When the sea finally rose—not literal water, but a tide of burnout and disillusionment—people were too numb to resist. They scrolled through disaster like it was entertainment. They debated collapse like it was an opinion poll.
No one knew how to rebuild a world where no one trusted anyone.
And yet—
Before the drowning completed its work, before the hunger finished consuming every connection, before humans forgot that they had ever belonged to one another, someone did something unbelievably radical:
They told the truth without trying to win. They listened without trying to respond. They helped without needing to be seen.
It started small. Humility in a culture addicted to grandstanding. Loyalty without conditions. Forgiveness without spectacle. Kindness that didn’t demand a receipt.
Across the world, a few others followed—not as a movement, not as a trend, but as a choice.
Because every age ends the moment someone refuses to become what it demands. Just as every age begins with someone daring to become something more.
The wolves still roamed. The storms still swirled. The swords still gleamed.
But now, somewhere in the wreckage, something rare stirred like a spark refused to die.
Not hope.
Not faith.
Truth lived out loud.
And when enough people lived it, the sea would finally recede.