They didn't rebuild the world to make it glorious.
They did it to test, to pressure, to refine.
And for the first time in nearly a century, the cities stopped shrinking.
The shelters didn't empty out because people starved or froze or died in the dark.
They emptied because, finally, people stepped outside again.
Not into paradise.
Not into safety.
But into a world that was still wild—still cruel—yet somehow… bearable. A place they could stand in without immediately being swallowed.
They didn't stand tall, not yet, but they stood.
The simulation slowed. Its motion softened.
One last image emerged—not of towering structures, glowing domes, or high-tech universities—just a camp.
Two dozen people, maybe fewer.
Coats are patched at the elbows. Steam rising from a dented pot. A few faces gathered around it, lit faintly by the fire and the red-glowing sky beyond.
No guards, no visible weapons, no reinforced shelters.
