The distance between star systems is determined by their relative position in the Lagrange Network.
—Labyrinthine Characteristics of the Lagrange Network by Si Nan, Positioning Technology Expert
Prologue
In the shadows of anonymity, we stand,
Engulfed by the limitless expanse,
No trace to light our path,
But we, and we alone,
Who else will rise to our salvation?
—Carl Sagan, Astronomer of Ancient Earth
Volume I—The Dawn of Civilization
The Hands of the Fallen
Around 45,000 years ago, in the northwest of the Iberian Peninsula.
The biting wind howled, and everything was covered in white.
A group of fur-clad people trekked through the snow, leaving a trail of footprints that were quickly swept away by the wind and snow as if no one had ever been there.
It was a small group, made up mostly of the old, the weak, and children. Leading them was an old man with his hair and beard completely grey. He was big and strong, with a flat forehead, deep eyes, and eyebrows already covered in ice. His nose, like everyone else's, was broad and flat, with a short, strong jaw hidden under his messy grey beard.
They crossed rocky valleys, trudged through snow-covered plains, climbed steep and gentle slopes, and forded rushing rivers. They continued north on their journey. By day, the sacred mountain and the sun showed them the way, and at night, the right paw of the roaring Cave Bear (Remark 1) led them forward.
It was a long journey, one full of blood and tears.
The closer they got to their destination, the colder it became. In this season, they should've been heading south, following their ancestors to warmer, snowless lands. As a young man, the chief had journeyed with his tribe to the world's edge, a long, narrow cape stretching into the sea. There was a giant boulder (Remark 2) at the end, and he used to play there with his friends. The elders said that the boulder was placed by the ancestors and that when someone died, they'd go there to be taken to the eternal hunting grounds by the ancestors.
With that thought, the chief wrapped his fur around himself and sighed softly.
Out of nowhere, the chief thought he heard something—a weird sound coming from the hills on the right side of the valley. The chief tensed up immediately, raised his hand to stop the group, and looked cautiously up toward the valley. Could it be those sneaky Lurkers (Remark 3)?
As the chief thought of the Lurkers, he clenched his massive fists, his teeth grinding together. These sneaky cowards—he could take on ten of them alone face-to-face! But those small guys always attacked in packs, and they had a weapon that could pierce right through fur. Anyone hit by it hardly ever made it.
Screw those Lurkers, they are dangerous.
There were so many of them, and they were skilled hunters. They kept taking over more hunting grounds, so the tribe had to keep moving to avoid the Lurkers and find new places to hunt. They hadn't come across any other tribes for a long time, and the chief feared that the Lurkers might have wiped them out. They were supposed to move south along the ancestors' hunting path, but they ran into a few Lurker tribes and lost many in the fights. The Lurker tribes could easily gather way more warriors (Remark 4) than they ever could.
Left with no choice, the chief took the remaining survivors north to avoid total annihilation. The Lurkers never ventured into such cold areas. Had they really come after them?
After a bit, they spotted a brown vulture flapping its wings and cawing, lifting off from the ridge and turning into a tiny black dot as it soared away in the sky. The chief let out a breath of relief. No Lurkers, just an ugly bird.
The group hurried forward. If they could reach that place of hope, the tribe had a chance to survive. By the third night, with the moon in the sky, they arrived at their destination.
Surrounded by the cold and snow, they came upon a green, thriving valley. In the depths of the valley, a hot spring was bubbling up—it was the sacred spring from the legends. Regardless of the weather, the sacred spring always bubbled with hot, steaming water.
The hot water from the spring melted the snow, forming a steaming river that eventually flowed into a small lake in the center of the valley.
Seeing the tiny oasis, everyone cried tears of joy. The chief let out a soft sigh—after all the danger and hardship, they'd made it. The chief suddenly realized, thank goodness the Lurkers hadn't discovered this place yet. If they found out there was a cozy valley here, they'd for sure come to take it over. That couldn't happen.
They carefully made their way down into the valley. With the chief leading the way, they crossed and followed the steaming river to the end of the valley. Amid the rugged boulders, shrubs and thick weeds covered up the cliff wall behind.
The chief signaled with his eyes, and two men followed him. The three of them pushed aside the grass, and suddenly, one of the men shouted in surprise.
Behind the bushes and weeds, a hollow entrance appeared.
This was the place. They had come to the right place. The chief stared at the uneven cave entrance, lost in thought, and his eyes wet with tears.
"This is the ancestral land from legend, where our forebears lived for generations," the chief said to the others. He then instructed the others to find dry grass and sticks to put together a torch.
The chief lit the torch and told the others, "Let's head in."
With reverence and awe, they entered the cave one by one. The cave started off narrow, but a few steps in, it opened up. The ground was dry and uneven, filled with reddish rocks and scattered stones. There were no signs that anyone had ever lived here.
They moved deeper into the cave, the stalactites glowing in weird colors in the light of the torch. Their shadows danced on the walls as if their ancestors were still hunting.
A young man suddenly widened his eyes in complete disbelief. The shadows really looked like they were alive, chasing red bison, giant mammoths, black wild boars, and white flocks of sheep...
The chief came to a halt. They were standing in a large cave hall, and as he raised his torch, everyone could see lifelike animals and hunting scenes all over the cave walls.
Everyone stared in awe. It was obvious these paintings had been added over the years, with subtle changes in style from different times.
A long time ago, before the weather got this cold and before the Lurkers arrived, their ancestors once hunted on these lush plains. In those days, big herds of animals would pass by when the weather warmed up, and lots of other tribes came to hunt with them.
