299,760 BCE – 299,645 BCE | Episodes 49–72

Those with protruding foreheads found something downstream. They cupped it in their hands, sniffed it, called to their companions. It was a fish. But not an ordinary fish. Its belly was grotesquely swollen, its eyes clouded.

The one watched from atop a rock, observing what was happening in the distance. It could not understand what those beings were doing. Only that they moved differently than usual. They seemed agitated.

The river water began to turn murky. At first it was a pale brown, but grew darker as time passed. Something was happening upstream. It was not raining. Yet for the water to turn such a color was strange.

The four companions had noticed too. One tried to approach the river, but another grasped its arm and stopped it. They sensed danger.

From beyond the mountains came a sound like a low growling. The ground seemed to tremble. Too loud for animal footsteps. Too long for thunder.

The one stood up. The companions did the same. All looked in the same direction. Toward where the sound came from.

The river's water level began to rise. Muddy water spilled over the banks, seeping into the grassland. The protruding-foreheaded ones downstream began running toward higher ground.

Seeing them run, the one understood. They had to flee.

The sound grew louder. From beyond the mountains appeared a wall of brown water. Swallowing trees and stones together, it rushed toward them.

The five ran. Their legs nearly tangling, they scrambled up the rocky slope. Their breath gave out. Their chests ached. Still they did not stop.

The water swallowed everything. The place where they had been moments before, the thickets where they always searched for food, the hollow where they rested at night—all vanished. The brown torrent swept away memories along with everything else.

Looking down from the high rock, they could see other groups. The protruding-foreheaded ones, the short sturdy ones—all had fled to high places the same way. Though different species, their flight from water looked the same.

A day passed. The water did not recede. Their bellies rumbled. Their mouths grew parched. Still they could not descend from the rock.

The protruding-foreheaded ones on distant rocks waved their hands. The one waved back. They could not understand each other's words. But they understood they shared the same situation.

Night came. The sound of water did not cease. In the darkness came the sound of things colliding. Perhaps large trees flowing past, perhaps rocks tumbling—they could not see.

At dawn, one of the companions had stopped moving. It was breathing. But would not open its eyes. It had drunk nothing since yesterday. Its body might be nearing its limits.

The water began to recede gradually. But it would take much longer for it to withdraw completely. During that time, two companions became motionless.

When they descended from the rock, their feet sank into mud. The familiar landscape had all changed. They felt as though they stood in an unknown place.

Dead fish lay scattered in the mud. Birds too, small beasts too—all had stopped moving the same way. The world after the water withdrew was filled with the smell of death.

The protruding-foreheaded ones on distant rocks also descended slowly. Their numbers had decreased. Like this group, they had lost someone.

The one knelt on the muddy ground. It had always drunk water here. Always tried to catch fish here. But now, nothing remained.

The two motionless companions were still breathing. But could not rise. Left like this, they might die.

It began walking. Just the three of them. Carrying the two motionless ones. To search for new water.

Rain of fire fell from heaven.

Massive stones tore through the atmosphere, piercing the surface one after another. At the moment of impact, flashes turned night to day, and roars echoed beyond the mountains. Forests blazed, deep holes opened in the grasslands.

The largest stone fell on the distant northern land covered in ice. The ice vaporized, and a giant column of water vapor rose into the sky. The shock traveled through the depths of the earth, shaking the fire-breathing mountains far to the south.

Fine dust danced up into the sky. Blocking the sun's light, leaving it dim even during the day. This dust slowly fell and accumulated on the ground. Rivers grew muddy, lakes darkened.

In the beginning lands, the small scattered groups disappeared one by one. Even those who escaped the rain of fire were invaded by the poisonous ash that fell and accumulated. The groups with protruding foreheads, the short sturdy ones, the new species—all equally reduced their numbers.

The survivors stood surrounded by the dead. The world that had surely existed yesterday had vanished in one night.

But far to the east by the sea, waves quietly washed the sand. In the distant deep southern forests, birds sang as they always did. The rain of fire had not burned everything. The expanse of this world was greater than any single disaster.

Wind blew. Carrying ash, scattering smoke. Rain would fall eventually. Rain that would wash away the poison and nurture new shoots.

The rain did not come.

In the beginning lands, several seasons had passed since the last cloud disappeared. The river water grew thin and eventually dried up. White salt emerged from the riverbed, and cracked mud baked under the sun. Trees that would normally bear blue fruit dropped their leaves and stood motionless.

The large group of those with protruding foreheads headed north seeking water. Those who once numbered in the hundreds now walked the wasteland as mere dozens. They used stones to dig into the ground, searching for any trace of moisture. Days passed with nothing found. The weak fell first, one by one.

