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A Veil of Time

A Veil of Time opens in 2035, where human vitality, machine intelligence, emotions, and the quest for preservation shape daily life.

Follow Mune and Kalvin into a future built by humans, extended by machines, and tested by the boundaries between protection, progress, and control.

Prologue: The Balcony, 2035

By 2035, the city had learned how to keep people alive longer than they knew what to do with.

Standing on my balcony, I barely recognize the city below. It has been only a decade, yet I feel like generations have passed. The sun hovers off the horizon, casting a deep, orange glow that slowly calibrates to a burnt red. Evenings seem to travel at a velocity I cannot keep pace with.

The city learned how to breathe a language of health. Pressure gradients eased under environment-enhancing technology. Aerobic capacities neared maximum. Hearts beat stronger. Circuits connected in harmony. Peristaltic waves surged. Mitochondrial blooms triggered muscular enhancements.

Language models lit a candle and artificial intelligence ignited an inferno. Then, robots appeared. Mechanical and obtrusive at first. With enough patience, they integrated into society where we stopped recalling the exact day it happened.

The transformation replaced cognitive overload with cognitive resilience, a philosophy that soon stretched into other biological processes. We began to optimize sleep, movement, hormone rhythms, air quality, immune memory, and every system once left to chance.

Below me, the city keeps moving as if night has become conditional.

I should feel nostalgic.

Instead, my thoughts roam about the device, test date, and question that refuses to leave me alone.

It is 2035. My contribution to this list of achievements can only enhance our beings, correct?

Excerpt: Chapter 1

I turn and step inside from the balcony; smooth composite flooring carries my footsteps and the boy’s expression with me. Sensory components do not leave abruptly. Like safety, images become part of a subconscious memoir.

"Lumen, surface my notes from today for the vaccine. I want to review them before I sleep." The review should wait until morning, but every delay feels heavier now as a test date nears. My thoughts linger on ethical constraints the device may expose.

Biological consequences are one thing; social acceptance is another. Kalvin makes his way into the room and hears me speaking to Lumen.

Kalvin

"I thought you were finished for the night. What do we still have to look over?" Mune wants to test the prototype and has kept a vigilant focus on the project. I know regardless of what I say right now, she will continue with the review.

It's been more convenient to stay over recently because of the additional work it's taking to prioritize safety protocols prior to test day. Maybe this will form a habit.

"If you want, I can run it through the database after you're finished."

Night routines became a topic for all individuals after the initiative for sleep was introduced. With the advent of robots and reassignment of tasks during local night hours, everyone was granted the luxury of sleep.

Mune

As the interface shifts, my path toward the bedframe shifts. The review requires a more ideal location than the bed, redirecting my steps to the desktop. A holographic interface projects forward, and the red flag prompts my interaction.

"You can scan it again if you want after I'm finished."

In my mind, I know he will. My work will cease after data projects onto the screen and the validity protocol confirms our expected results.

Protecting the sleep environment and creating a routine allowed for an additional side project. "What do you have the temperature set at?" It's funny how my sleep hours reduced while productivity and health improved. Maybe it was due to a combination of factors. Who knows for sure.

Kranial seems to anticipate my presence and miniature desk robots continue to complete their nightly disinfection. Soon, the room will darken as Kranial lowers smart blinds into place, shutting out ambient street light until the space becomes pitch black.

In the morning, they will rise again to welcome natural light. I glance at the glowing time projection hovering in the room.

9:44 PM

Kalvin has stepped out of bed to join me at the desk. His arm naturally slips around my waist, and I lean against him as we view data project onto the screen.

Kalvin

"We're going to require minor adjustments to the algorithm." My stare fixates back onto the screen as my words halt. A small warning sign comes into view. An area on the right of the screen glows vivid yellow, and my thoughts turn to which device settings were not set correctly.

"I really shouldn't say anything, but the device will require fine-tuning." It's a small setback.

Our computer system grants us an advantage to surface problems now rather than when it's inside the body.

Mune

I'm looking at the screen in the area that has caused Kalvin concern. My head turns in his direction to see where his eyes have focused before my attention returns to the exact location. My expression shifts from fatigue to a recognition that we will need to modify the prototype's settings again.

"Really?" I let that draw out a few seconds. "Let's deal with this tomorrow." This was not the way I thought the night would end.

10:56 PM hangs heavy.

The AM and PM designations on a 24-hour clock have remained unchanged over the decade, a deliberate choice to prevent confusion. Kranial knows my preference before bedtime.

He continues to walk around us silently, straightening papers scattered on the side desk, picking up a half-filled cup of water. The liquid shifts against the glass, rolling back to still.

Kranial’s engineered dexterity allows him to complete trivial tasks seamlessly, so I can slip beneath the bedsheets.

My large, dark-wood bedframe paints a stark contrast against clean, white walls. A low frame lifts the mattress enough for light grey bedding to fall cleanly along each side. I move away from Kalvin towards the closet entry. Sprung composite flooring keeps my footsteps nearly inaudible as a weightless sensation travels up my spine.

By 2030, biometrics had become a defining phenomenon of daily life. Everyone knew the word by then, even a five-year-old had heard it.

Sleep patterns were not just about rest anymore; they were contextual markers in a vast milieu of metrics working to optimize metabolic systems. We could read, warn, and optimize the body earlier with wearable technology.

However, prevention still required consent, scheduling, and drama of what entered the body.

When I think back to the day I found Lumen, morning arrived first. I woke up ready to shop for another interface. My chest tightened with a strange sense of uncertainty, nervousness, and excitement intermingled like varied scents within a compact room.

While finishing my dermal routine, thoughts cluttered my mind about the length of time it would take for the sync of a new interface.

I notified Chris of my arrival so he could control the inventory before my entry through the door. As a co-worker and friend, his knowledge about interfaces allowed him to select options available for my use.

“What did you do to have it stop working?” he asked accusingly. He had a grin, one I was accustomed to whenever he was joking. His team oversaw production of countless prototypes, and the defensive tone revealed the pride he took in his creations. I offered a short rebuttal.

“Nothing.”

Chris lifted his left eyebrow, his eyes filled with irritation. The temptation to fire back existed. Maybe I should tell him his inadequate knowledge of technical specifications caused the breakdown jokingly. Or, now I’m the one reeling with emotional fallout, not to mention, additional funds it would take to replace this band. Or even better, what did you do to the interface that made it unable to withstand my lifestyle?

Instead, my lingual side remained silent.