What is time? It surrounds us, it defines us, yet we rarely stop to think about its meaning. We waste it, take it for granted, even though it is the most precious thing we have. Right now, time is nothing but a long river that stretches to the horizon, a river that contains everything.
Colossal trees, with violet leaves that brush the skies, coexist with tornadoes that sweep away everything in their path. This place is known as the River of Time, the center of the universe's progress. No human has ever been able to witness its true beauty… and yet, here I am, with my consciousness barely intact, floating in a small boat.
Even in my long life, I have never seen anything so magnificent. Under my feet, the crystal-clear waters reflect like a mirror the echoes of past lives. They unfold before me as if I were a mere spectator of history, but the most unsettling thing is to see my own life reflected there. Every step I took, from childhood to the moment of my greatest crisis: the day I was betrayed. My boat drifts on, as if doomed to wander through this chaos forever.
Suddenly, a gigantic tornado appears in front of me, growing to monstrous size until it devours the horizon. Its magnitude eclipses me, and just when I think there is no escape, an orange light manifests out of nowhere, destroying the tornado as if it had never existed. In that light, I distinguish a playful yet mysterious smile.
All of a sudden, something shakes me. My destiny materializes before me, a black ink dot that stains the river's perfect course. I see myself. Our gazes meet, and for a brief instant, it feels as if that being could see me. Before I finish processing it, everything vanishes in a blinding flash.
My eyes open to reality. The river, the chaos, the tornado… all of it has vanished as if it were just a dream. The first thing I see is a perfectly clear blue sky, the sun looming over the imperial city.
"When was the last time I saw the sun?" I mutter. After so long trapped in that darkness, the light is almost painful.
A sharp pain pierces through my head, as if a thousand needles were piercing my mind. Instinctively, I bring my hands to my temples. The memories I had lost begin to return, one by one. Avaron… yes, that was my name. Now I remember everything.
I was twenty years old. I had been trained from childhood by the Empire to become a soldier. By eighteen, I was already commanding my own squad and had been decorated as a knight by the Emperor himself. Who would have thought that a revolt would break out against the Empire and that I would be called to war?
It has been several years since that day.
And now, within one more day, everything will come crumbling down again. The world as we know it—we will call it the Great Calamity.
My scattered thoughts organize themselves. I reach into my pocket and take out my phone. I glance at the time: time is running out, and the big day is approaching. I still have some margin, but I cannot waste it.
I step out of my thoughts and survey my surroundings. I'm in my home, a medium‑sized space decorated in a modern style. White curtains cascade down the windows, while the wooden floor lets out a soft creak under my feet. In front of me, a mirror reflects my image.
My body… has not changed since that day. Time came to a halt when the Great Calamity arrived. My mind, however, did not.
I see a muscular, noble‑looking man, still barely a boy of twenty, with a soul heavy after so many centuries. My blue eyes, deep and cold, shine with an unsettling aura. My chestnut hair accentuates the contrast of my sharp, serious, dangerous features.
It's good to be back.
A haughty, almost lunatic smile forms on my lips as I gather my things and leave the house.
As I move through the brightly lit streets of the imperial city, the landscape spreads out before me. Skyscrapers rise to the sky, their shadows stretching for kilometers. Their glass structures reflect the glow of neon signs and the headlights of cars that never seem to stop. They seem to touch the clouds, projecting an image of power and grandeur.
Yet, small scars have begun to appear. Broken windows in the farthest towers, walls splattered with graffiti, symbols of a latent resistance that still lingers in the shadows. The insurgents left their mark: not enough to destroy the Empire's grandeur, but enough to show that even solid power can tremble.
Security drones constantly patrol the skies, small metallic orbs with cameras that scan every corner, searching for any sign of uprising. The technology, advanced, still retains a certain familiarity with the past. Giant screens decorate the streets, broadcasting imperial propaganda and images of manufactured calm.
I watch in silence, recognizing each detail with indifference. The light destruction is obvious to my trained eyes, but so is the firmness with which the Empire maintains its control. The population carries on, living their lives under constant surveillance, ignoring the cracks that slowly spread through the foundations of their society.
I reach a hidden warehouse in a shadowy district. This place is the center of the black market, the place where you can get anything, from forbidden artifacts to state‑of‑the‑art weaponry. I step up to the door and knock firmly.
Knock, knock.
A resonant pounding on the metal, and a small slit slides open in the door.
—Password? —booms a rough voice, belonging to a man with a deep scar running through one eye.
—Souls move to the rhythm of music —I reply calmly.
The slit shuts again quickly, and I hear the mechanisms moving behind the door. In an instant, it swings open.
—You know the rules. Behave yourself —says the man, sending me a cold, almost challenging glare.
A mocking smile spreads across my face. Rules? Pathetic. With a look of disdain, I ignore his warning and continue toward the elevator. The doors close, and as I descend, I feel the dense, dark energy of the place wrapping around me.
