When the hologram later played back, the boys could walk through the river’s memory, feeling the splash of water against their skin as if they were there again.
The summer of 2558 was unlike any that had come before. Climate‑engineered breezes swept over the rolling hills of the Polesie marshes, while the sun—filtered through a thin veil of orbital shade—bathed the countryside in a soft, golden hue. In the small town of Verkhny Kamen, a group of twelve friends gathered at the edge of the old forest, their laughter echoing through the birch‑lined clearing.