The short, sturdy ones took refuge in caves. They carefully shared what little water remained deep underground. But outside the caves, only scorching winds blew. More and more of those who went out to search for food never returned.

The small group of the new kind scattered. There was one among them who knew where water could be found. A spring that bubbled up through cracks in rocks in a distant place. But there was no way to convey this knowledge. Even gesturing could not reach the others. Finally, that one set out alone. Those left behind collapsed on the dry earth, never understanding why their companion had departed.

Far to the east by the sea, waves quietly washed against the rocks. Small fish swam in tide pools, and seabirds rested their wings. The drought was a calamity of the inland alone. But no one could reach the shore. The distance of many days' walk could not be traveled without water.

Deep in the forest, a trace of moisture remained at the base of giant trees. If one pressed an ear to the trunk, the sound of flowing water could be heard. But there was no one who understood the meaning of that sound. The forest was wrapped in silence, with nothing stirring.

Wind blew. Hot, dry wind that lifted the sand. The ground hardened like baked stone, echoing footsteps. During the day the sun beat down mercilessly, and at night it grew suddenly cold. Only the stars shone unchanged, but there were not yet any who prayed to stars.

Eventually small clouds appeared. But they vanished before bringing rain. Only hope remained. Most of those who waited died without even seeing those clouds.

The earth cracked open. Deep fissures ran through it, revealing bottomless darkness. Heat rising from within stole away the last moisture. Even the grass roots withered completely, and the insects' voices fell silent.

The survivors could be counted on one's fingers. They were in separate places, all looking up at the same sky. Waiting for clouds. Waiting for rain. But when the rain would come, if it would truly come, no one knew.

Only the wind continued blowing. Carrying sand, carrying heat, carrying despair.

At the seashore, waves crashed against the reef, raising white foam. In tide pools, small crabs scuttled sideways, and shell fragments glinted.

On the mountainside, a herd of deer grazed on new shoots. A fawn followed behind its mother. Wind swayed the grass, carrying pollen.

Elsewhere, those with protruding brows sat around a fire. Flames flickered, smoke rose. An elder taught the young ones something. Through gestures, through voice.

Rain began to fall.

In the primordial land, the dry earth drank water and grass sprouted. River levels rose and fish leaped. Fruit-bearing trees hung heavy branches while birds flocked together in dancing swarms.

In the distant eastern mountains, broad-browed ones gathered around fires deep in caves. The old died and children were born. Flame light illuminated rock faces, casting dancing shadows.

On the northern plains, short and sturdy ones pursued beasts. Spears raised, voices calling, footsteps echoing. The beasts fled, were chased, fled again. An eternal dance of the hunt.

At the windswept cliffs, another group of a new kind cracked open shells. Waves crashed against rocks, throwing up white foam. Children played in the shallows, sending up sprays of water.

This world illuminated everything. Life and death. Beginning and end. Fear and joy. Rain fell, sun rose, wind blew.

The rain had stopped.

In the primordial lands, puddles reflected the sunlight. Grass grew tall, flowers bloomed, and insects hummed their wings. A new species gathered by the riverbank, catching fish.

In the northern grasslands, short and sturdy ones gazed at herds of beasts. Wind swayed the grass, cloud shadows drifted past. They waited for the time to hunt.

In the eastern caves, those with prominent brows chipped away at stones. Fire flickered and danced, smoke rose upward. Stone fragments scattered across the floor.

On the rocky shores near the sea, another gathering of the new species arranged shells. Waves rolled in and pulled back. Children played at the water's edge.

The warm climate continued. Fruit ripened, water was abundant, and herbivorous beasts roamed in herds. The creatures of this world flourished. Wet and dry seasons cycled gently, without great upheavals.

Time flowed quietly.

In the primordial land, a soundless sound was resonating.

Water stopped, wind stilled, and birds rested their wings. Though everything had ceased moving in the silence, something was trembling. Something invisible was making the air vibrate.

The group of nine had noticed this anomaly. One had spent a long time by the river, and when they returned, there was a different light in the depths of their eyes. The others felt it too. Something was resonating deep in their heads. They didn't know why.

Deep in the forest, a group of the old kind placed stones and departed. Stones they would normally break and use, they left as they were. As if guided by something.

On the grasslands, beasts stood still in a circle. Though they should have been in the middle of migration, for some reason they had stopped there, gazing at the empty space in the center.

At the distant sea, waves crashed in an unusual rhythm. Regularly, as if keeping time to something. Seashells on the beach made faint sounds each time they were washed by the waves.

