Orléans, 2050, two decades after the revolution. What can I say? Being French runs in my veins. Coming from a lineage of Breton farmers before the sea levels suddenly dropped and war broke out. And as if the year wasn't dark enough, the civil war started. My family has always said: we welcome everyone if they come in peace. But many arrived with ill intentions, ready to fight. Do they not know that the blood of ancient warriors flows through our veins? We can be peaceful, but we can also awaken. No one can take our land from us.

My family descends from a commander who served under Napoleon, the Emperor of France, of high nobility. But what good is such lineage when we have lost our money, when all the banks closed during the civil war? And here I am, a modern D'Artagnan, an elite musketeer in a white coat to stay fashionable, with threads that transform kinetic movement into energy, running faster than a car. Like the Greek god Apollo, who transformed into a swan-Alcyon, a symbol at the court of Versailles, we French have turned into swans to defend our lands like the ancient heroe, fallen from the stars.