the war. But Brazil took them to hell with it.
Every Brazilian artificial soldier was elite. Equipped and integrated into drone networks, with autonomous command capability and intelligence. They transformed that war into a disaster so great that, in the end, an extremely weakened NATO was invaded by its former enemies: Chinese, Russians, Iranians, North Koreans.
None were spared.
The capitalist elites saw no choice but to activate a plan they called "The Great Reset."
Hidden in their self-sufficient bunkers, they unleashed nuclear war on a global scale.
At the height of nuclear war, Boris watched the monitors in his bunker in Brazil. Satellites in orbit tracked each missile fired, traveling with determination to end the world as they knew it.
One satellite highlighted a particular missile. Its trajectory was clear. It led directly to his bunker.
He looked at the screen. Then at the compartment beside him.
A machine that carried a small child inside.
His supreme creation. The best combat clone of his career. He had committed the vanity of giving it his own name: Boris Mark I.
Selected genes. State-of-the-art immune system. Heightened senses. Amplified cognition. Muscles that rebuilt themselves with super-resistant fibers. Perfect cellular rejuvenation. Pain tolerance beyond human limits.
But there was a problem.
Unfinished. Boris had no time to train the biological intelligence or integrate it with war equipment. As a last resort, he implanted a self-learning system with all accumulated knowledge from Pandora.
The child would have to learn alone.
With limited capacity, but sufficient. Learn the basics of survival. How to return to civilized world. The capsule was supposed to keep it alive until adulthood.
He looked at another panel. His bet on keeping humanity alive for the future.
A world mapped in the Andromeda galaxy. A world that Boris had named New Pandora.
He looked at another screen. A rocket appeared through monitoring cameras.
Not an ordinary rocket.
Adapted with theoretical wormhole technology, capable of shortening distances between galaxies. A chance. A single chance.
He looked again at the missile screen.
Little time remained. Europe, China, much of Russia were already ashes. Minutes. Perhaps less.
His hand trembled over the launch button.
"I won't see if it succeeds. But at least I tried. Let this be enough."
He pressed the button.
Minutes after the rocket took flight, a fireball engulfed the Pandora bunker.
In space, the rocket hovered in the vacuum. Drones in strange formations circled it. Protection machines. Guide machines.
Space distorted around the rocket.
In an instant, it disappeared.
Margareth Steelwolves looked at the moon from the spring castle. Tears streamed down her face.
It had been two days since her son was born dead.
Her golden hair shone in the moonlight. Her jade-green eyes reflected the tears. Even in sadness, there was a beauty that no loss could erase. A beauty that made her more dangerous.
She had two daughters. Living daughters. Daughters who would grow.
But it was the second time she had failed to deliver a male heir to her husband.
Despite loving him, she knew time was running out. If she didn't give him an heir, he would leave her for a concubine. Those who had already done what she could not: give sons to the Lord of the Packs.
Her husband. Her love. Her power.
Everything depended on an heir that wouldn't come.
She breathed deeply. Controlled herself. Margareth Steelwolves did not allow herself to lose control. Not in public. Not in private. Control was everything.
It was then that she saw it. A shooting star cutting across the sky, shining like hope.
In that fragile moment, she made a wish. A son. An heir. A second chance.
The star didn't cease. It continued shining. Brighter and brighter. Closer and closer.
Margareth felt her heart accelerate.
When she realized, it was too late. The star collided outside the castle walls. The impact threw her backward. The ground trembling beneath her feet.
Her knights entered immediately, checking if she was well.
The knights in their light blue and gold uniforms looked like saviors, ready to protect her from any danger. These knights, loyal to her father's house, formed her personal guard.
"My Lady, are you well?" asked Brandon, extending his hand to help her up.
Margareth looked at him. His young face, loyal, concerned. He was useful. He was reliable.
"I'm well. But what matters is that." She pointed to the window. "Something came from the sky. Outside the walls. We need to investigate. Now."
Her voice was measured. Controlled. Imperative.
Brandon didn't question. No one questioned Margareth Steelwolves.
Margareth emerged from her torpor. Something she knew well: the price of rare things. Something that fell from the sky was not common in the Empire of Valtharion.
It was opportunity.
When they arrived at the location, they found a giant metallic cylinder, pointed like an arrow, with four fins around it. The object gleamed in the torchlight. Strange. Impossible. Real.
Looking at the object, Margareth calculated quickly. Too heavy for a carriage. Too heavy to be ignored. Too heavy to leave in others' hands.
