They say there was a time when humanity believed it was at the peak of its power. Nations burned the world in their own wars, convinced that victory meant control, that strength meant domination. They did not look to the sky… because they thought nothing above could challenge them.

They were wrong.

On a day history would later refuse to name, the heavens did not open… they broke. Fire fell, but it was not fire. It was will. It was intelligence. It was something far older than any human conflict.

That was the arrival of the Anolaks.

They did not come to conquer in the way humans understood conquest. Cities vanished without warning. Armies were erased before they could even fire. Weapons that once decided wars became meaningless in seconds. Humanity realized, far too late, that it had never been at the top of anything.

And at the center of it all stood Ahrel Throk, son of the Great Anolak Prime.

He did not rage. He did not boast. He simply commanded… and the world changed.

To him, Earth was not an enemy. It was a flaw to be corrected. Humanity was not a rival. It was a failed design.

And so the war humanity had been fighting each other… ended.

Not in victory. Not in peace. But in fear.

For the first time in its history, humanity looked at itself and understood the cost of its own division. Enemies became allies overnight. Flags lost meaning. Pride died where cities once stood. Every mistake, every war, every moment wasted in conflict… came back as a single, crushing truth:

They had prepared for the wrong war.

So they stood together. Not because they had grown wiser… but because there was nothing left to defend alone.

And in that unity, forged by loss and terror, humanity found something it had never truly known before.

Not power.

Not hope.

But the will to survive something that should have ended them.