The year was 2035.
It was an age of restless innovation. Machines shrank to the size of dust motes, cities climbed into the clouds, and humanity proclaimed itself master of every frontier. The future seemed limitless, yet blind faith in progress left little room for visionaries who dared to reach too far.
Among them was a man whose name would soon vanish from every record: Maximilian Pegasus.
Within the glass towers of a world-renowned scientific agency, Pegasus unveiled his proposal — a blueprint that promised to reshape humanity itself. His voice was calm, steady, yet beneath it burned an almost religious conviction.
He spoke of microchips smaller than a grain of sand, designed to fuse seamlessly with human biology. Chips that would not just enhance the body but bind its essence to the raw elements of creation. With such integration, a person could summon fire with a thought, bend water as naturally as drawing breath, or channel forces no civilization had ever commanded. Humanity, he said, would no longer be separate from nature. They would become it.
For a moment, silence claimed the boardroom. His colleagues stared at the projection — diagrams of circuitry spiraling into the shapes of constellations, human silhouettes bathed in elemental energy. It was bold. Beautiful. Unthinkable.
Then the silence broke.
Laughter. Derision. Whispered remarks that cut sharper than blades."Delusional.""Dangerous.""Fantasy dressed as science."
Their verdict was swift: rejection. His life's work was dismissed, his dream reduced to little more than a cautionary tale of ambition gone mad.
Pegasus did not argue. He gathered his notes and designs and walked out.
And then he disappeared.
He severed ties with the agency, vanished from every registry, every network. For the world, he ceased to exist. But in the shadows, Pegasus worked on. He had not abandoned his vision — he had only hidden it.
Years passed before he discovered what he needed: a forgotten complex at the ragged edge of civilization. It was little more than steel skeletons and crumbling foundations, but where others saw ruins, Pegasus saw potential.
Through encrypted contracts and anonymous funding, he set plans into motion. Architects, engineers, and coders were hired under pretenses, each believing they worked for different clients. No one saw the full design. No one ever glimpsed the one who guided them.
Brick by brick, tower by tower, the structure rose. Not a mere school — a monument. Glass and steel arched toward the heavens. Circuits laced its foundations like veins, humming with hidden power. Holographic skylights mimicked constellations; subterranean vaults housed machinery that pulsed like a second heart beneath the earth. Every corridor was intentional. Every stone carried his unseen hand.
Fifteen years passed before the work was complete.
And still, no one knew who had built it.
Then, in 2050, the silence ended.
Without warning, a broadcast swept across the globe. Every screen, every holographic feed, every projection flickered to the same message. Not from a government. Not from a corporation the world recognizes. The name was new, yet spoken everywhere in an instant:
Holotech Technologies.
The words that followed were brief, but they carried the weight of prophecy:
"A new era dawns. The gates of Prestigeon Academy will open. The future is ready to be claimed."
The world reeled. Who had built this academy? What was its purpose? Questions spread like wildfire, but answers never came.
And somewhere, deep within the newly completed Academy, a figure stood in silence.
His hands clasped behind his back. His face was hidden in shadow. The vast Grand Atrium stretched around him, its domed ceiling aglow with a projection of stars. Constellations shimmered into existence, glowing faintly as though waiting for something — or someone—to awaken them.
He saw all that had been built. He foresaw all that was yet to come.The Principal. The unseen master of Prestigeon Academy.
The man who guided everything, yet allowed no one to see the face behind the vision.
And as the world buzzed with the announcement, something deeper stirred.
Beneath the Academy, far below its polished floors, titanic servers rumbled awake. Data surged through hidden conduits like rivers of light, threads weaving themselves into constellations across the dark.
Landmasses took shape. Seas swelled. Skies unfolded. The framework began to dream — not as a simulation, but as something alive.
A name whispered through the circuitry.Astrolia.
It was the crown jewel of his vision: a world both artificial and real, designed to test those who would walk its surface.
The unseen Principal stood beneath the star-mapped dome, watching the first constellations flicker to life. Though no one could see his expression, one might have sworn he smiled.
The age of mankind had ended.The era of Astrolia had just begun.