Javeeth stood at the edge of what had been his temple. The stone walls leaned inward like broken ribs. Grass covered the collapsed roof in a thick mat. He had come back to rebuild this place, to prove his absence had meant something more than failure. But now, as he stepped closer to the rubble, he heard it. A scratching sound. Faint but steady. Something was moving beneath the fallen stones. He climbed over the wreckage toward the sound. The pyramid's moss-covered tiers rose behind him, skeletal statues still watching from their alcoves. At the base, half-buried in ash and debris, a golden skull gleamed in the dim light. His worshippers had left it there. The last offering before they died waiting. Javeeth crouched beside it and listened. The scratching came from below, where the floor had caved in. He dug through the rubble with his hands. Stone scraped against stone. Dirt packed under his fingernails. Then his fingers touched metal. He pulled it free — an iron lantern, its glass panels still intact. Green flame flickered inside, weak but alive. The light pulsed like breathing. Someone's soul was trapped in there. One of his faithful, sealed away when the temple fell. Javeeth held the lantern up. The green flame brightened, responding to his presence. After all these centuries, something had survived. Not just stone and memory. Something living. He stood, the lantern warm in his grip. This was where he would start. Not with grand visions or empty promises. With this one soul that had waited in the dark. The temple could be rebuilt, one piece at a time.