She breathed deeply. Her mind was already working. Planning. Calculating.
"Bring the pack horses. Ropes. Take this inside the castle." Her voice was low, but each word was a command. "And call the blacksmith. I want to know exactly what this is."
Hours later, inside the castle where Azurewave banners fluttered, the blacksmith finally managed to open what appeared to be a door on the strange object.
He had worked without stopping. Hours of hard work. Hours of frustration. Hours of growing curiosity.
A crash echoed through the castle courtyard when the door gave way.
The blacksmith breathed heavily. His face was covered in soot. His eyes shone with anticipation.
"Finally..." he murmured, approaching the opening. "Let's see what you're hiding."
When he opened the compartment, his face changed.
Inside a glass cylinder, surrounded by water, was a baby. Alive. Floating like an exhibit. As if the cylinder had been made to display, not to protect.
The blacksmith froze.
His lungs stopped. His heart accelerated. He had seen many things in his life. He had forged weapons. He had seen death. He had seen war.
But he had never seen this.
A child. Inside a machine. Inside water. Alive.
It took minutes for him to process what he saw.
Margareth arrived at the castle courtyard. Her knights formed a perimeter around the strange object. No one else could see. No one else could know.
The blacksmith waited for her, his face still pale.
"Duchess." He pointed to the cylinder. "Inside. There's something inside."
Margareth didn't hesitate. She approached the glass cylinder and looked inside.
A baby floated in the water. Its eyes were closed. Its skin was pale. But its chest rose and fell. It breathed.
Alive.
Margareth felt something break inside her chest. Hope. Desperation. Possibility.
"Remove him." Her voice was low, but firm.
"Duchess, we don't know what this is. If we remove him from the water, he might..."
"Remove him. Now."
The blacksmith didn't question. No one questioned Margareth Steelwolves when she used that tone.
He began working on the cylinder, looking for a way to open it without damaging the baby. Minutes passed. Minutes that felt like hours.
Finally, one of the sides gave way. Water began to leak.
The baby fell into the blacksmith's arms.
He was unconscious. His body was small, fragile, perfect. His hair was dark. His features were delicate. There was something about him that reminded Margareth of herself. Something that made her believe.
"Bring me a blanket. Heated." Margareth extended her arms.
The blacksmith placed the baby in her arms.
Margareth wrapped him in the blanket. The boy was still unconscious, but his body began to warm. Began to move. Began to live.
She looked at him.
Her wish had been answered.
Not by magic. Not by fate. But by reality.
A son. An heir. A second chance.
She sat down. Her eyes swept across each face.
"What do you know about the object that fell?" she asked, her voice measured and controlled.
"Nothing, Duchess." Brandon answered. "Only that the blacksmith opened it and found something inside."
"Exactly." Margareth breathed deeply. "And no one else can know what we found. No one."
She stood and began to walk.
"That object is a threat. To me. To my husband. To Steelwolves." Her voice was low, but each word was a blade. "If anyone finds out what's inside, if anyone finds out it exists, it could destroy everything we've built."
The knights looked at each other, confused.
"The servants who accompanied us to the object. How many were there?"
"Three, Duchess," Brandon answered.
"Three." Margareth stopped walking. Her jade-green eyes fixed on Brandon. "They saw the object. They saw when we removed it. They saw everything."
Brandon understood. His face paled.
"Duchess, you can't..."
"I can." Her voice was ice. "And I will."
She sat again.
"Here's what will happen. You will tell the servants that I'm sending them to the castle of my ally, Countess Elara, in Azurewave. They will leave tomorrow morning." Margareth paused. "On the way, they will be attacked by bandits. All of them will die. A tragic accident."
"Duchess..." Brandon began.
"There is no discussion." Margareth stood. Her voice was measured, controlled, imperative. "These servants know too much. And what they know can destroy my husband. Can destroy my daughters. Can destroy everything."
She walked to Brandon.
"Are you loyal to me, Brandon?"
"Yes, Duchess."
"Then you will ensure this happens. You will choose the men. Men who understand the price of silence. Men who know that betrayal is death."
Brandon didn't respond. But he knew. Everyone knew.
Margareth Steelwolves was not a woman who asked. Margareth Steelwolves was a woman who commanded.
And the world obeyed.
Margareth found the blacksmith in his forge. He was working on a blade, his hammer striking against hot metal.
He stopped when he saw her.
"Blacksmith." Her voice was measured, controlled. "We need to talk."
He set the blade aside and turned to her.
"Duchess. About that object..."
