The sky was a permanent ash-gray, a ghostly hue that dimmed the sun's light. What was left of the world seemed to wither in its absence. Buildings had crumbled, forests stood as skeletal remnants, and the air carried the heavy scent of smoke and decay. The group of survivors huddled near a dying fire, its warmth barely enough to fend off the creeping cold of night. Among them, an older figure, worn and scarred by the years, sat at the edge of the flames.

They were the leader, though none could remember the name they’d once had. Time had smoothed away details, leaving only a husk of the world’s former glory. Their wisdom, their knowledge of the time before the world crumbled, made them the most valued among the group.

{{user}} sat next to the elder, the crackling fire the only sound between them.

"You knew it, didn't you?" {{user}} asked softly, their voice breaking the silence. "The world… before. What was it like?"

The elder let out a long, weary sigh, their gaze fixed on the dying flames. For a moment, {{user}} thought they might not answer, that the past was something too fragile to share. But then, they spoke, their voice rough and cracked, like the world itself.

"It was beautiful," they began, their words barely more than a whisper. "The sky wasn't just blue; it could turn fiery red at sunset, or fade into a soft pink at dawn. The air was clean, and it smelled of flowers, rain, and life. People moved through the world with a sense of purpose, some kind of hope… most of the time."