Chapter 1: Under an Inverted Sky

The sky in 2175 was no longer the same as it had been during humanity’s glory days. Ghostly aurora fragments danced over the ruins of great cities, while magnetic winds roared like angry spirits, sweeping across the plains of a world on the brink of collapse.

The reversal of the Earth’s magnetic field had transformed the planet into a hostile terrain: satellites had fallen like shooting stars, power grids had been wiped out in seconds, and the technology that once defined humanity had been reduced to ashes and memories.

In the midst of this chaos, a small miracle had emerged in the heart of Asia. Mongolia, with its unique geography and the inexplicable whims of the South Atlantic magnetic winds, became a refuge. The electromagnetic storms that were decimating the rest of the planet stopped dead when they reached the borders of this endless region. Under this protective bubble, civilization was reborn.

Altan Nur was the “Golden City” but it was not visible from the ground. Its grandeur was buried beneath miles of rock and sand, in a subterranean network of hundreds of tunnels, domes, and power systems that were fueled by resources still left on the planet’s surface. Built by the descendants of ancient nomads, the city was a testament to resilience and adaptation. Its design blended advanced engineering with a deep respect for ancient traditions. On the walls of its deepest chambers, murals of horsemen and celestial gods intertwined with complex technological diagrams, as if history and innovation had come to an agreement to coexist in peace.

In this place, where the memory of a lost world collided with the struggle to build a new one, a generation of scientists and explorers emerged, searching for answers both in the stars and in the depths of the Earth. Altaa was one of them. A child of storm and silence, she had grown up listening to her grandmother’s stories of Tengri, the god of the eternal sky, while in the laboratories of Altan Nur she learned about the physics of electromagnetic fields. Her mind lived between two worlds: the pragmatism of science and the mystery of ancient myths.

When the first signals came, many ignored them, dismissing them as background noise amid the constant interference of electromagnetic chaos. But not Altaa. The radio emissions picked up from the Khongoryn Els Dunes had patterns, repetitions, something that was both human and seemingly beyond comprehension. It was she who partially decoded them, finding amid the hum a sequence that made her hold her breath: a fragment of what seemed to be a message.

The “Echoes of Tengri”, as they began to be called, resonated like a whisper from the past or an echo from a forgotten future. But the deeper they delved into them, the clearer it became that they came from something buried deep within the Earth. Something ancient, vast, and vital.

What Altaa didn’t yet know was that those echoes would be the key to saving what was left of humanity. And that the story of Tengri, the sky god who ruled from above, was about to be revealed not as a myth, but as a warning engraved in the very depths of the Earth.

The sky above Altan Nur was a constant palette of greenish shadows and lights. Since the Earth’s magnetic field had weakened and solar storms swept away everything, the days had lost their clarity and time seemed to drag on under an opaque cloak. The underground city had grown, becoming a refuge for what remained of organized humanity.

In a small laboratory deep underground, Altaa adjusted the dial on her ancient radio wave receiver. Her black hair, pulled back in a makeshift bun, was flecked with rock dust, a reminder of the eternal maintenance work underground. In front of her, the screen crackled with interference. But in the chaos of static, Altaa had found the frequency of the signals again.

-”There it is again,”- he murmured, leaning into the microphone.

Beside him, Batu, a geotechnical engineer he had worked with for years, frowned as he watched the monitor.

—“Are you sure it’s not electromagnetic noise? The storms keep disturbing the low frequencies.”-

—“No, Batu. This is different,”- Altaa insisted, pointing to a line appearing on the screen. -”Look at these patterns. It repeats at exact intervals. It’s not natural.”-

Batu ran a hand through his short, unshaven beard thoughtfully.

—“It could be some old abandoned station. Maybe remnants of the satellites that still survive the storms.”-

—“I thought about it. But I already triangulated the source,”- Altaa said as she pointed to a holographic map spread out on the table. The coordinates were marked at a point south of the Gobi Desert. -”The signals are coming from the Khongoryn Els Dunes, not from space.”-

Batu raised an eyebrow.

—“The Gobi? No one has been there since before the catastrophe. It is too exposed to storms.”-

—“Exactly. And why would someone install a transmitter there?”— Altaa replied with a glint in her eyes —”Listen, Batu. This is no coincidence. There is something down there. Something ancient.”-

Altaa’s voice trembled slightly, echoing the mixture of excitement and fear she felt. Historical records mentioned myths about Shambhala, a hidden kingdom beneath the soil of Mongolia, but until now it had been just that: a myth. However, the broadcasts contained fragments of what seemed like an ancient language, and some sequences resembled communication algorithms.

-”Are you saying this has to do with ... Shambhala?”- Batu asked, almost in disbelief, his tone trying to hide his skepticism.

—“I say we need to investigate. The magnetic field is weakening faster than the models predicted. And right now these signals are appearing out of nowhere. If there’s something that connects the signals to the state of the Earth’s core and the Earth’s electromagnetic shield ... it could explain why this deterioration occurred. Maybe we can even stabilize it,”- Altaa replied.

-”What if it’s a coincidence? What if the signals have nothing to do with the deterioration of Earth’s shield?”- Batu asked with a sigh.

Altaa looked up and stared at him.

—“What do we lose? The Earth is already a trap and doomed. But if we don’t do something, anything, we are doomed.”-

Deep within Altan Nur, where humanity had found its last refuge, the legends of Shambhala circulated through the halls like an ancestral echo. At first, they were just tales passed down by the elders, stories told by survivors around campfires as civilization adapted to its new life underground.

Shambhala was said to be not just a myth, but a real place: a hidden kingdom beneath the mountains, created by an ancient civilization that had reached a level of wisdom and knowledge beyond what humanity could comprehend.

In the historical archives, Altaa had found ancient references to Shambhala in Tibetan and Mongolian texts. According to the writings, this underground realm was located “at the center of the world” and was accessible only to those with a pure heart and a noble purpose. The place was described as a radiant city, with crystal towers and passages lit by an inner sun. But what most caught Altaa’s attention was not the descriptions of the city, but the technological details that seemed to have been written long before humanity had even dreamed of electricity.