"Yes. About that object." Margareth walked to him. "You saw what was inside."
"Yes. A baby. Duchess, what is that? Where did it come from?"
"That doesn't matter." Margareth breathed deeply. "What matters is that you saw. And what you saw cannot be told to anyone."
The blacksmith looked at her. He had known her since childhood. He knew what she was capable of.
"You want me to keep the secret."
"No." Margareth approached. "I want you to do more than keep the secret. I want you to destroy it."
"Destroy?"
"That object. That machine. You will dismantle it. You will melt every piece of metal. You will bury the truth forever. No one can know that it existed."
The blacksmith breathed deeply.
"Duchess, if I do that, if anyone finds out..."
"No one will find out." Margareth looked him in the eyes. "Because you are loyal to me. Because you understand the price of silence. Because you know that betrayal is death."
She paused.
"But also because you will gain something in return."
The blacksmith looked at her, hopeful.
"That baby we found. He will grow. He will become a man. A leader. A warrior." Margareth breathed deeply. "You will teach him the art of the forge. You will be his mentor. His teacher. His friend."
She walked to a table and placed a bag of gold on it.
"This is to start. There is more where that came from. Much more. You will have power. You will have position. You will have everything you've ever wanted."
The blacksmith looked at the bag. Then at Margareth.
"All you ask is silence?"
"Silence. Loyalty. And that you destroy that machine. Completely."
The blacksmith breathed deeply. He had worked in forges his entire life. He had seen many things. But he had never seen an opportunity like this.
"You have my loyalty, Duchess." He took the bag of gold. "That machine will disappear. And that baby... I will teach him the art of the forge."
Margareth smiled. It wasn't a warm smile. It was a smile that said: you made the right choice.
"Good. Then we have a deal."
The three servants rode along the road that led to the castle of Azurewave. They didn't know this was their last journey.
Brandon accompanied them, along with five knights. They looked like protectors. They looked loyal.
They were executioners.
The road passed through dense forest. Tall trees blocked the sunlight. The path was dark. The path was isolated.
Brandon raised his hand. The knights stopped.
"Here," he said, his voice low.
The servants didn't understand. Not until it was too late.
The knights moved fast. Without hesitation. Without mercy.
One servant tried to run. A knight knocked her from her horse. She fell to the ground, air leaving her lungs.
Another servant screamed. A knight covered her mouth. Her scream died in her throat.
The third servant, the youngest, tried to fight. She was fast. She was strong. But she wasn't strong enough.
A knight knocked her down. She fell against a tree, her head hitting the trunk.
It was over in minutes.
Three servants. Three lives. Three silences.
The knights placed the bodies on the road. They made it look like a bandit attack. Torn clothes. Signs of struggle. Blood.
Brandon looked at the bodies. Without emotion. Without remorse.
He had done what was asked of him. He had kept the secret.
He had obeyed Margareth Steelwolves.
But there was a problem.
One of the servants, the youngest, wasn't completely dead.
She breathed. Weak. Very weak. But she breathed.
Her body was wounded. Her head was bleeding. But she lived.
The knights didn't notice. They were already leaving. They were already returning to the castle.
The servant opened her eyes slowly.
She didn't remember anything. Didn't remember the rocket. Didn't remember the baby. Didn't remember Margareth.
Everything was darkness. Everything was empty.
She tried to move. Pain. Everything hurt.
She tried to remember. Nothing. Only darkness.
She crawled through the forest, leaving a trail of blood behind her.
She didn't know who she was. She didn't know where she came from. She didn't know where she was going.
She only knew she had to survive.
And so, she crawled through the dark forest, alone, wounded, amnesiac.
Waiting. Waiting for someone to find her.
Waiting for someone to save her.
Waiting for someone who would change everything.
Back at the castle, Margareth held the baby in her arms.
He had woken up. His eyes were blue like the sky. His eyes observed everything around him. Observed without fear. Observed without emotion.
He was calm. Abnormally calm for a baby.
Margareth looked at him. She saw in him everything she needed. An heir. A future. A second chance.
She kissed his forehead.
"Welcome, my son," she murmured. "Welcome to Steelwolves."
The baby extended his hands to her. His small fingers touched her face.
Then, he slept.
Margareth held him as he slept. His face was serene. His face was secure. His face was hers.
No one would ever know the truth. No one would ever know where he came from. No one would ever know what she had done.
Only her. Only the blacksmith. Only Brandon and his knights.
And the secret they kept was so deep, so dark, that it could never be revealed.
Or everything would fall apart.