Echoes of Earth

Year: 2101 — Mars Colony, City of Gravehold

The red sun of Mars bled through the horizon like a dying ember, staining the metallic city of Gravehold in shades of gold and rust. Beneath its vast energy dome, the city pulsed with artificial life — floating trams glided through corridors of glass, and drones weaved between towers that reached for a sky no human could breathe.

In the distance, far above the clouds of iron dust, hovered the Kingdom of Dreadspire — a colossal citadel suspended by magnetic fields, its black spires glimmering with lightning veins. From there, the Elites ruled over every breath taken on Mars. They owned the oxygen, the water, and the hope of every soul that walked below.

Among those souls was Assakzai, a lone wanderer of Gravehold. He moved through the city’s narrow alleys, his footsteps echoing against steel walls engraved with digital codes — remnants of a humanity that once lived freely on Earth. His reflection in the neon puddles looked tired, like a man carrying the weight of a forgotten planet.

The streets hummed with the low throb of generators. Holographic ads shimmered in the air:

> “Serve Dreadspire. Secure your Tomorrow.”



Tomorrow. The word had lost its meaning long ago.

Assakzai paused at the edge of the dome. Beyond it stretched the Crimson Wastes — a vast Martian desert that shimmered under the cold, thin sunlight. The dunes moved like liquid fire, glowing faintly beneath the planet’s second moon. Gigantic oxygen harvesters stood in silence, their towers blinking like lonely beacons.

He rested his hand on the transparent wall that separated him from the endless dust. His breath fogged the glass — the only real mist he had seen in years.

And for a moment… he remembered.

He remembered Earth — not as the corrupted ruin it became, but as the living miracle it once was. Blue skies. Green forests. Rivers that sang, and rain that smelled of home. He remembered people — honest, kind, warm. There was love, respect, and care; life was hard, but hearts were soft.

Then came the greed.

Mankind built machines to outthink their own conscience. Nations fought for power, not survival. The skies turned black with smoke and ash, and oceans boiled under human arrogance. They called it “progress.” But in truth, it was extinction wearing a crown.

Now Mars was their punishment — and their prison.

The Kingdom of Dreadspire rose from that arrogance: a citadel of the rich and ruthless, who lived in sunlight while the rest toiled in shadow. Down in Gravehold, the people had traded their freedom for survival.

A small voice interrupted his thoughts.
“Do you ever wish to go back?”

Assakzai turned. A young woman stood there, cloaked in silver work-gear, her face marked with soot and determination. Her eyes — pale and curious — carried the same longing he felt in his bones.

“To Earth?” he asked.

She nodded. “My mother used to say it was beautiful. That people loved without fear.”

Assakzai smiled faintly. “They did. Once. Before they forgot what it meant to be human.”

The girl stepped closer to the glass, staring out at the desert. “Do you think we’ll ever be like them again?”

He looked past her — toward the floating black fortress of Dreadspire glowing in the sky.
“Maybe,” he said softly, “when we stop worshiping power… and start remembering peace.”

Above them, the fortress lights flickered. A storm brewed over the desert — red lightning twisting like veins across the sky. But in that storm, Assakzai saw something else — a spark, a chance, perhaps even destiny.

For every empire built on fear, there always rises one soul who remembers love.

And as Gravehold’s night fell, Assakzai whispered to the wind —

> “The Earth may be dead… but her spirit still walks among us.”