It started with a single drop.

  Then another.

  Then, the earth split open—and water rushed forth.

  For the first time in a hundred years, the soil drank.

  And the people fell to their knees.

  In the streets, in the deserts, in the great empty cities of the fallen empire—they watched.

  The screens flickered with the image of the spear, buried in the ground, liquid light twisting, curling, folding into itself like an infinite river that had always been waiting.

  And then—

  A voice.

  It was everywhere.

  Projected across satellites, whispered through the bones of the Earth, vibrating in the deepest trenches of the last oceans.

  Noise spoke first.

  "This is not a miracle."

  Her voice was steady, unshaken.

  "This is balance. This is what was taken. And now, it is returned."

  In the frozen north, Romulus looked up from his work, listening.

  In the vast fields of the west, Remo paused, the wind pulling at his coat, watching.

  And in the capital—

  Lupa smiled.

  Because finally—

  Finally—

  Someone understood.

  The temple was older than memory.

  It stood at the edge of the world, buried beneath ice and time.

  Once, it had been a sanctuary. A place for the lost, the forgotten, the ones who had nothing left to believe in.

  Now, it was a prison of his own making.

  Hermes sat at its center, the ruby pendant heavy around his neck.

  He had not eaten in days.

  He had not spoken in weeks.

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  Because he had stopped believing.

  The others had moved forward. They had built, changed, evolved.

  And yet—he was still here.

  Still waiting.

  For what?

  For nothing.

  For the damn robot’s curse to end.

  For his beauty to fade.

  For his body to wither like it should have, a century ago.

  He gritted his teeth, gripping the pendant. "Damn you, B.O.R.I.S."

  He should have never accepted the gift.

  He should have never waited.

  The world had moved on.

  And he had not.

  "Hermes."

  The voice cut through the silence like a blade.

  Hermes flinched.

  He looked up—

  And there she was.

  Lupa.

  Unchanged. Unbreakable.

  Her amber eyes flickered with something ancient, something sharp.

  "Get up," she said.

  He scoffed, leaning back against the stone pillar. "Why? There’s nothing left for me out there."

  Lupa sighed.

  She crouched in front of him, tilting her head.

  "You need to shave," she said.

  Hermes blinked. "What?"

  She pulled a small, sleek blade from her belt. "You look like a damn prophet."

  He snorted. "I am a prophet."

  "Then look the part."

  She tossed the blade onto his lap.

  Hermes stared at it.

  And then—

  He laughed.

  Because, of course.

  Of course, this was how Lupa would pull him out of his spiral.

  No grand speeches.

  No soft reassurances.

  Just a damn razor and an expectation.

  By the time they reached the shore, Hermes looked like himself again.

  But inside?

  Inside, he was not the same man who had walked into that temple a century ago.

  The world had changed.

  And now, so would he.

  The waters churned violently before them.

  Waves crashed against the cliffs, but something was wrong.

  Lupa narrowed her eyes.

  The ocean was... calling.

  Not like before, not like the whispers of forgotten gods.

  No—

  This was something else.

  Something returning.

  Lupa took a step forward.

  And in the distance—

  The sea began to rise.

  And Titi rose with it.

  Upon her back—

  Noise and Joy.

  But Joy was not a child anymore.

  She had grown into something else.

  Something untouched by time.

  And in her hands—

  She held the amulet.

  The same pendant Hermes had worn for a century.

  He staggered back. "Wait—what?"

  Lupa turned to him, realization dawning.

  "This is what B.O.R.I.S. left you."

  Hermes looked at the object in Joy’s hands—no longer a ruby, but something alive, shifting, a crystalline structure of pure water.

  Joy’s gaze was unreadable.

  "B.O.R.I.S. knew," she said simply.

  "Knew what?" Hermes demanded.

  "That water is alien," Noise murmured, stepping beside her. "That the Earth would run dry. That the only way to bring it back would be to take it from a place where it never ended."

  Lupa whispered, "A spear that bridges instances."

  Joy nodded.

  Hermes let out a breathless laugh. "You mean to tell me—this was on my neck the whole time? I could have died, and this thing—?"

  Lupa smirked. "Now, Hermes. You didn’t really think B.O.R.I.S. trusted anyone else with something this important, did you?"

  Joy raised the spear.

  The moment it touched the Earth, the ground split open.

  Water erupted from the soil, clear, pure, endless.

  Not a well.

  Not a spring.

  A portal.

  A gateway back to the oldest mystery in the universe.

  Because the greatest secret was never in the stars.

  It was here.

  Beneath.

  Waiting.

  And now—

  It had returned.

  For the first time in their lives—

  They stood apart.

  Not with pain.

  Not with loss.

  But with purpose.

  Romulus stayed in the ice, preparing Httoq for the future, the final refuge for the Mentes Federadas. A fortress no longer built for war, but for sanctuary.

  Remo went west, across the lands that still carried the scars of the old empire. He would map the forgotten places, find those who still wandered without guidance. He would give them a path.

  Lupa remained where she was, at the center of the storm, where the world had no choice but to change.

  Because she was the Architect.

  And the world was finally ready to be rewritten.