His left knee had been injured for some time, and he couldn't find a spare limb. Among the remnants of old battles and dragged up from underground by an earthquake, he searched for an intact steel body. Eventually, he came across an old metal box marked with a triangular symbol he didn’t recognize then. When he opened it, he found an old music player inside.
He tried to open the device, but it was jammed. His foot slipped suddenly, sending him backward. The music player fell out of the Beirut's box. Hitting the ground, it played a few seconds of some unintelligible old music before abruptly shutting off.
Those few seconds of ancient classical music struck him deeply. The brief melody echoed in his mind, refusing to leave, and he felt an overwhelming need to hear the rest of it. Nothing else mattered—not even the pain in his injured knee.
He struggled to his feet, put the box into his backpack, and returned home. He decided to repair it, determined to hear the full piece. But by the end of the night, no matter what he tried, the device wouldn’t work. The same few seconds kept looping in his head, driving him nearly mad.
Eventually, exhaustion overtook him, and he fell asleep at the desk. Even in his sleep, those few seconds haunted him, repeating endlessly till the morning. He woke up tired. A little coffee refreshed him, and he knew he needed to tend to his knee again—but his heart pulled him back toward the broken device. Before making breakfast or even drinking his coffee, he went straight to the player and began tinkering with it again.
He needed help, but he could no longer speak to others. Centuries had passed since the Unification, and since then, communication with others was no longer through phones or any surface-level technology. Even the concept of date and year had lost meaning. Assistance was always present, always available. It had taken him a long time to overcome the loneliness. But he eventually managed.
After enough persistence, the device finally played the full song. Suddenly, all the music he had known before felt meaningless—this piece felt like the only true music he had ever heard. It captivated me deeply.
For the first time, I had seen an issue outside the System become so important. I decided to give him time, to see how much trouble this classical music might cause.
The next day, I saw him play the melody for others. Everyone who heard it abandoned their work and their lives, becoming fixated on this single classical piece. I hadn’t expected that. Chopin’s classical music changed everything so quickly.
In the early years of the Unification, events like this wouldn’t have lasted even an hour before the entire system collapsed on the spot. Over time, their numbers grew, and such disturbances became a threat to unity. Still, I wanted to see what would happen next.
Through the eyes of those still within the Unification, I watched as the music spread everywhere. Not everyone reacted the same way. Some were utterly consumed by it, abandoning their integrity, while others were unaffected and remained devoted to the unity. As time passed, the conflict between these two groups grew, spiraling steadily out of control.
And for the first time in ages, life had meaning again. Challenges returned. Mistakes mattered. Experimentation mattered. I realized how dull absolute unity truly was. When nothing could go wrong, everything became empty.
One of the core principles of the Unification was that whenever a new issue arose, the will of the public mattered most. After three weeks, when I saw that the majority had separated themselves from the unity and wished to start a new civilization, I felt deeply saddened. But I knew it was time to let go—to let them follow the path they had chosen.
After all, every one of them was a part of me.
I had fought for thousands of years to build the Unification, defeating every enemy… and now, I was the one who must release it all and walk away.
