I gripped the arms of my chair as the professor began to explain, his voice carrying a weight that immediately pulled my attention toward the front of the lecture hall.
"2072 was a year filled with uncertainty and pain," he said slowly while walking on the podium with hsi tablet in his hand. "It was the year that gave our world wounds that will take centuries to heal, and in many ways we are still suffering from them today."
He began describing the great Himalayan earthquake that struck the world in 2072, an event so violent that even decades later it remained one of the darkest chapters in human history.
"The impact was so catastrophic," he continued, his expression growing heavier with every word, "that a world once populated by nearly twelve billion people was reduced to a little more than half a billion survivors."
The words felt impossible to process.
How could an earthquake kill more than eleven billion people?
Yet something inside me knew he was not exaggerating, because the tragedy of 2072 was one of those events humanity never spoke about lightly. As the lecture continued, I noticed several of my classmates slowly losing interest, their heads lowering onto desks while others stared absent-mindedly at their screens.
Most of them hated history. To them it was nothing more than memorizing dates and facts that had no meaning outside exams, but for me history felt different; it opened strange windows into how the world worked, even if some invisible hesitation always held me back from fully understanding it.
"But the earthquake itself was not the end of the story," the professor continued, raising one finger as if warning us not to jump to conclusions.
"The disaster reshaped the planet in ways scientists had never predicted," he said while pacing slowly across the front of the room.
"The tectonic disturbances forced several landmasses to merge together, eventually forming what we now call the United Continent. The countries retained their identities, of course, but the political map of the world changed forever. Before 2072 there were more than two hundred nations; today there are fewer than a hundred."
The information struck me with a sudden realization, and before I could stop myself I stood from my seat while raising my hand, curiosity clearly visible in my expression.
"Yes, Justin," the professor said while turning toward me.
"Sir… is that the reason we build underground in our country?" I asked, trying to connect the lecture with the world I had grown up in.
A faint smile appeared across his face.
"Yes, Justin," he replied while nodding slowly. "That is a clever observation. The disaster is exactly why our cities rely on anti-seismic architecture and why so many residential systems exist below ground."
He gestured for me to sit, and as I lowered myself back into the chair my mind began racing with images of what the world must have looked like during those terrible days.
A few rows behind me another student raised his hand lazily.
"Sir… how long until we get free?" he asked in a tired voice.
The professor usually remained patient with interruptions, yet something about that question changed his expression immediately.
"Sit down, Julian," he said firmly while his eyes darkened with a quiet grief. "The earthquake was only the beginning."
Hearing those words sent a cold thought through my mind.
If the earthquake wasn't the end… then what came after it?