-- 3rd Person POV --
The Earth was no longer a planet for all.
In the shadow of forgotten nations and collapsed governments, humanity persisted albeit still divided as ever.
Not by ideals or borders, but by wealth.
Where the poor toiled and suffocated in the wastelands, the rich had ascended to safety.
Great domed cities known as Arks now dotted the planet like crystal sanctuaries.
Inside them, the wealthy lived lives of unimaginable luxury.
Clean air filtered through atmosphere generators, pristine water flowed like wine, and genetically restored fruit and real meat.
Which were rare commodities across the world, was consumed daily as if they were ordinary bread.
Sunlight in the Arks was soft, the temperature always controlled. Buildings rose like an art piece, automated yet aesthetic and sterile.
Artificial skies mimicked the Earth that once was, and for many Ark citizens, the outside world was nothing more than a cautionary tale told in documentaries and childhood lessons.
Outside the Arks, the story was different.
There, the air could kill a man in minutes.
Acid rain fell without warning, eating through clothes and flesh alike.
Every survivor wore a full body environmental suit, thick with layers of insulation and sealed filters.
Umbrellas weren't for sunlight, but survival. Any break in their gear could mean disease, poisoning, or a slow death by exposure.
Water had to be distilled three times before it was drinkable.
Food was artificial, textured, and flavorless.
Electricity was bartered like gold, for it was their only lifeline between life and death.
Their sole purpose of existence being to work themselves to death, maintain the Arks existence at the cost of their life.
The divide between rich and poor had become a canyon uncrossable, final.
But even then there still exist a class above and beyond the rich, and that class is called the Arkas.
An Arka is a person who owns the Ark, with this title wealth and power naturally flows.
Holding power rivalling nations of the past, these Arkas are the one who made everything happen throughout the world.
Yet even among the Arkas with their abundance of power and wealth, one name still struck fear to them.
Kendra Arata.
While the Arkas were famous throughout the nation, his name resounded throughout the world
No one remembered where he came from, for that part of history had blurred with time.
What the world did know was that he had survived every great collapse.
He had witnessed the rise and fall of every superpowers, the birth and death of the first global AI governance, and the decades of chaos that followed.
And through it all, he remained untouched, unaging, unbothered, and undeniably powerful.
To say he was wealthy was an understatement.
In an era where real food was more precious than diamonds and air more valuable than land, Kendra Arata could afford to breathe freely in every Ark in existence.
His face was rarely seen, yet his influence was felt in every transaction, every policy, and every corporate decision that mattered.
He did not run a government, but governments bent to his words.
He did not own the Arks, but no Ark was built without his name buried somewhere in the foundation.
He was a being of record.
A relic of the old Earth, preserved in flesh, mind, and fortune.
They called him many things
The Ancient One
The Eternal Curator
The Warden of a bygone Age
The Last witness of the Forgotten World
Each name whispered a different truth, but all agreed on one thing.
No one dared to oppose him.
He had outlived rivals, outplayed the cunning, and bought the loyalty of those too proud to bend.
Some despised him calling him heartless and cruel, unchanging towards everything this world has to offer.
While others idolized him, for being the only constant left in this broken world.
But perhaps what made him most terrifying wasn't just his wealth, or his age, or even his power.
It was the certainty with which he moved.
There was simply no victory in challenging Kendra Arata.
Where others saw a dying world, he saw a chessboard still waiting for its final move.
Where others clung to scraps of hope, he dealt in absolutes.
Every action he took was measured, deliberate, and, more often than not, unavoidable.
He was not just surviving, he was waiting.
Waiting for the world to finally catch up to his vision.
Waiting for the next stage.
Waiting for something more.
And now, after decades of silence, it seemed that the great relic had finally begun to move once more.
The world watched.
The Arks whispered.
And beyond the domes, beneath the toxic clouds, the people wondered.
What does Kendra Arata want this time?
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Forget what Kendra wants, what I want is for you to give me votes, comments and power stones!!