I arrive at the deepest level of the warehouse, a bustling marketplace filled with hooded and masked figures. When I walk in, every gaze fixes on me. I'm the only one not hiding my face, and that's what draws attention.
I smirk in contempt and step toward a small building in front of me, its name "Valkor Industries" engraved in golden letters.
Valkor… who would have thought this company would rise as a titan in the arms industry after the great catastrophe? The world went mad, yet war always makes for good business.
With all the money I've accumulated, a couple of million, I can still afford to buy certain things. After all, in one day, money won't be worth anything.
I approach the store, impeccably dressed. A red suit, as intense as blood, adorns my figure. When I arrive, two guards with lethal gazes and assault rifles eye me. After a moment, they let me pass without a word.
Inside, everything glitters with an opulence that almost strikes me as ridiculous. Clean lines, excess luxury, objects that aren't necessary but insist on showing power. A man in his sixties comes toward me, his glasses hiding part of his face. His white hair and immaculate black suit suggest high status.
—Welcome to Valkor Industries. What can I do for you, esteemed sir? —his voice, deep and polished, sounds like that of a seasoned butler.
I watch him with a faint, cold, and calculating smile. My gaze pierces his, making him tremble visibly. Sweat begins to bead on his forehead, his posture loosens, and a deep unease envelops him. The feeling of control over another's will fills me with quiet satisfaction.
—Your name? —he asks.
—Avaron —I reply.
His gaze hardens, and for a moment his expression shifts: distrust mixes with instinctive respect, as if the name reminded him of something he doesn't want to forget or mention. The tension in his jaw tightens, and his posture becomes less open, more closed off, as if he suddenly realized he's standing in front of someone he can't treat like an ordinary client.
—And what exactly do you seek, sir Avaron? —he inquires, with a caution that wasn't there before.
—Power —I say. —I want to meet your boss.
—Master Valkor is a bit… occupied —says the butler.
A faint smile of disdain curves my lips, barely perceptible, yet enough to make the man in front of me feel even smaller.
—I didn't come here to look at a simple display of weapons —I reply, not raising my voice, letting the weight of my words settle—. My time is too valuable to waste on you. If you don't want to listen to what I have to say, I don't mind going somewhere else. I'm sure someone there will value my information.
He swallows, unable to hold my gaze for another second. Finally, he signals toward a door at the back of the hall.
—This way, sir Avaron.
I follow, my steps steady and deliberate, as his fear becomes almost palpable in the air.
The hum of the bazaar fades, replaced by the echo of our footsteps on an immaculately polished floor. The door opens, revealing a large, elegantly decorated room where the owner waits.
Valkor, a middle‑aged man with neatly combed gray hair, rises from his seat with a smile that tries to project power, though to me it's just a façade.
—Welcome to Valkor Industries —says the businessman, his voice deep yet affable—. I was informed that someone of your caliber was interested in doing business. I'm intrigued. What can I offer you?
—It's not what you can offer me —I reply, with a calm that makes the air heavier—. It's how far you're willing to go once I give you the information I have.
Valkor raises an eyebrow, but he doesn't interrupt. He studies me, weighing my presence, my reputation, my composed demeanor.
—In a few days —I continue—, everything you consider stable will become… volatile. The Empire, the insurgents, the balance of power. It's not that it will collapse; it will transform. And whoever moves first will gain a decisive advantage.
—How do you know all this? —he asks, with a certain wariness.
—I'm not a fortuneteller —I answer, with a faint smile—. Just a man who has seen too much chaos. And I know the moment to act is now, not after the world breaks.
Valkor adjusts himself in his seat, weighing my words.
—If you only came here to give advice, many people do that —he says cautiously.
—I'm not here just to advise —I say. —I'm here to invest. My name still opens some doors, and my experience lends credibility to decisions. I can offer a glimpse of what might happen in a few days, without going into details that would scare someone with less stomach than you.
—And what would you get in return? —he inquires.
—Access —I answer. —A stake in Valkor Industries. I don't need to be the owner, just someone who sits at the table when the world changes. I'll give you military experience, contacts, someone who understands both the battlefield and the political board.
Valkor falls silent, thinking. The silence grows heavier, denser.
—That sounds dangerous —he murmurs.
—Everything worth doing is —I say. —The entire world is about to enter a new era. And in this case, you're going to need me more than you imagine.
A long, hard‑to‑read look crosses his face. It isn't blind enthusiasm, but the caution of a man who knows he's about to jump into something he doesn't fully understand.
—Then welcome to Valkor Industries, Avaron —he finally says, extending a hand toward me—. But remember: in this world, everyone is out to win.
—I know —I reply, shaking his hand firmly—. And maybe, when everything changes, you'll realize it wasn't you who won… but me.