Rain.
It always came when he failed.
SAM hunched inside the rusted metal skeleton of what used to be a bus stop, his hoodie soaked and clinging to his shoulders like shame. The glow from the neon billboard across the street flickered: "Be More. Be Better. Be Brilliant."
He almost laughed.
He had been all three once.
Once, SAM was a prodigy. A boy who rewrote code like poetry, built machines from scrap, and dreamt of colonizing Mars before most kids learned to drive. He had ideas, endless ideas — but no resources. No funding. No belief. And now, at twenty-one, all that promise lay buried beneath overdue bills, rejection letters, and the weight of a world that didn't care.
He pulled the envelope from his jacket one more time.
> Dear Mr. Samuel Aryan Malik,
We regret to inform you that your proposal…
He crushed it in his fist.
"No one listens until you burn something," he muttered to himself, eyes dark with exhaustion. "So maybe it's time I set something on fire."
Tonight was his last gamble. No more ideas. No more emails. He needed money. He needed proof.
So he agreed to a job — petty theft, low risk. Just sneak into an old industrial tech warehouse, grab a box, and get out. "No security," they said. "Just scrap tech." But it paid well. Suspiciously well.
Lightning forked across the night sky as he rose. His fingers curled tight around the crowbar hidden beneath his jacket. His eyes, sharp and calculating, scanned the alleyway ahead.
This wasn't who he was. But maybe this was who he needed to become.
---
01:33 AM – GRAYTECH INDUSTRIAL DISTRICT
The side door creaked as he forced it open, metal bending just enough. The inside of the warehouse was pitch black, except for a strange green glow that pulsed softly in the back corner. SAM followed it, drawn like a moth.
The package was... not what he expected.
It sat on a pedestal, wrapped in half-melted foam and shattered carbon casing. Whatever had once contained it had broken open from the inside.
It looked like a stone — rough, circular, palm-sized — but its surface shimmered like liquid metal under the glow. Alien. Wrong.
His breath caught.
"What the hell…"
He reached out without thinking. The moment his fingers touched it, everything changed.
The warehouse vanished.
---
IN THE SPAN OF A BREATH
SAM wasn't falling, floating, or flying — he was being disassembled. His body turned into data, code, thought. He could feel himself inside the circuitry of the universe. He was everywhere, and nowhere. And then—
A massive eye opened before him — not human, not alive — but watching.
> "ACCEPTED."
"INITIATING TRANS-TEMPORAL IMPRINT."
"CANDIDATE: GENETIC COMPATIBILITY 96.4%."
"LOCATION: PRE-EMERGENCE EARTH, EST. 10,000 B.C.E."
> "CROWN PROTOCOL – BETA SEED 001 – ACTIVATED."
SAM screamed. The voice wasn't a sound — it was in his bones.
And then he hit ground.
---
PREHISTORIC EARTH – UNKNOWN JUNGLE REGION
Pain seared through his back as he landed hard on damp soil. The air was thick with heat and unfamiliar scents — ash, moss, decay.
Birds shrieked. Leaves trembled.
He lay there, gasping, staring up at trees older than time, impossibly tall and knotted.
SAM rolled onto his side, coughing. The stone — now cool — was still clenched in his hand. Its glow had dimmed, replaced with a faint humming.
> "WHERE AM I?" he gasped.
No answer. No tech. No map. No phone.
He was barefoot. Alone. And the world was completely, terrifyingly wrong.
---
HOURS LATER
He wandered — hungry, dehydrated, panicked — until the jungle thinned and he stumbled upon smoke.
A fire. A primitive camp.
He crouched behind a tree, peering through thick brush. Human figures, draped in animal skins and decorated with bones, danced around a fire. Their language was crude, but unmistakably human.
He whispered, trembling, "Did I just time travel?"
A twig cracked under his foot.
The heads turned.
And then they charged.
---
THE TRIBE
They pinned him to the dirt, jabbering in a language he couldn't understand. One man raised a spear, but stopped mid-swing as the stone in SAM's palm pulsed — a short, sharp flash of blue.
They all backed away.
The elder, with bones braided into his beard, dropped to one knee.
He muttered a word, repeated by the others in awe: "Aarah-Tel."
God-Seed.
SAM didn't speak the language. But he understood enough.
They thought he was divine.
---
NIGHTFALL
They did not kill him.
Instead, they washed his wounds, gave him furs, and led him to their camp — a crude circle of huts made from mammoth bone and bark. A child offered him dried fruit. The elder painted symbols across his chest using ash and blood.
He sat by the fire, staring at the stars.
What was this stone?
Why him?
Where was the interface voice now?
Then, without warning, the stone vibrated in his hand. His vision blurred. And words appeared — like a HUD, burned into the sky.
> CROWN PROTOCOL – GENESIS STAGE UNLOCKED
Power: Cognitive Enhancement – Active
Field: Temporal Stabilization – Weak
Authority: Tribal Recognition – Complete
Mission: Initiate Age Advancement
Survive. Build. Ascend.
More will come. Prepare.
SAM's breath froze in his lungs.
This wasn't just survival. This was something far bigger.
The world had regressed — but he had been sent not to survive it...
He was meant to lead it.
---
LATER THAT NIGHT
The elder approached him again, bowed, and held out a crude crown of twisted vines and silver feathers.
He gestured to the fire, then to the sky, then to SAM.
They believed.
They truly believed.
And as SAM stood before the tribe, the crown placed atop his head — he didn't feel afraid anymore.
He felt powerful.
---
END OF CHAPTER 1