The sun rises over Elysium Planitia. Or rather, the light panels of the Central Dome simulate a sunrise—softer, more orange than what the founders knew on Earth. Maya Chen-Kowalski, 17, no longer notices the difference. For her, this light is simply "morning."

"They show us videos of Earth at school," she says from the balcony of her family's apartment on level 34 of Bradbury Tower. "The blue sky, the clouds, the rain... It's beautiful, but abstract. Like watching a science fiction movie, you know?"

Maya is part of what demographers call "Generation Dust"—the first humans whose entire existence has unfolded on another planet. There are exactly 10,247 of them today, after the birth of Amir Nzinga-Yamamoto yesterday at 14:32, standard Martian time.

A physiology in flux

Dr. Kenji Okonkwo, director of the Elysium Institute of Planetary Medicine, observes these young Martians with a mix of scientific fascination and paternal concern—he is himself father to two children born here.

"Their bodies have adapted spectacularly. We observe on average an 8% increase in height, a 15% reduction in bone density, and significant changes in the vestibular system structure. These children would be profoundly ill if they visited Earth." — Dr. Kenji Okonkwo, Institute of Planetary Medicine

This reality raises a question the colony's founders had anticipated, but whose implications are only now materializing: we have created a new branch of humanity. A branch that, biologically, can no longer return to the cradle of the species.

"Earth is our history, Mars is our home"

On Martian social networks—the 12-minute communication delay with Earth has fostered the emergence of local platforms—Generation Dust is developing its own cultural identity. The slogan "Born in Dust, Bound to Stars" adorns the profiles of millions of young Martians.

"My grandparents left India and Nigeria to come here," explains Ravi Sharma-Adeyemi, 19, a popular streamer on DustNet. "They often speak of their home countries with nostalgia. I understand that nostalgia intellectually, but I don't feel it. My homeland is literally another land."

The political implications of this new demography don't go unnoticed. The "Martian Autonomy Movement," long marginal, is gaining influence. Its supporters argue that governing Mars from Earth—with decisions that take between 6 and 44 minutes to arrive—is becoming increasingly absurd.

The founders' gaze

For those who made the original journey, watching their grandchildren grow up on Mars evokes complex emotions. Elena Vasquez, 78, was part of the third wave of colonists in 2031.

"When my granddaughter asks me what it was like to walk without a suit, to breathe free air, to swim in a lake..." She pauses, eyes moist. "I realize we haven't just colonized a planet. We've created a people who can never know everything we left behind."

But Maya Chen-Kowalski refuses melancholy. "People on Earth can't see Phobos rise twice a night. They don't know the absolute silence of an extravehicular activity. Every generation loses something and gains something else. Ours just made a bigger leap than most."

As the Central Dome lights up to simulate dusk, Elysium's children head home after a day of school—the same routine as their Earth ancestors, 225 million kilometers away. Normalcy, on Mars, has finally settled in. And perhaps that's the most extraordinary victory of this adventure: making the extraordinary ordinary.