The world was no longer the same.


    The cities rose like giants of metal and stone, each with its own heartbeat and its own secrets. They were fragments of hope and fear, of survival and oppression, connected by roads, forgotten paths, and horizons of fire. Some were imposing, with their constant lights and advanced technology; others, more humble, breathed an air of constant survival. But all shared one truth: the battle never ceased.


    The night fell with a thick mist, and the murmurs of the darkness sounded like distant echoes. The winds, often silent, carried promises of something more, of an unknown future woven between shadows and the whisper of trees. Every movement, every strike, every shadow on the horizon was a warning: the world had changed forever.


    In the darkness of a corner of metal and debris, a sound broke the silence. It was not the hum of an engine or the creaking of old buildings, but something deeper, something older: a presence. Something large, something ancient, moved in the shadows. A cold-skinned predator dragging the weight of a history of destruction and past wars. The ancient mutations, born from a mix of experimentation, radiation, and desperation, had never stopped evolving.


    The warriors of the resistance, who wielded primordial elements of nature, watched the arrival of every shadow with suspicion. Some said their powers were a gift; others said they were a curse, a connection to a force they could not control. They were the only thing holding a semblance of order in the chaos, fighting with swords, fire, air, and water against the forces that sought to subjugate everything. But the price of their power was high: they were connected to the earth, the air, and the fire, but often also to uncertainty and sacrifice.Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.


    On the horizon, a lone figure advanced. A young man who preferred the noise of his scooter to the shadows and murmurs of a city that never slept. He believed he could face the night with a cheap price: a bit of courage and speed. He did not know that, on this very night, the story of his destiny would intertwine with the roar of something much larger than his small life. Something dark, something he could not comprehend.


    The wind began to tremble.


    It was not an earthquake. It was something else. His eyes moved toward the sound: a mosquito of darkness, a blot that seemed to consume everything in its path. It was not merely an animal nor a man: it was a presence, a force that breathed among the rubble, and that knew more history than any man could ever comprehend.


    At that moment, a figure emerged from the shadows, a reflection of struggle and power that was uncommon in the days of peace. It was not a hero, nor a soldier, but it was a warning in the night, a sign of what was coming. It should have been alone, but it was not. History, always intertwined and complex, had other plans.


    Fear was palpable, destiny a sharp edge that felt closer with each passing moment. The battle, inevitable and constant, was about to begin.


    The world turned, and somewhere, deep in the depths of history and chaos, a mind awoke. It was the omen of something many would not understand until it was too late. Every city, every fighter, every shadow, every beast, was part of an ancient cycle, a battle that had been forgotten but had never disappeared.


    Nothing was as it seemed.


    In the air, amid the sound of engines and the echoes of distant cries, a whisper appeared: the cycle continued. And perhaps, just perhaps, the unknown awaited to reclaim what was rightfully its own.


    For now, the story was beginning.