The air was thick with smoke.

Black.

That was the color of the sky now. Sometimes dusty ash grey when the sun tried to fight.

But nobody really remembers the sun anymore. Not really, just some vague recollection of a bight orb floating in the sky that could dry things if it glows too hard.

After the Dragon Wars . . . nothing was the same anymore.

The earth was rocky and mostly bare, people suffered through surviving, animals adapted faster, they evolved into new things, needing less food, less water. Humans were a different case. They suffered. The rivers and oceans were difficult to sanitize. The air, some days, was more suffocating then others. The food supply, most of the earth was dry and rocky, few things could grow there anymore. If it did rain, it was a thick, almost, chalky liquid that barely absorbed in the ground.

A man, older than most, he remembers what it was like before. He remembers what the world should look like, what it was created as before the War. And he knows of tales past told how this world may just have a future. He just needs to find the descendents of those who failed so many years ago.

One generations failure left the opportunity for another generations success.

Wu sniffs the air and his lips quirk up, moving his long mustache as they do. He was nearing his destination.

He hobbles on his cane.

The world needs to be saved. And he knows who can do the saving.

Hopefully.