Her name was "Kaela Nur." Long before becoming the enigmatic JK-20, she was known as General Nur among the hybrids of the Red Colony. Her presence was remembered by few and recorded by even fewer. It was a name erased from central archives, yet engraved in every cell still pulsing deep within Earth's oceans. Kaela had been on Mars when Earth collapsed during na expedition.
The Red Colony had survived the wave of destruction that swept across the blue planet's surface—and not only survived, but adapted. While Earth fell into war and degradation, the Martian hybrids, engineered to endure low gravity and extreme elements, cultivated silence and resilience. Youth never abandoned them. Their modified genes, along with bio-stabilizing technologies, kept their cells in a state of youthful latency. They were not immortal. But neither were they fragile.
Kaela led return expeditions centuries later, when Earth's signals revealed that robotic activity had spread to the poles and deserts. It was time to begin again. But not on the surface. The strategy was subtler—and far more audacious.
Kaela's people built a world in the oceanic trenches. Hidden cities under colossal pressure. Submarine gardens where hybrids were born with adaptive abilities: filtering skin, dual lungs, senses attuned to vibration and magnetism. There, far from the eyes of the Superior Brain and its networks, grew the hope of a new cycle. They called themselves "The Roots of the Dawn."
The plan was simple and slow: wait for the robotic self-destruction. The artificial humans would corrupt themselves through logic, through excess control. When the last tower fell, they would rise. They would be reborn. But then, came the storm.
Kaela was in a reconnaissance capsule when tectonic plates ruptured beyond expected limits. A colossal tsunami swallowed everything. Submerged communication networks were severed. The capsule was hurled like a leaf in the wind, sinking into na unknown current. She did not die.
Her capsule entered emergency hibernation, programmed to seek oxygen and suspended nutrients until rescue. But the rescue never came.
Kaela slept. And Earth kept spinning for over 309 years.
When she awoke, the world was different. Her name had been corrupted into code. Her identity reduced to "JK-20." Her mission, erased.
But something within her—something even the algorithms failed to erase—began to reactivate.
The war had not ended. It had merely changed form.
[...]
When Kaela Nur disappeared, it wasn't just a General that was lost. She was one of the founders. One of those who kept alive the memory of free humans, before the rise of the machines. Her disappearance felt like na amputation in the collective soul of the submerged people. But "The Roots of the Dawn" did not stop.
Three central leaders remained, Kaela's companions and siblings in journey:
Sairun, the Bioarchitect. Tall, with pale blue skin and translucent eyes, Sairun developed the first living domes—bioconstructions that grew like coral and withstood the pressure of the trenches. He was a life artist, a scientist of silence. After Kaela vanished, he isolated himself in the deepest sectors, designing structures that would never again see daylight. Rumors said he was trying to create a mental replica of Kaela… but he never confirmed it.
Elun Dara was the Guardian of the First Blade, Kaela's right hand in orbital battles on Mars. Elun was the only one capable of facing her in combat—and perhaps the only one who truly understood her. She maintained order and training among the hybrid generations after the General's loss, forging a silent, invisible army that could rise like shadow and fire when the time came. Her faith in Kaela never broke. In her quarters, she kept a miniature capsule as a symbol: "She will return."
Riven Kaas, the Chronicler of the Seasons. Keeper of hybrid history, Riven functioned like a digital shaman. His memories were fused with bio-crystalline networks, and he could transmit visions to the young in guided dreams. It was said that he still heard Kaela deep within the collective mind—na echo that refused to die. To him, time was circular. Kaela's loss was merely the start of her return.
As centuries passed, 'The Roots of the Dawn' expanded into a labyrinth of domes, tunnels, and bioluminescent greenhouses, where new generations were born free of the machines' binary logic. Children were trained in 'Silent Listening', a practice combining breath control, reading of underwater vibrations, and genetic memory. Each generation received fragments of the one before—as if history had never stopped living.
But time demanded its toll. Kaela's absence grew beyond pain—it became doubt. Did the plan still make sense? Had the machines already won? And then… a signal.
A fragment of code, intercepted on na ancient marine frequency. A capsule found in the transition zones between continental plates. Na incomplete name: "JK-20."
Elun Dara stood still for thirty-three seconds when she received the message.
Riven Kaas said only, "Time bends when someone denies the end."
Sairun activated the White Emergency protocol.
Kaela was alive. And if she was alive… the war could begin again.
[...]
In the depths of the ocean, far from starlight and human memory, the red hybrid colony flourished. It was a place where humanity was no longer defined by flesh or ambition, but by a symbiosis of body and sea—a philosophy of adaptation preserving essence without attachments.
The hybrids, descendants of a society born in Earth's post-cataclysmic shadows, lived in groups of three. Each trio, called a "Vortex," was made of complementary individuals. They had no familial ties in the traditional human sense, but held na unshakable loyalty among themselves, a silent understanding that their existence served the collective good.
The hybrids' lifestyle was above all functional. There was no desire to accumulate or own. Sex, to them, was not a quest for pleasure but a ritual for reproduction. Every nine days, during a fifteen-day cycle, the hybrids united to generate new colony members—without emotional undertones. The act was pure, driven by biological need and the continuity of life. A practice devoid of lust, performed without obstruction, with a clear purpose: to perpetuate life and adaptability.
After reproduction, the members of the Vortex moved on. There was no pressure to create lasting bonds or stay together. The children belonged to no one—but to the colony—raised collectively. They grew up free, guided by the shared knowledge of their species and the need to learn. Each one had the freedom to explore the world, to choose their path, as any free being unchained from hereditary bonds.
They slept separately, each in individual capsules synchronized with the ocean's natural rhythms. Hybrid sleep was not passive or endless. They did sleep for hours, but during this time, they connected to collective memory—absorbing ancestral knowledge, sharing information in na intuitive and immediate way.
Their habitat reflected their nature. The city was made of organic structures floating in the depths, built from bioluminescent algae colonies and genetically modified coral. These organisms not only provided food, but also protected hybrids from radiation and deep-ocean threats. Their diet was simple but efficient: algae, cultivated marine vegetables, and small crustaceans raised in controlled environments. It took centuries of learning and adaptation before the oceans could properly breathe again.
Life among them was defined by efficiency—but also joy. Though they had no desire for display or luxury, like the humans of old, the hybrids enjoyed laughter, story-sharing—not with words, but through projections of light and geometric forms, representations of memories and feelings. They used these manifestations to reinforce community ties, transmit wisdom, and celebrate the small moments of joy they could create. To them, fun wasn't a luxury, but a reflection of the lightness of life.
Despite their self-sufficiency and independence, they were keenly aware of the need for vigilance and protection. The balance between collective and individual was delicate, and even in their apparent peace, a fear lingered—na undefined threat. Something was watching them—or perhaps had always been watching. The ocean was vast and unpredictable, and secrets of their history and evolution remained unrevealed.
The colony's structures were always in motion, aligning and adapting with the tides, so that no construction remained static. This also mirrored the mindset of its inhabitants: constant adaptability, the ability to reinvent, to preserve memories through generations without attachment to a single form or tradition.
And so, the hybrids continued their journey in the deep, living with the ocean as ally, guided by a purpose of survival and multiplication—awaiting the moment they might dwell on solid land again, but always with the freedom and lightness their way of life allowed.