The paper in Giulia’s hand felt heavier than the obsidian shards of the spire. Twenty years. The words were a countdown, a reminder that the peace they had won was merely a lease. The child with the amber eyes didn't wait for a response; he simply turned and retreated into the cool shadows of the stone house, his footsteps silent on the volcanic dust.
"Twenty years for what?" Matteo asked, stepping beside her. He looked at the drawing of the downward-shining lighthouse. "The Vathek is dead, Giulia. We saw the core implode. We felt the substrate drain."
"We saw the hardware die," Giulia corrected, her eyes fixed on the horizon where the golden coordinates were finally beginning to fade into the midday glare. "But my mother didn't sacrifice herself just to give us a vacation. She sacrifice