The soundless sound enveloped this entire world. Though it couldn't be heard, it was certainly there; though it couldn't be touched, it touched everything.

The living creatures were confused. They couldn't perform their usual behaviors. Their usual places felt wrong. But they didn't flee either, just stood still as if waiting for something.

When night came, the soundless sound resonated with the twinkling of stars. Between sky and earth, invisible threads seemed to be vibrating.

Five years passed. The soundless sound gradually grew smaller, but it never disappeared completely. It took root deep within this world, and from time to time, as if remembering, it would resonate.

The group remained at nine, unchanged. But within each individual, something dwelt. Something that could not be put into words.

Ice changed everything.

Dust kicked up by the meteorite's impact blocked the sun, bringing a long winter to the primordial earth. A thin membrane formed on the river's surface, white powder accumulated on grass tips. Animals grew thick coats, birds flocked together and disappeared toward warmer lands.

The group of nine dwindled one by one in the cold and hunger. The elderly first, then the young, and finally even those in their prime. In the end, one remained.

In the distant sandy lands, breath turned white even during the day. Night stars shone sharp as ice, and by morning the ground was frozen solid.

In the frigid highlands, snow no longer melted year-round. Beasts descended to the valleys and journeyed further south.

In the grasslands, grass that had frozen upright snapped in the wind and scattered across the ground. Small creatures burrowed deep into the earth and entered long slumber.

In the forest, groups of the old kind arranged stones in circles before departing. The reason was unknown. They simply did so, as if guided by something.

At the rocky shores where the scent of tide reached, waves carried fragments of ice. Sea creatures too sank into deeper places.

Five seasons passed. The ice world began to loosen gradually, but the former warmth did not return. This world had entered a new climate.

Many groups vanished. Those who remained continued moving in search of warmer lands. In this era, the number of people greatly diminished.

At the same hour, where the great river meets the sea, a new species was catching fish in groups. On the grasslands, an old species with protruding foreheads gathered around stones. In the frozen highlands, snow began to melt and small flowers bloomed. On windswept rocky shores, a short, sturdy species collected shells. None of these groups knew that in this moment, one life had ended. This world continued to shine equally upon all.

When I thought the white world had ended, this time my very breath turned white.

My body was trembling. Deep in the cave, I curled up with my knees drawn to my chest. The sounds outside had changed. The wind kept howling. There were no bird songs.

In the dense forest regions, every leaf turned brown and fell to the ground. Where the great river flowed into the sea, the current slowed and thin ice began to form on the surface. In the grasslands the wind turned bitter, and animals began migrating southward. Half of this world was breathing white breath.

I headed deeper into the cave to drink water. Water was making sounds in its usual place, but when I put my hand in, my fingertips hurt. I pulled back immediately. The water I took into my mouth made my teeth ache.

I tried to go outside to search for food. At the cave entrance, the wind slapped my cheeks. Tears came. I turned back immediately.

In the scorched sandy lands, when night came an unprecedented cold descended. On the rocky shores where the scent of tide reached, waves froze, creating strange-shaped chunks of ice. In the freezing highlands, snow kept falling, filling every valley.

Even when hungry, I couldn't go outside. I tried putting a small stone I found in the cave into my mouth. It was just hard with no taste at all. I spat it out.

My body's trembling wouldn't stop. Even rubbing my palms together wouldn't make them warm. I was losing feeling in my toes.

Something was missing. Something was wrong. The seasons were supposed to cycle, but this cold was different. Even during periods that should have been warm, it remained cold.

In regions with large groups, more than half succumbed to the cold and stopped moving. In smaller groups, there was no need to count down to the last one. The old species with protruding brows, the short sturdy species, the new species—all trembled the same way, all fell the same way.

Days continued when I couldn't get up. I leaned my back against the cave wall, holding my knees to my chest. With each breath, white vapor came out. When that breath touched my cheeks, it was just slightly warm.

The water froze. At first just the surface, but eventually it hardened all the way to the bottom. I tried to break it by hitting it with a stone, but my hands were shaking and I couldn't put strength into it.

In the depths of my head, a soundless sound occurred. Stronger and clearer than usual. As if trying to convey something. But I couldn't understand what that something was.

Five seasons passed. The cold remained unchanged. No, perhaps it had grown even harsher. I hardly went outside anymore. Deep in the cave, I just stayed still.

In the forests the last leaves fell, and only the sound of breaking branches echoed. In the rivers fish floated to the surface. In the grasslands only wind blew, with nothing else moving. In many places of this world, footprints were buried in snow, never to appear again.

Sometimes the sound in my head grew louder. At such times I felt, just slightly, that my body grew warmer. Perhaps it was only my imagination. But only then did the trembling stop.

