Beside her, the copy of Original Sin beneath the tree roots had its pages blown open by the wind.
On the blank page, a line of crooked writing glimmered in the moonlight.
Beside the book, a mechanical beetle crawled out of the dirt.
It had no chip and no program. Guided only by instinct, it clumsily crawled onto the page.
Then, beside that line of writing, it left a tiny, damp footprint.
It was a new story.
A story that belonged to mortals.
The universe was still in chaos.
Wars would still break out.
Civilizations would still fall.
But it didn't matter.
Because the spark had been rekindled.
