Last Flicker of Hope

The world had collapsed into chaos, a shell of its former self. The scars of war stretched across the landscape, from the charred remains of cities to the desolate wastelands where nature fought a silent battle to reclaim the ruins. The dark ages had returned, not as a metaphor but as a brutal reality. Governments no longer existed, and the order that once bound society had dissolved into anarchy. 

People scavenged among the debris of a bygone era, searching for food, water, and anything to protect themselves from the bitter elements or the gangs that roamed the shattered streets. No one could be trusted; betrayal was as common as the hunger gnawing at every survivor’s belly. 

The knowledge of the old world had been lost, and even those few who clung to the scraps of history could do little to restore what had been erased. Books had burned, data was irretrievable, and with each passing year, the memory of civilization faded into myth. The wheel would have to be reinvented, and centuries would likely pass before anything resembling society could rise from the ashes.

Those who survived lived in small, isolated groups, forming primitive communities where fear and desperation ruled. Some whispered of hidden enclaves where remnants of knowledge were preserved, but no one knew if such places truly existed, or if they were merely the last flicker of hope in a world that had forgotten the light.