I ate the last dried fruit. There was no more. The water remained ice. I had no strength to go outside.

Still, I was breathing.

Great waves washed over the land.

In the beginning lands, seawater surged inland, reversing the flow of rivers. Salt water reached deep into forests, toppling trees that had taken root. In grasslands, water penetrated beneath the ground, collapsing small hills.

The waves came not just once. After the great wave, medium waves followed, with smaller waves trailing behind. The water receded over the course of a day, but what remained on the ground was different from its original form.

Few survived. Those who had been in high places, those in deep caves, those who by chance were beyond the water's flow. Most of the groups were swept away with the water. Stone tools, stored food, sleeping places—all were lost.

Far away, those with protruding foreheads pressed their hands against cave walls in mountain caverns. They painted their palms with red earth, leaving traces on rock surfaces. The short, sturdy ones were stacking stones on highlands, forming shapes of something.

Near the sea, unfamiliar shells lay scattered on the sand after the tide receded. Near rivers, tree trunks carried by the flow had formed new bridges. But there were hardly any left to see them.

The water had also brought things with it. Stones from distant places, seeds of unfamiliar plants, bones of animals that had died elsewhere. Mixed together, they created new land.

The seasons continued their cycle unchanged. But those who counted those seasons had drastically diminished. The survivors had to begin anew in lands where they could not even tell where their original places had been.

Morning came. As always.

Wind passed over the fallen. A small insect walked across fingers that no longer moved. A leaf fell onto eyes still open.

In the distance, birds called. The voices of the ridge-browed ones. On the highlands, the short, sturdy ones carried stones.

On the ground where water had receded, new shoots had begun to emerge.

At the same time, far to the east, on ice-locked highlands, beings of another kind gathered around fire. Those with protruding foreheads and sturdy builds shared beast meat while trembling in the cold.

In the western sandy lands, shorter beings were leaving handprints on cave walls. They dissolved red earth in water and pressed their palms against the stone. For what purpose, they themselves did not know.

In the warm southern forests, nuts were falling and insects returning to the soil. The season was about to change.

The earth groaned.

Deep vibrations shattered the silence before dawn. Trees in the forest swayed, and birds took flight all at once.

The river flowing through the primordial land made an unfamiliar sound. Something was surging from upstream. The sound of rolling stones, crumbling soil.

The group living by the riverside awakened. The sound of water was approaching. No, the water itself was approaching.

The torrent swallowed the flatlands.

Brown water seized their familiar places one by one. The fire circle ringed with stones, the meat hung out to dry, the grass spread for bedding—everything was swept away.

Those who fled. Those who ran seeking higher ground. Those left behind by the water.

At the same time, far to the north, the sound of cracking ice echoed. Something was about to change.

On the dry eastern lands, those with protruding brows gazed up at the night sky. The arrangement of stars seemed slightly different.

In the warm southern forests, a child of a new kind was being born. It cried its first voice. Its mother lifted it up.

The mountains erupted.

At the heart of the first land, three peaks split open at once. Flames scorched the sky and stone fell like rain. The earth shook without cease, rivers changed their course. Forests burned and lakes dried up.

The people scattered. Groups were torn apart, families separated. Some fled to high places, others moved in search of water. Many collapsed along the way.

Ash rode the wind to distant lands. It covered the eastern grasslands and reached the western sea. The animals too were thrown into confusion. Species that normally kept their distance huddled together at the same watering holes.

Five groups remained. The people who had once numbered over a hundred could now be counted on fingers. Each headed in a different direction, living without knowledge of the others' existence.

In the north, ice had begun to melt. In the south, new islands emerged from the sea. This world continues to change. With or without people, it keeps turning.

Five traces remained.

The groups scattered across the primordial land had each walked different paths. Those to the east descended along the river, learning to catch fish with their bare hands. Those to the west gathered shells by the seashore, sleeping to the sound of waves. Those to the south searched for nuts deep in the forest, stealing eggs from birds' nests. Those to the north found insects they had never seen before in puddles of melted ice.

One alone remained in the center.

The animals changed as well. The deer herds split into three, each eating different grasses. Wolves began to act alone. Birds learned new ways of calling.

Rain fell. The parched earth drank the water, and green began to return. The mountain's wounds slowly healed, new waterways were born. Wind carried the ash away, and the sky became blue again.

Far away, on another continent, great beasts perished while small creatures multiplied. Beyond the sea, ice thickened, and this world's axis tilted slightly.

Everything continues.

Something moved in the deep places of the earth.

