The collapse began the moment the moon slipped from its old path. First month, the tides went strange. Second month, the oceans rose ten meters and swallowed coastlines before anyone could escape. Cities fell quiet as power grids failed and the last stable networks died. When the satellites drifted off in month three, the world went blind.
Months four and five tore the planet open. Water surged past one hundred meters. Earthquakes rolled without pause. Volcanic ash turned the sky heavy and dim. Nobody talked about saving anything anymore. It became a fight to stay alive.
By month six and seven, half the world was underwater, the other half cracked into pieces. The sun turned red behind thick dust and eclipses came so often people stopped noticing.
Then the cold arrived. The real cold. Month eight onward froze whatever disaster hadn’t already destroyed it. Acid rain, endless storms, ecosystems collapsing in days. When the moon finally broke apart in what survivors now call the Shattering, the last living communities had already sealed themselves in shelters.
Now it’s 2035. Ten years later, we walked out into a world that never recovered. No nations. No systems. Just ice, ruins and scattered groups trying to rebuild something worth living in. The old world ended fast. What comes next is up to those still standing.