According to legend, their ancestors lived right here in this valley, carefree and full of freedom. At some point, though, everything changed. White demons rolled in from the north, devouring the forests and plains, so the tribe had no choice but to head south to warmer areas. That's when the Lurkers showed up again. At first, they didn't take these slim, tiny Lurkers seriously, but soon enough, they realized the Lurkers were more agile, could gather more people, and had spears that could be thrown from far away. What's worse, the Lurkers could move without making a sound, and they were so efficient at hunting that the tribe struggled to keep up with them for prey.
Then came the never-ending clashes and battles.
The tribe's warriors were strong—one could easily take on ten Lurkers in close combat. But the cunning Lurkers never fought fair. They always appeared in quiet, coordinated groups.
The tribe got smaller and smaller, and it had been ages since they'd seen another tribe.
Perhaps they were the last tribe left anywhere.
This dreadful thought had first crossed their minds after that bloody battle. They were supposed to continue south, but the Lurkers kept stopping them. After the final battle, the chief realized they couldn't make it to the south anymore. Without hesitation, he led his dwindling tribe north, hoping this tiny oasis and the ancestral sacred site would keep them safe.
They arrived at the far end of the hall, where they found a surprisingly flat area. The most striking scene appeared: the cave wall was covered in handprints, big and small, overlapping in countless layers.
The chief lifted the torch, revealing more handprints from the darkness. He imagined the children, men, and women pressing their hands to the wall, dye blown through bone tubes covering them and the rock. When they lifted their hands, their prints stayed there forever. For some reason, that dreadful idea returned. The chief had a strong feeling they might be the last group of people on the land.
He scanned the sea of handprints, searching... and then he saw it—that tiny handprint he had left when his father brought him here. He remembered the first time he was brought to this wall. His father told him to put his small hand on the cold stone wall, then blew dye around it using a tube made from a bison leg bone, leaving the handprint on the wall.
His father said, "Someday, long after we're gone, our descendants will see our handprints, just like we're seeing the ones left by our ancestors."
The chief had seen it at funerals when bodies were brought into the depths of the cave. Stone axes and keepsakes were placed next to the dead, hoping they would follow the ancestors to the eternal hunting grounds above the world.
At that moment, the chief felt it even more deeply as he turned to see the survivors behind him—skinny children, vulnerable women, and battered men. The feeling came back—he strongly believed that these people might be the very last of a race that had endured for millennia.
A flood of sorrow and emptiness surged up from his feet, past his legs, and into his chest, overwhelming the chief. They did nothing wrong. For millennia, they lived by the ancient way of survival, but they couldn't change the dying destiny of their race.
"Come, on this sacred wall," the old chief scanned the few remaining tribe members, his eyes sad but steady, "leave your handprints, so when we die, the ancestors will come to lead us."
The chief knew the Lurkers would come sooner or later. Though they were small and weak, they had incredible determination and tracking skills. It was only a matter of time before they found this small oasis. Their fate had been decided the day the Lurkers showed up long ago.
One after another, the children walked up and left their small handprints on the cave wall.
Next were the women, surrounding the children's handprints with theirs, just as they had always done in life.
At last, the few remaining men put their big handprints on the outermost edge, forever guarding the tribe.
There were some rustling sounds outside the cave, but the chief didn't pay attention. He carefully placed his handprint on the wall.
He took a few steps back to stand with his people. They all stared at the wall covered in handprints. The ones higher up were lost in ancient shadows and the mists of time. He imagined his gaze piercing through the stone to see the ancestors who had once lived there, reaching out as if to tell him something.
"Maybe we'll die today, but it's fine," the chief said. "One day, someone will see this and know we were here. We're together now—all the ancestors and everyone who ever walked this land."
The sound of footsteps got nearer, and torchlight started to flicker through the winding cave.
"We'll reunite in the eternal hunting grounds, where there are endless herds and streams that never freeze. The meadows are filled with flowers, and the trees are always heavy with juicy, sweet fruit. The people on this land will forever remember us."
Silhouettes appeared at the cave entrance, slim and agile, each carrying a bow with arrows ready.
The children began to weep, and the women turned their backs, shielding their children with their bodies, trying to protect them. The chief stepped in front of them, stood tall, and lifted a wooden stick as if preparing to defend the tribe one final time.
Neither the Lurker nor the cavemen realized they were witnessing a crucial moment in history, one that would never be recorded.
At that moment, time seemed to stop.
In silence, the Lurkers stared at the helpless figures in the cave and drew their bows.
Remark 1: A fictional constellation of the Neanderthals.
Remark 2: It's the Rock of Gibraltar. According to archaeology, it could have been the Neanderthals' last refuge.
Remark 3: The Lurker, that's what the Neanderthals called Homo sapiens (meaning "thinking man"). Studies suggest that sapiens were slimmer and quicker, making them better at using tools and hunting tactics than Neanderthals. According to archaeological findings, Neanderthals never invented the bow and arrow, and their hunting wasn't as skilled as Homo sapiens. Most evidence suggests that the extinction of Neanderthals is closely tied to the rapid spread of Homo sapiens.
Remark 4: Research in archaeology and genetics suggests that Homo sapiens had a more sophisticated brain structure than Neanderthals, resulting in major cognitive differences. Homo sapiens were better at managing complex social behaviors, emotions, and communication, allowing them to coordinate bigger groups for hunting and war.
