SHADOWS OF THE FORGOTTEN

Part 1

Chapter 1: Earth's Forgotten Son

In the year 3124, Earth was a ghost of its former self. Once the cradle of civilization, it had been reduced to a crumbling, rusted shell, a mere shadow of what it used to be. The skies were a perpetual twilight, thick with smog and dust, as if the planet was suffocating under the weight of its own neglect. Skyscrapers that once
reached toward the heavens now lay in ruins, barely holding back the encroaching wilderness. The wind whispered through these desolate streets, carrying echoes of a time when Earth mattered.

Among the few remaining souls on this forsaken planet was a boy named Adle Lommo. Born into this world of decay, his earliest memories were filled with the sight of rusted metal and crumbling concrete. Yet, where others saw only despair, Adle saw something more—a challenge, a chance to rise above the ashes of a forgotten world.

He lived in a small, dilapidated house perched on the edge of a crumbling cliff, overlooking what had once been a grand metropolis. The wind howled through the broken windows, carrying with it the scent of dust and rust. His parents, like most of Earth's remaining inhabitants, were resigned to their fate, speaking little of the past and even less of the future. But Adle was different.

*There has to be more to life than this,* he often thought, as he wandered through the deserted streets, his footsteps echoing off the walls of ruined buildings. The questions churned in his mind—*What happened to Earth? Why did the universe move on? And most importantly, is there something more waiting for me beyond this desolate world?*

One day, during one of his wanderings, Adle's life changed forever. Deep in the heart of the city, buried beneath layers of debris in a forgotten alley, he stumbled upon something extraordinary—an old television set, half-buried in the rubble. The screen was cracked, the casing chipped and worn, but something about it drew him in. With trembling hands, Adle cleared away the debris and coaxed the ancient machine back to life. The screen flickered, buzzed, then finally settled into a grainy image.

What appeared on that screen captivated Adle beyond anything he could have imagined. The television played a series of ancient recordings, showing warriors from a time long past. Their movements were fluid, powerful, driven by a determination that resonated deep within him. They wielded weapons that seemed like relics to Adle—swords, staffs, even their bare hands. They moved with a grace and precision that spoke of years of training and discipline, of lives dedicated to the art of combat.

For days, Adle returned to that television, absorbing every detail of the warriors' movements. He mimicked their stances, their strikes, their blocks, practicing in the empty streets as if his life depended on it. *This is my path,* he realized, as the once-forgotten streets of the city became his training ground.

But fate had more in store for him. As he ventured further from home, driven by a relentless desire to discover more, he found something even more extraordinary. In the outskirts of the city, where the wilderness had begun to reclaim the land, he discovered a hidden cave, its entrance obscured by overgrown vines and rubble. With a mix of fear and excitement, Adle squeezed through the narrow gap and stepped inside. The air was cool and damp, heavy with the scent of earth and decay. As his eyes adjusted to the dim light, he saw them—rows upon rows of ancient guns, their metal frames covered in a fine layer of dust.

Adle's breath caught in his throat as he approached the weapons. *These are relics from a time when Earth still mattered,* he thought, feeling a connection to the past and to the warriors who had wielded these weapons. Without hesitation, he began to gather as many guns and bullets as he could carry, bringing them back to the scrap spaceship he had discovered in another cave, hidden deep within the forest.

It was there, in the shadowy depths of the cave, that Adle's true training began. He spent hours each day honing his skills, the echo of gunfire ringing through the cave as he practiced his aim. His muscles ached from the recoil of the weapons, but he pushed through the pain, driven by a determination that grew stronger with each passing day. *These old ways aren't dead,* he thought, *not as long as I'm here.*