It was the year 2030.
The air was crisp with the artificial freshness piped through the museum's ventilation system, mingling faintly with the scent of old parchment and polished marble. The world outside was a marvel of seamless integrations—augmented vision implants, AI-curated news, delivery drones that whispered through the skies. Yet within these walls, it felt like time had chosen to pause, folding upon itself like the pages of a forgotten manuscript.
I walked silently across the pristine, marbled floor. Each step echoed with a strange reverence. Encased behind layers of bulletproof glass stood relics from another time—crowns dulled with age, handwritten decrees sealed with wax, armor sets that once rode into war but now stood eternally still. Every piece screamed of legacy, of rule, of blood-soaked decisions that shaped the world we lived in today.
The monarchy, in this society, was more than ceremonial nostalgia. It was law, blood-bonded and ironclad. Their edicts still had the power to turn the tides of public policy, to change the way we lived—sometimes subtly, sometimes with jarring consequences. Despite the parliament and elected officials, it was the royal lineage that whispered into the ears of the powerful. A thousand years of aristocracy carefully preserved, never questioned.
Maybe that's why we still cling to cold weapons.
I paused before a display of obsidian armor, the knight within frozen in mid-strike, its blade poised like it would spring forward any second. The craftsmanship was terrifyingly beautiful—black metal etched with old sigils, a sword with a ripple in its edge like a trapped scream. I stared into the hollow helm, the darkness within it oddly hypnotic.
Why, in a world of high-precision rifles and plasma drones, did we still produce weapons that mimicked this? Swords. Spears. Axes.
Logically, it made no sense. Guns were more efficient, more brutal. But cold weapons had persisted through time, reimagined into ceremonial blades, high-frequency vibro-swords, and tech-enhanced halberds. Maybe it was psychological. Maybe it was theatrical. Or maybe… maybe it was the monarchy.
I shifted slightly, watching the knight's sword glint under the overhead light.
"Notice the curvature here," the tour guide's voice cut through my thoughts. "While this sword may look ancient, it inspired the design of the Sable Sabre, a plasma-based melee weapon currently used by the Royal Vanguard."
The group leaned in, eyes wide.
"This," she continued, "is an excellent example of how our ancestors continue to shape us. Tradition and technology co-exist beautifully in our nation. The monarchy ensures we never forget who we are, even as we evolve."
My name is Eli. I'm twenty-one, currently in university studying computer science. I was here on a study exchange program—three months in the Capital's Royal Institute, attending lectures and soaking in a culture that was equal parts fascinating and unnerving. Back home, our governments leaned more on automation, logic, progress. Here, it felt like the past had learned to walk beside the present, hand in hand.
The museum had been one of the "cultural enrichment" stops scheduled for our group. Honestly, I had expected to be bored. But the deeper we went into the exhibits, the more I felt something—off. Like the walls were holding their breath.
As the group moved forward, I lingered near the display. There was a stillness here that felt alive. My eyes traced the plated joints of the knight's arm, the tiny carvings on the hilt of the weapon.
Then the impossible happened.
The knight's fingers twitched.
It was slight. Almost imperceptible. But I saw it. My breath caught in my throat as I froze, every muscle tensing with primal warning.
Did I imagine that?
The glass case showed no signs of trickery—no hologram shimmer, no flickering projection. Just obsidian metal and the dead stare of a helmet's darkness. I leaned closer, squinting—
A second twitch. More pronounced.
I stumbled back, heart thudding.
No one else saw it. The group was already following the guide into the next room, chatting about energy swords and tactical heritage.
I looked back at the knight. Still again. As if mocking me.
I told myself I was tired. Maybe even jet-lagged. That's what made sense. But even as I walked away, I felt eyes boring into my back. Watching. Waiting.
That moment was the beginning.
The fracture line in my reality.Because in a matter of hours, everything would change.And I would find myself alone in a city overrun with things that should never move, never think, never hunt.
In a world where the past was revered—It was about to rise.