As they sat around the flickering monitor, the sound of static and distorted images played softly, as if trying to bring something to life from the past. The small makeshift cabin had been silent since the storm, and the light from the monitor illuminated their faces, casting long shadows on the walls.
The feed cut in with a familiar voice—a voice that once commanded global attention—one that sounded strangely hollow now.
"Tonight on 60 Minutes," the announcer’s voice echoed, followed by an image of a towering cityscape, gleaming with steel and glass, the epitome of modern architecture. "We take you through some of the most celebrated projects of the late 21st century—monuments to human ingenuity, sprawling, futuristic metropolises that promised to change the world."
The screen showed sweeping aerial shots of gleaming skyscrapers, expansive complexes that stretched endlessly, all designed by the most celebrated architects of the time. These were the projects that had defined the era before everything had fallen apart. The cities were magnificent, yet the lush greenery of nature had been replaced by cold, sterile metal and glass. These modern wonders had been marketed as the future, their architects hailed as visionaries. They had promised sustainability and progress.
But as the footage continued, the tone of the show shifted, and the voice-over grew more somber.
"What was never revealed, however, was the cost of this grandeur. While these projects were meant to be symbols of human achievement, the toll on the Earth, on the environment, was catastrophic."
The camera panned over now-ruined cityscapes. What had once been towering, immaculate buildings now appeared warped, as if the Earth itself had rejected them. The glass and metal structures were distorted, their sharp edges melted and twisted into strange, jagged shapes. The environmental damage was clear—the land had been scarred, the air polluted, and the water was no longer safe to drink.
"Despite warnings from environmentalists, the architects pressed on," the voice continued, "unaware of or perhaps indifferent to the irreversible toll their projects took on the Earth. It wasn't until the great solar storm of 2027, followed by the mysterious magnetic disruptions, that their creations began to unravel."
The screen flickered again, showing the wreckage of entire districts—once-proud projects that had been left to rot. Ivy Mae’s expression hardened, her eyes narrowed in disbelief, as the voice continued.
"What followed was chaos. A combination of natural forces—solar storms and unexplained magnetic anomalies—left these cities warped and uninhabitable. Buildings that had once stood tall and proud now leaned and twisted in unnatural ways. The once-thriving spaces, now silent, are a chilling reminder of human arrogance."
The screen cut to black for a moment before returning to the image of a cracked and melted skyscraper. The final words of the report left a grim aftertaste.
"These cities, once considered miracles of modern engineering, are now a testament to what happens when progress is pursued without regard for the Earth beneath our feet. A cautionary tale for future generations—if they are to survive, they must learn from the mistakes of the past."
The monitor flickered off with a soft click, leaving the room in silence.
Jas, Roman, and Ivy Mae sat in stunned silence, each of them processing the enormity of what they'd just witnessed. The implications were clear: these towering symbols of progress were built on a foundation of disregard for nature, and now the Earth had reclaimed them in the most unimaginable way.
Roman’s voice broke the silence, shaky but resolute. “We need to figure out what happened—what really happened.”
Jas’s hand rested on the feather, their thoughts racing. The Earth doesn’t forget, they thought. It might bend, but it always finds its way back.
The room felt colder somehow, the weight of their reality settling in around them. They couldn’t ignore what they had just seen, and they couldn’t ignore the warning.
The past was gone, and the world they were building would have to be different—gentler, wiser, and in tune with the land that was still, somehow, their home.