At the center of the primordial land, mountains erupted, spewing molten rock toward the heavens. Great cracks ran through the ground, swallowing settlements. Flames burned the forests and dried the rivers.

The sky was shrouded in ash, and the sun delivered only thin light to the earth.

More than half of them vanished. Those who survived scattered, walking alone. Food was buried in ash, water grew hot.

In distant seas, ice continued to thicken. The axis of this world was gradually tilting. No one knew that the seasons were beginning to change.

In the southern lands, different kinds of beings trembled deep in caves. At the northern edge, great beasts gave their final cries and fell.

Everything was happening at once. Everything continued.

Five years have passed. The ash that covered the sky has thinned, and the outline of the sun has become visible. But the seasons continue their madness. Snow falls when rain should come, frost descends when warmth should arrive.

In the beginning lands, those who were scattered are slowly beginning to meet again. In one valley, three have gathered; on another hill, seven sit around a fire. But many still walk alone.

In the distant northern lands, the hairy ones continue sleeping in caves of ice. In the southern seas, great fish die in the shallows. In the eastern forests, new kinds of grass sprout from the ash. Everything changes, everything continues.

The water remains hot. Perhaps something still burns at the bottom of the earth. Even so, living things seek water. They drink even when it burns. They drink even when it scalds them.

Few bear children. Even when born, most do not grow. Still, sometimes a strong child is born. These children make sounds different from others. They combine long sounds with short ones. There is no meaning yet, but they are trying to convey something.

The earth cracked open.

Mountains of fire roared toward the heavens, and molten stone flowed down like rivers. Ash covered the sky, and the sun became a red circle before disappearing. Rain stopped falling. Grass withered, and trees died standing.

Those who lived in the beginning land—some were swallowed by fire, some buried in ash, some collapsed from hunger. Entire settlements fell into the earth's fissures. Rivers dried up. Lakes filled with ash.

The survivors scattered. Families were torn apart. Mothers searched for children, children called their mothers' names. But voices were absorbed by ash, reaching no one.

The fire mountains roared many times. After the first, half fled. After the second, half gave up. After the third, the remaining half sat down quietly.

The animals were the same. Herds of deer were driven into valleys, where they were enveloped in smoke. Birds flew south, but the air grew thin and they fell one after another. Fish thrashed in the shallowing rivers, then moved no more.

Ash accumulated thickly. Footprints were buried immediately. When wind blew, eyes and noses were blocked. When seeking water, only ash swirled up.

Still, some small springs remained. Deep in the mountains, in places the fire could not reach, thin water sounds continued. Only those who reached such places lived.

Three years passed. From the ash-buried ground, small shoots emerged. In the fourth year, birds returned. In the fifth year, rain fell.

The survivors formed new groups in new places. Smaller than before, quieter than before. Fewer bore children. Many mothers produced no milk. Even when born, many children drew their last breath immediately.

The fire mountains still send up smoke. Sometimes red light illuminates the clouds. When the survivors see that light, they huddle together. The earth might crack again. Ash might fall again.

Still, when morning came they went out to search for water. At midday they looked for fruit-bearing trees. At night they gathered around fires. To repeat the same things tomorrow.

Rain continued. Rivers overflowed, lakes expanded. Grass grew lush and green, trees bore fruit in abundance. The beasts multiplied as well. Flocks of birds covered the sky.

The human group grew larger. When food is plentiful, more give birth. Milk flows richly. Many of the young survive. Voices layered upon one another, footsteps echoed.

The warm climate lasted five years. Even in distant regions covered by ice, the thaw began. Sea levels rose little by little. New wetlands were born, new forests grew.

In the beginning lands, human groups slowly began to spread. Along rivers, beside lakes. One small step at a time. Unknown territories stretched infinitely beyond, but they did not know this.

In abundance, humans began to change. When ease was born, they began to make new sounds. Gestures became complex. The sound of striking stone, the sound of carving wood. Not yet words, but something was sprouting.

Something unseen struck the group. First one fell. Fever, trembling, then stillness. The next day, another. On the third day, three at once.

The reason remained unknown. They ate the same food. Drank from the same waters. Yet some fell while others did not. The youngest disappeared first.

The group scattered. Perhaps distance would bring safety. But the unseen thing followed. Across rivers, to high places.

Over five years, many vanished. The survivors gathered again. They could not understand why they remained. Why the others had gone.

In distant places, glaciers slowly melted. New rivers formed, old ones dried. Animals began to move. Herds heading north, others south. Instinct seemed to teach them something.

Those who survived in the beginning lands grew more careful. When approaching unknown places, when touching dead beasts, they learned to pause and think. They had learned of unseen dangers.