Chronicles of the New World

Name: Chronicles of the New World
Rating: 5.0 (1 reviews)

jtchindebe

Sci-fi | Ongoing

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Year 2489. Earth has become a painful memory, destroyed by centuries of exploitation and war. The human elite, now exiled aboard massive space arks, discovers a new habitable system: Elystra-a planet of vast, fertile lands... strangely deserted. Quickly, the major human factions-the Technocrats, the Ethicists, and the Sovereigntists-begin colonizing Elystra, each with dreams of building a utopian society. But old tensions rise again: past conflicts, power struggles, and ideological extremes resurface. Amidst this chaos, a group of explorers uncovers the ruins of a lost civilization: the Elystrians. More astonishing still: an ancient AI known as ARKAN guards a secret that could upend human history. The fragile balance shatters. In this sweeping saga, three key figures emerge: • Lyra Havel, an orphan turned rebel pilot; • Silas Vorn, an idealistic scientist torn between loyalty and truth; • Nash Drayen, a disgraced military officer with murky motives. Their fates will intertwine through wars, betrayals, and unlikely alliances... until the ultimate revelation: What if the extinction of the Elystrians was caused by humanity itself-returning in a forgotten, ancient cycle? Chronicles of the New World challenges our memory, our responsibility, and the fragile line between progress and destruction.

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Chapter 5 The White Tower

Yesterday 23:33

Chapter 1 Ashes of Earth

The Earth was burning.

Not with flames, but with silence.

No sirens screamed anymore. No voices cried out. Just a long, suffocating stillness clung to the remnants of the once-blue planet.

From the observation deck of Arche One, Lyra Havel watched what remained of her home dissolve into the void. The curve of the Earth-once vibrant, alive-was now cracked and shadowed, a tomb sealed beneath layers of toxic storms and radioactive ash.

Her breath fogged the reinforced glass, and despite the recycled heat in her suit, her hands trembled as they clenched the cold metal ring on her necklace-the last relic of her family.

"Initiating final ignition sequence. T-minus twenty seconds."

The ship's AI voice was cold and precise, slicing through the heavy silence like a blade. A countdown to salvation-or exile.

She didn't want to look away.

Behind her, officers rushed to their stations. Somewhere in the ship, a child whimpered quietly. A mother murmured lies of hope to calm restless hearts. But Lyra stood frozen, a ghost swallowed by a flight jacket two sizes too large.

Fifteen seconds.

Memories flooded her mind-the fires raging through Neo-Africa District 9, the endless food riots, drones darting through streets faster than they delivered supplies. Her parents, miners in the Terrafuel pits, vanished during the Great Purge of 2485. She never found their bodies. Never stopped searching.

Ten seconds.

Now she was nineteen. A fugitive. A stowaway.

And the Earth was dying.

A crackling voice broke through the static in her earpiece. "Lyra..." It was Silas. Again.

She snapped, low and sharp, "I told you not to call me now."

"You shouldn't be on that deck. If the sensors detect you-"

"Let them," she said, voice steady but defiant. "What could they do? Eject me into space?"

A pause. Then, quieter, "Don't joke about that."

"I'm not."

The ship vibrated as the warp engines charged. Lights dimmed. Energy surged through the hull like a living pulse. Arche One, flagship of the exodus fleet, roared to life-a dying beast clawing toward survival.

Three. Two. One.

The stars bent. The Earth vanished.

It wasn't a scream. Not exactly.

It was a gut-deep wrenching, twisting every atom inside her. Lyra stumbled backward as artificial gravity flickered. Around her, time stuttered. Light warped and bent. Her body felt dragged sideways through a black hole.

Then-silence.

And stars. Millions of them. Cold, distant, untouched.

Elystra.

"Navigation report: arrival confirmed. Entering Elystra system. All vessels accounted for," the AI announced, calm as ever.

The viewing window shifted, displaying real-time data: five habitable planets, three moons, one gas giant swirling like a storm of jewels. Everything gleamed with eerie perfection.

But what chilled Lyra wasn't what she saw-it was what she didn't.

No satellites. No signals. No lights. No life.

She squinted, fingers tightening around the cold railing. "This place... it's supposed to be inhabited, right?"

Silas's voice came, softer this time. "That's what they told us."

"They"-the Technocrats. The scientists and engineers controlling the ship's core. The ones who decided what was true.

"And the scans?"

"Clean. No biological traces. But some terrain looks artificial-cities, ruins maybe."

Ruins.

Her heart thudded harder.

She turned away from the window, unwilling to face the empty silence below.

The next day, the Conclave convened.

Inside the sterile depths of the Command Dome, representatives of the three dominant factions argued behind reinforced glass and cold steel. Lyra wasn't supposed to be there-yet she crouched hidden in a vent above, knees cramped, breath held.

They didn't see her. They never saw the shadows.

"We must establish ground presence immediately," growled Marshal Vex, leader of the Souverainistes. "The surface is ours to claim. Let the Technocrats build their labs later."

Dr. Tessa Yun, head of the Éthiques, snapped back, voice sharp as a blade, "Without knowing what wiped out the native species? You risk repeating history!"

"The scans show no threats," Alron Vale, spokesperson for the Technocrats, insisted. "The system is stable. This is our chance to start fresh."

"Or a trap," Tessa muttered, eyes narrowed.

An old man at the table's end rose slowly. Nash Drayen.

Lyra recognized the name from archives-a hero of Earth's final wars, now disgraced and haunted by accusations of abandoning his unit.

"This planet," he said quietly, "wasn't left empty. It was cleared."

Silence fell like a shroud.

"Cleared by whom?" Tessa whispered, voice trembling.

No one answered.

Later, under the pale glow of bay lights, Lyra wandered into Bay 7, where grounded ships rested like sleeping giants. Her fingers trailed the smooth hull of a decommissioned scout vessel. She wasn't supposed to be here either. But rules weren't for her.

"Going somewhere?"

She spun around. Silas stood behind her, arms crossed, streaks of engine grease smudging his sleeves.

"Not yet," she said softly. "Just... imagining."

"You really think something's down there, don't you?"

She met his eyes, steady. "I know there is."

He hesitated, then handed her a small cube glowing with faint blue glyphs.

"What's this?"

"Something I wasn't supposed to take," he admitted, voice low. "Elystréan tech. Found it embedded in a soil sample. When I scanned it-it responded."

"To what?"

"To me."

The next morning, the surface mission began.

Hundreds of ships deployed toward Elystra Prime. Colonists, soldiers, engineers. Cities sprouted in days, sculpted by autonomous drones and AI architects. Domes spread across valleys. Power grids lit like veins beneath the soil.

But still-no life. No resistance. Just echoes.

Until the White Tower was found.

Chapter cliffhanger:

Two scouts vanished near the northern polar ruins. When search teams arrived, they found their ships humming-engines hot. But cockpits were empty. No blood. No struggle. Just one word burned into the ice:

"ARKAN."

Lyra stared at the footage, jaw tight.

Silas went pale.

"What the hell is Arkan?" she asked, voice barely above a whisper.

The screen flickered. Then the lights cut out.

And a voice-not from the ship, not from any human-spoke into the silence:

"You should not have come."

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