He wasn't saying these words for the sake of this grand citadel, for the conflict that was about to unfold between Gilgamesh's Sovereignty and the Early Laboratories.
He was saying them for himself. He had not forgotten why he was here. He was still a man running a desperate race against a clock he could not see. These beings… Vulcan, Gilgamesh, all of them… they were the ones who had likely achieved their dream!
They had built their perfect, isolated civilization, their own version of THE Loom, and they had been saved.
While he, his family, and the countless, nameless sextillions of beings in his own Era were left to face the final, absolute dark of the Collapse and the Fallout.
He had time here, yes.
Days in an age of impossible growth. But in his own time, the sand was running out.
He had to build his own garden. He had to forge his own Civilization. He had to do… whatever it took!
"Whatever it takes," he said, the words now a quiet, unshakeable vow.
