Part I – “They Never Feared Us… Until They Had To”

They never imagined that the country they mocked on the news, the one they associated with coffee, vallenato, and civil war, would be the one to make them look up at the sky in fear.

Colombia no longer asked for permission. It had crossed the line of the comprehensible, tamed the fire of the cosmos, and returned warriors who spoke Spanish—armed with centuries of combat experience, unfathomable technology, and a clear mission: to reclaim what Earth had once denied them.

The first mistake was ignoring us.
The second, not listening.

Now we are here, orbiting your world, aboard ships forged in golden shadow. We scan your weapons, your systems, your fragile defenses.

And while you pray, scream, or negotiate, one truth hums across the interstellar frequency:
“We do not come in peace. We come for what is ours.”

Chapter 1: The Announcement

It was an ordinary Thursday. A heavy heat dragged through the streets of Medellín—but that wasn’t what kept people awake that night. Televisions in bars, homes, even hospitals all showed the same thing: a national broadcast.

It hadn’t been announced.
No press release.
But it appeared—uninvited—on every screen.

The image was stark: black background, the coat of arms of Colombia... slightly altered.
Beneath the condor, a flickering line of binary code.

Thirty seconds of silence.
Then, a woman appeared.
Wearing a deep purple suit. Her gaze unshakable.

“Good evening. This is your president, S. López.
As of this moment, Colombia declares energy a free and universal right.
No one will ever pay an electric bill again.”

Silence.

The press room in the Palace of Nariño was empty.
No journalists. No officials. No warning.Just the ones who needed to know.
“We’ve done it.”

The feed cut.

10:23 p.m.

The news spread like a virus of uncertainty.

Conspiracy theories followed:
Was it a prank? A coup? An AI takeover? Foreign interference?

The next day… no power cuts. Power plants didn’t open. Energy kept flowing. More stable than ever.

In poor areas once plagued by outages, not a single blackout was reported for over a year.
Industries dependent on high kilowatt loads saw improvements in current density.

World economies flinched.

French and Russian nuclear plants began working overtime. Wall Street dropped 9 points. But Colombia’s economy? It grew 17% in a single week.

Meanwhile, 4.2 kilometers beneath Caldas, in a sealed bunker, engineer Sebastián Hernández adjusted the final parameters of the second Núcleo Franciscano.

The numbers were clear.

The portal could be opened.

And this time… humans would cross it.

You could feel the energy in the bunker. Literally. Hernández did what any real scientist would:

He went through it himself.

He took an oxygen tank—just in case—and crossed.

One minute passed on Earth.
For him? 2.7 years.
He returned stunned, almost euphoric.
Blood boiling with what this meant for Colombia.
He brought rocks. Plants. Water samples. Everything.
It was a giant leap.
The calculations were monstrous—and yet perfectly consistent.

One Earth minute equaled 2.7 years in the designated Andromedan sector 8-A.
A planet with breathable atmosphere. Functional magnetosphere. Day cycles of 31 hours. 92% Earth gravity. In terms of opportunity? Pure gold.

They had already sent probes. Then drones. Then autonomous robots. And finally—humans.

100 people.
Not the elite. But a mix: scientists, workers, artists, farmers, soldiers, ex-convicts, children.

And in just two Earth weeks, a colony emerged—already boasting over 54,000 years of cultural, technological, and military evolution.

Time, once a tyrant, had been tamed.

They were called The First Ones. They didn’t just build cities. They built civilization. A new language—rooted in Spanish. A post-human ethic. Entire new scientific disciplines.

And above all: absolute loyalty to their origin. To Colombia. To Earth.

While The First Ones lived as demigods in Andromeda, only months passed on Earth.

Colombia kept evolving. Once a peripheral nation, now it was the gravitational center of power, mystery, and influence.

Every 33 days, the portals reopened. Each time, bringing data, tech, resources. Knowledge was traded for food. Energy for genetic microcodes.

Colombia became unhackable. Its army no longer fired bullets, but used cold plasma vectors.
Vehicles didn’t need wheels. Borders were no longer geographic. Sabotage attempts followed.

Colombia had ditched the dollar, the yuan, the euro. The new unit of value was the Franciscan Joule Kilo—impossible to counterfeit. Hackers from foreign conglomerates tried breaching the quantum grid. They suffered instant neurological collapse. Andromedan security didn't just block attacks—it shut down the attacker’s brain.

Proxy wars were attempted. Bolivia was pushed to incite conflict. Peru tried to dam vital rivers.
Venezuela inserted spies. None succeeded.

New defense systems didn't require human watchmen. Synthetic intelligences predicted threats days in advance. And neutralized them before they began. Even internal political elites tried to slow things down. Some vanished. Others adapted.

There was no stopping history when it was fueled by nuclear-quantum light. Colombia was no longer a nation.

It was an idea. A strategic anomaly. A geopolitical disruption the likes of which the world had never seen.

And for the first time in centuries, the center of the world spoke Spanish.

The day of the first return was near. But no one—Not even The First Ones—was ready for what was coming.