The Younger Dryas: 12,000 years ago

Chronicles of Xanctu

May 27, 2025

Ripped apart by cosmic forces, the comet was doomed long before it entered the planet’s gravitational field. The fragmented swarm, traveling at over 40 kilometers per second, slammed into the upper atmosphere, the smaller fragments igniting into fireballs streaking across the skies. Moments later, larger cores detonate over the Northern Hemisphere with the force of multiple nuclear blasts, the last of which impacts the polar cap, vaporizing cubic kilometers of ice. Shockwaves from the cosmic event trigger utter devastation as megatons of water, ash, dust and debris are injected into the stratosphere. Firestorms rage below. Tsunamis tear across ancient shorelines. The ground trembles. Darkness falls. The Long Cold begins.

Sunset burned blood-red through the haze-darkened sky. The moon hung low, a shadow of its previous glory. Looming stark and solitary on its pedestal, it faced them as they crested the rise—a giant slab of rock thrusting out of the summit of the hillock before them. It had once witnessed ancient creatures roaming in the fertile plain below, now it witnessed only scrub. For all of memory, it had been a sacred place. Long before the sun fell to Earth and thunder rolled across the sky — the ground had moved beneath their feet and the stars stopped shining at night. They stood humbly under it’s scrutiny, then made camp for the night.

Ko’an, oldest of the tribe, made himself comfortable, leaning back against an old friend— the single gnarled tree. His son, !Nari, helped the others collect wood for the fire. The sky was dark and clouded, but Ko’an believed the stars still waited behind the veil. Sometimes, he thought he could catch a glimpse of them. "X’na," he thought, knowing his son cared more for food than the stars. But with time, that would change.

Fed and rested, he regarded the shadow-form of the rock. The ambient firelight illuminated his broad face — skin wrinkled like parchment gold, hair tufted grey from a lifetime exposure to the elements. Though sore in body, he had survived the journey. If he survived the night, he would continue tell of how it had once been.

Scratching his scarred, flattened nose, he looked over at !Nari, confused by how strange it felt to be so old yet feel so young. It didn’t matter that he could not remember aging, he had grown old nevertheless. After the suns had fallen, many plants had withered and died. Some would never flower again. And if even if they did, there was no one left alive who remembered how to prepare them.

He would be the Last to dream-fly. Just as his father had predicted, the Old World had ended and a New World had begun. He had died before the world had ended and thankfully had not seen the nightmare come alive. Ko’an wasn’t sure if this was a blessing or a curse.

Sensing his unease, one of the tribe threw a bundle of leaves onto the fire. After a short time, narcotic smoke filled the air.

It was time.

He felt in his hide bag for the eggshell container his father had left for him. He treasured it beyond all other possessions — for there was no more of it in this world.

Ko’an had seen the power of the flying powder only once before. He had been a young man then, as !Nari was now. He had feared for his father’s life.

Now he feared for his own.

Would he be equal to its test? He did not know — and there was no one left alive who remembered. He was alone. And it was time.

Unsealing the protective layers of the container, he placed it in his mouth and swallowed the bitter egg, using more water than he usually allowed himself. Carefully licking the last of the dust from his palm, he stood stiffly to his feet and ambled over to the group gathered around the fire.

Lowering himself onto a proffered antelope skin, he reached into the musky pouch bound to his shoulder and drew out T’Qua’s ancient divining disks — cut from eland hide, stained with age.

They clicked appreciatively as he moved them between his hands, the younger ones silent in their ignorance. Holding the disks, he focused on what was before him. He was the Last, and he must dreamwalk with Kagn.

It was his final coherent thought before the wind of understanding blew through him — and the darkness of the night shattered into a rushing white light,

He was a seed scattered through time, and he was not alone!

The revelation stung him into action. Leaping to his feet, !Kia gathered at the base of his spine, and the discs became too hot to hold. With a cry, he dropped them onto the hide bag. They fell in an unnaturally slow spiral, glowing faintly blue.

A voice whispered in a strange tongue. The fire burst with flashes of light.

"Kagn!", he called out, circling the flames. The others followed, but he no longer saw them — only the drumming and the many-voiced song being sung.

Slowly at first, they skipped and danced around the fire which crackled and smoked. The dancers wore rattles made of dried moth cocoons, chips of bone and ostrich eggshells, fastened to their ankles with gut. The sound they made was like eagles wings in flight.

They moved in an age-old pattern, passing Ko’an’s ancient bone pipe from one to another.

Ko’an was as light as a feather, dancing once more at the ceremony of his manhood.

He understood now what the voice asked him to do.

Without hesitation, he stepped towards the glowing blue doorway that opened in the roaring fire, calling on Kagn to ease their suffering. To tribe shouted warnings, then clicks of amazement as he disappeared skywards in a shower of blue sparks.

Dark, and cold, flames no longer flickered as he rushed upwards towards the voice that had called him. Reality fractured as he rode the blue eagle skywards. Lights tunnelled before him, turning him up and over and around, enclosing him for an interminable time before releasing him through an unseen entrance in the floor.

He stood into a cave amongst the heavens before the Ancients Ones.

“Kagn?” he whispered.

The figures around him shifted, flowing into new forms until they spoke as one.

"Greetings sentient. We are not Kaggen. This intervention is unstable. But your stars will soon return — and you are not alone. This is all we need you to know.”

For a long moment, Earth lay far below — a blue globe with clearing skies. Suddenly, the vision shattered, and he was hurled down the blue waterfall of light, pursued by demons, falling toward eternity — then somehow back near the fire.

Awed and unsure of what to do, the astonished tribe watched his quivering body materialise near them in the fading glow of the blue circle. M’han was first to reach his side. Ko’an was as cold as ice. Cradling him, she poured water from her gourd into his mouth and tried to stop his shaking. The others crowded round. He swallowed some of it down and stared up the sky, unable to comprehend that it was over.

It wasn’t.

The globe of blue light detached itself from the heavens and came towards them—a shooting star.

"Look up", he yelled, starling them.

It was unnatural and should have scared them, but instead it was a beautiful sight. Colored lights, he couldn’t tell what colors — revolved around a central ring. Raising himself to a sitting position, Ko’an made a high-pitched whistle. From all around them came the whistled response — a greeting, but also a farewell.

The night sky lit up in violet, crimson, red, blue, and colours they couldn't recognise — colors they couldn't even see. Then the object faded, leaving behind a hole in the sky through which the first starlight he’d seen for seasons sparkled.

He wept blood from his soul, moved by the experience and the sight of the stars, moisture smearing the ingrained dust on his cheeks as he twitched and shivered in reaction. It had been no dream. He had been to a place beyond understanding, a place he could never explain. But he had seen everything from above, like a God.

It would require some storytelling, but he was unharmed. Judging by the anxious faces around him, he realised that his vision had improved and that he felt younger than his years.

“Stop looking at me and look up. The stars have returned! And we are not alone. Such is strength of Kagn", he told them over and over.

Grinning at their consternation he repeated his words until dreamtime took the tribe. Sapped of energy, he passed through the door to sleep, his son, !Nari, already asleep nearby.

They woke to the first blue sky that !Nari had ever seen.

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African Space Opera - Afro SciFi & Cyberpunk

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