Gaea pressed her palms into the forest soil and felt the seedlings stir beneath her fingertips. This dawn ritual steadied her, the way it had every morning since the incident. She didn't think about what Kronos had done to Uranus anymore—or at least, she tried not to. Instead, she focused on the work ahead: tending the forests, steadying the mountains, and showing up for the family members who still mattered. She needed a place of her own, somewhere that belonged to the present instead of the past. The idea had been growing in her mind for weeks now. A sanctuary where ancient stone could blend with living green things, where she could practice her craft and host the family she still loved. She walked through the forest until she found the right spot—a clearing where old columns stood half-covered in moss and vines wound through cracked marble. Gaea knelt beside a weathered stone and ran her fingers over its surface. She would build her garden here, a place where people could gather and share their stories. In the center, she placed a set of chisels she'd found among the ruins. The handles were carved with patterns from generations past. She would learn to use them, to shape stone the way her ancestors had. Creating something with her hands might help more than the dawn rituals ever could. By midday, she had cleared enough space to see what the sanctuary could become. Columns framed patches of wildflowers. Broken steps led to nothing, but she would plant herbs between the cracks. This place would be hers—not a monument to what was lost, but a home for what remained. She pressed her palms into the soil one more time and felt the earth respond beneath her touch.