Three centuries ago, the world vanished in fire. Flames roared from the depths for three days, unleashing total devastation. The seas boiled. Waves rose like mountains, swallowing entire continents in an instant. This cataclysm was etched into history as the "Avalanche of Fire." Some called it divine judgment for a race that had betrayed the Earth; others saw it as humanity’s ultimate stroke of ill-fortune. Regardless, the survivors were left to carry the weight of "The Guilt."

  ?A day came when the courage of Men failed,? record the chronicles of the first survivors. ?Friendship became a hollow word and brotherhood was betrayed. Men turned into wolves, and every pillar of goodness collapsed. Man stopped fighting for what was Right, and fought only for himself!?

  Others blamed the two "Dark Witnesses"—men who appeared ordinary but unveiled the rot within the human soul. Some called it a forbidden truth; others, a heresy designed to deceive the wise. The Witnesses were executed, but their death brought no peace. The "Dark Lie" shattered humanity, igniting a global civil war. Every man became an enemy of the very institutions he had built. The world was washed in blood. Forbidden weapons were unleashed without restraint, plunging the earth into a decade of toxic frost. Men cursed their fate, yet offered no penance. Thus, as the world crawled out of the dark, it was struck by the Avalanche of Fire—punished, many believe, for heeding a "False Truth."

  ?Three centuries since the fire, yet we do not yield. Humanity still claws for its place in the world,? Silas Durand writes, his pen scratching against the pages of a weathered journal.

  They call him Master Silas. He is the keeper of the High King’s Castle colony, one of the few men left who can still decipher ancient tomes. He wears narrow spectacles and a patchy, grey-flecked beard. At 1.75 meters, his height is a rare sight—a ghost of a taller era.

  A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

  ?The world no longer belongs to us,? he continues, glancing at the shadows of the library. ?A new ecosystem thrives beyond the marshes and silent wastes. A luminous forest, guarded by creatures that defy logic—sentinels for the Gods who have returned to reclaim the Earth.?

  Silas pauses. The library is a tomb of silence. He is utterly alone. He turns back to the page for one final thought:

  ?To speak of Divine Beings is to invite danger. We are repeating the same sins that broke the world. As the forest rises like an emerald wall, reclaiming the ruins of our past, the colony chooses blindness. They want to conquer the woods. They want to slaughter the beasts. To them, the Gods are merely the delusions of madmen... or something worse.?

  ?Humanity has always survived through the prevarication of living beings and its own kind. Even the revolutions that led to the period known as "modernity" were obtained through massacre and the law of the strongest. Even religions—though some were born not to bring violence but to make human beings more gentle—they had nonetheless survived by the sword. Even the Church, without the sword, would not have survived in a world populated by ravenous wolves. But the worst were the institutions of modernity: they, in the name of a distorted knowledge, create a world of Towers of Babel. And since, through human pride, knowledge became the pivot of everything, they forced someone to uncover Pandora's box: the Dark Witnesses... but who were they, in truth? Men like any other who, for reasons I still struggle to understand, revealed something that—after years of study and secrets handed down by the librarians of the High King’s Castle—I have finally managed to comprehend: a truth that humanity will never be able to accept, despite it being the only lifeline for what remains of the human race. But I am old now and alone... who could ever take my place? Indeed, who could ever shoulder that knowledge which, three hundred years ago, brought about the destruction of the world? And yet, if this truth remains silenced, there will be no hope for the man of these desolate wastes. I pray to God that He gives us one last chance.?

  A heavy thud echoes through the hall. Someone is hammering on the library's great doors.

  Silas jolts, rising from his desk. He brushes the dust from his sweater, his heart hammering against his ribs. Who would come here? he wonders. No one seeks the counsel of a librarian anymore.

  As he walks toward the central hall, his shock sharpens into a cold, hungry curiosity.