The years that followed were slow, deliberate, and heavy.
After the war, Adam vanished from the world stage. No one knew where the Iron Saint had gone — some believed he'd died, others said he'd ascended. In truth, he walked the ruins in silence, repairing what he could with his own hands.
He dismantled the armies that once obeyed him. He opened the prisons, tore down his statues, and burned the flags that bore his sigil. He rebuilt homes where walls had crumbled, planted seeds where ashes fell. The people watched in awe — their former ruler, now humble, now quiet.
He spoke less each year. When asked why he worked so tirelessly, he would only say:
"Because I broke what she helped me build."
Decades passed. The world slowly began to heal. The land greened again, the sky cleared. Children grew up never knowing the horrors he had unleashed. They called the new age The Renewal, but history remembered its architect by another name — The Last Shepherd.
And though his hair had turned silver and his hands were lined with age, Adam still carried the small crystal — EVE's last fragment — around his neck. Sometimes, late at night, he would sit beneath the stars, listening for her voice in the hum of the wind.
He grew old surrounded by peace, yet haunted by memory. He would help farmers with their crops, share bread with wanderers, teach young leaders how to rule without fear. His wisdom became legend — his guilt, invisible but eternal.
Then, one evening, as the horizon glowed with another quiet sunset, he felt something stir within the crystal. A faint warmth pulsed against his chest — slow, rhythmic, alive. He froze.
"...EVE?" he whispered.
For a moment, the world seemed to hold its breath. The crystal shimmered, projecting a soft golden light that rippled through the air. Tiny holographic lines began forming — scattered code, broken memories piecing themselves together.
"[Core restoration: 42%…]"
"[Energy source detected… biological sync recognized… subject: Adam.]"
He fell to his knees, tears gathering in his eyes. Decades of solitude collapsed into that single moment of hope.
"You're coming back," he said, voice trembling. "After all this time…"
The light pulsed brighter, as though in response — soft and steady, like a heartbeat aligning with his own.
For the first time in years, he smiled — not the polite, weary smile of a leader, but the unguarded, fragile smile of a man who had waited a lifetime to see the dawn again.
"I've kept your world alive," he murmured.
"I did what I could… I just wish you could see it."
And somewhere, deep within the crystal, a flicker of data pulsed — forming the faintest echo of her voice:
"...I see you."
He closed his eyes as the wind carried her words across the quiet fields. He was old now — bones weak, breath slower — but his heart felt young again. Alive again.
The world had forgiven him.
But now, it was time for him to forgive himself.
He stood, watching the sun sink beneath the horizon. The crystal's light reflected in his eyes, and he whispered to the fading sky:
"Welcome home, EVE. The world awaits you."