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Chapter 1: Awakening: 17:34, June 16, 2045
Fragment of lost information: transcript of a speech by Kevin Tsang, CEO of Chrono-Synaptic Corporation, at the World Economic Forum, February 4, 2045.
"...We don't use technology anymore. We are technology. Our memories, our connections, our history are no longer ephemeral pulses in gray matter. They are a crystal clear, verified, eternal stream of data. We have digitized the soul of humanity, placed it in an indestructible cloud, and thereby defeated oblivion. We have become the gods of our own history. Nothing. Never. Will not. Lost..."
Elias Vance loved this hour. 17:34. The golden ratio of the day, when the world was still humming in its work rhythm but already anticipating the evening peace. The sun, slowly slipping toward the horizon outside the window of his apartment on the 73rd floor of London's Charade, cast a molten amber over the room. It played on the facets of his water glass, on the holographic dust particles dancing in the air, and on the smooth, almost invisible surface of his augmented reality lenses.
The water in the glass was real, from an alpine glacier, with a slight tang of ozone-a small luxury in a world where almost everything was synthesized. Elias appreciated such things. They were anchors, keeping him in physical reality, keeping him from finally dissolving into the streams of information he curated.
The world for Elias has always been multi-layered. The top layer was real: old, favorite paper books on the shelves, smelling of dust and eternity; the warm wood of his desk under his fingers; the weight of real glass in his hand. The lower, always active layer is digital: translucent windows of news feeds, stock quotes, a chat room with his daughter Lena constantly hanging in the corner of his eye, and, of course, his main project - Mnemosyne, a worldwide archive of verified historical data. He was not just a historian. He was the Archivist of humanity. His job was to ensure that the past had no white spots.
- Dad, can you hear me? - Lena's voice, clear and a little distorted by digital compression, sounded right in his head thanks to the neural interface. Her face flickered in the air in front of him - smiling, framed by dark hair. Beside her, five-year-old Leo, his grandson, was bouncing around.
- Loud and clear, sweetheart," Elias smiled. - Leo, show Grandpa your new cyberdragon.
The boy enthusiastically held the toy up to the camera. The dragon flapped its holographic wings, and Elias's room was filled with myriads of virtual sparks.
- He breathes fire! And sings songs from the Legends of Orion! - shouted Leo.
- Impressive. Almost as impressive as Homer..." Elias started to say, but stopped short.
Something happened.
It wasn't like a sound or a flash of light. It was a sensation. A sudden, chilling draught in the deepest part of his mind. It was as if someone had tugged at the invisible thread that bound him to the world, and it had snapped with a soundless snap. For a moment it seemed to him that he was falling into an endless void. Gone was the background noise-not the street noise, but the internal noise to which everyone was accustomed-the subtle hum of the Net, the whisper of trillions of thoughts, data, lives. The world inside his head became sterilely quiet.
It wasn't like a glitch. Not like a broken connection. The image of Lena and Leo didn't shatter into pixels. It just... froze. Frozen in a perfect freeze frame: their daughter's smile, their grandson's delight, the rainbow sparks of the dragon.
17:34.
Elias blinked. The image didn't disappear. It hung in the air like a fly caught in amber.
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Title Echoes of Oblivion
Chapter 1: Awakening: 17:34, June 16, 2045
Fragment of lost information: transcript of a speech by Kevin Tsang, CEO of Chrono-Synaptic Corporation, at the World Economic Forum, February 4, 2045.
"...We don't use technology anymore. We are technology. Our memories, our connections, our history are no longer ephemeral pulses in gray matter. They are a crystal clear, verified, eternal stream of data. We have digitized the soul of humanity, placed it in an indestructible cloud, and thereby defeated oblivion. We have become the gods of our own history. Nothing. Never. Will not. Lost..."
Elias Vance loved this hour. 17:34. The golden ratio of the day, when the world was still humming in its work rhythm but already anticipating the evening peace. The sun, slowly slipping toward the horizon outside the window of his apartment on the 73rd floor of London's Charade, cast a molten amber over the room. It played on the facets of his water glass, on the holographic dust particles dancing in the air, and on the smooth, almost invisible surface of his augmented reality lenses.
The water in the glass was real, from an alpine glacier, with a slight tang of ozone-a small luxury in a world where almost everything was synthesized. Elias appreciated such things. They were anchors, keeping him in physical reality, keeping him from finally dissolving into the streams of information he curated.
The world for Elias has always been multi-layered. The top layer was real: old, favorite paper books on the shelves, smelling of dust and eternity; the warm wood of his desk under his fingers; the weight of real glass in his hand. The lower, always active layer is digital: translucent windows of news feeds, stock quotes, a chat room with his daughter Lena constantly hanging in the corner of his eye, and, of course, his main project - Mnemosyne, a worldwide archive of verified historical data. He was not just a historian. He was the Archivist of humanity. His job was to ensure that the past had no white spots.
- Dad, can you hear me? - Lena's voice, clear and a little distorted by digital compression, sounded right in his head thanks to the neural interface. Her face flickered in the air in front of him - smiling, framed by dark hair. Beside her, five-year-old Leo, his grandson, was bouncing around.
- Loud and clear, sweetheart," Elias smiled. - Leo, show Grandpa your new cyberdragon.
The boy enthusiastically held the toy up to the camera. The dragon flapped its holographic wings, and Elias's room was filled with myriads of virtual sparks.
- He breathes fire! And sings songs from the Legends of Orion! - shouted Leo.
- Impressive. Almost as impressive as Homer..." Elias started to say, but stopped short.
Something happened.
It wasn't like a sound or a flash of light. It was a sensation. A sudden, chilling draught in the deepest part of his mind. It was as if someone had tugged at the invisible thread that bound him to the world, and it had snapped with a soundless snap. For a moment it seemed to him that he was falling into an endless void. Gone was the background noise-not the street noise, but the internal noise to which everyone was accustomed-the subtle hum of the Net, the whisper of trillions of thoughts, data, lives. The world inside his head became sterilely quiet.
It wasn't like a glitch. Not like a broken connection. The image of Lena and Leo didn't shatter into pixels. It just... froze. Frozen in a perfect freeze frame: their daughter's smile, their grandson's delight, the rainbow sparks of the dragon.
17:34.
Elias blinked. The image didn't disappear. It hung in the air like a fly caught in amber.
Work type Narrative, Essay
Tags emotional speculative fiction., digital dystopia, ai thriller, philosophical sci-fi
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Identifier 2506192180103
Entry date Jun 19, 2025, 5:26 PM UTC
License All rights reserved
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Author. Holder Zohar Palfi. Date Jun 19, 2025.
Information available at https://www.safecreative.org/work/2506192180103-echoes-of-oblivion
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