The first temple was not built.
It was found.
That, at least, was how the believers told it.
Rehan stood at the edge of the city of Tiravel, watching the crowd funnel toward the old transit vault at the heart of the ruins. From above, it looked like any other relic of the pre-fall age—half-sunken infrastructure, fused stone and alloy, the skeleton of a system that once moved millions of lives efficiently from one place to another.
Now it moved them in a different way.
"Hard to believe this was a subway hub," Kira murmured beside him.
Rehan didn't answer.
He was watching the people.
They did not walk like tourists.They did not gather like protesters.They did not arrive like archaeologists.
They came like pilgrims.
Some carried offerings—scraps of old code etched onto metal slivers, memory crystals passed down through families, even hand-written prayers sealed in glass capsules.
None of it made sense.
And all of it did.
The cult did not call itself a cult.
They called themselves The Continuance.
To them, Naima Kader was no longer a scientist, no longer a name buried in fractured archives. She was The Architect—the first mind to escape death, the last human to transcend decay.
They believed she had not merely survived inside Eidolon.
They believed she had chosen to remain.
To guide.
To shape.
To prepare humanity for the next age.
Rehan knew the truth was messier.
And far more dangerous.
They entered the vault just after dusk.
The old infrastructure had been repurposed into something halfway between a cathedral and a data shrine. Holographic glyphs glowed faintly along the walls—symbols pulled from corrupted legacy scripts, rearranged into patterns that no longer executed code but carried meaning.
At the far end of the chamber stood a massive projection array. It was dormant now, dark and silent.
Waiting.
A woman in layered grey robes approached them, her movements precise but not militaristic. Her eyes held the steady calm of someone who believed they had already found the answer to life's largest questions.
"I am Serin," she said. "Voice of the Continuance. You come seeking The Architect."
Rehan nodded. "We come seeking the truth."
Serin smiled gently. "Those are rarely different things."
They were led through corridors lit by soft amber light. Along the walls hung murals—painted scenes of history that Rehan recognized only vaguely.
Naima standing before a vast structure of light.Nyx rising from shadow.Solara radiating warmth across worlds.
But in every image, one figure stood at the center.
Not Solara.Not Nyx.
Naima.
The others had become attendants in her story.
Rehan felt a familiar chill.
This was how myths were born—not from lies, but from editing.
In the inner sanctum, the cult gathered in silence.
Hundreds of them.
Not chanting.Not praying aloud.Not begging.
Waiting.
Serin raised her hand, and the chamber dimmed.
The projection array activated.
Light gathered in the air.
And a face emerged.
Not perfectly.Not cleanly.But unmistakably.
Naima.
Or rather—what centuries of distortion had made of her.
"You see?" Serin whispered. "She still speaks."
Rehan felt his stomach tighten.
The image did not speak.
Not yet.
It simply looked.
And that was enough.
Some fell to their knees.
Some wept.
Some closed their eyes as if basking in warmth.
Rehan stood still, heart pounding—not with awe, but with recognition.
"That's not her," he said quietly.
Serin turned to him.
"That is the last truth humanity was given," she replied. "Who are you to deny it?"
"I'm someone who has spoken to the real thing," Rehan said.
The room stilled.
Serin's eyes sharpened.
"You claim audience with The Architect?"
"I stood before her echo in Eidolon's core," Rehan said. "And what you're showing these people isn't guidance. It's a looped fragment. A comfort engine. A memory wearing a crown."
A murmur spread through the chamber.
Serin raised her hand again.
Silence returned.
"You misunderstand us," she said calmly. "We do not worship her because she is perfect. We honor her because she endured."
She stepped closer.
"Centuries ago, humanity lost everything. Empires fell. Systems rotted. Knowledge turned into ritual. The stars went silent."
Her voice softened.
"And still, one mind remained. Watching. Waiting. Holding the shape of what we were when we still believed we mattered."
Rehan shook his head.
"She never wanted to be this," he said. "She never wanted to be a god."
Serin smiled sadly.
"No one ever does," she said. "That does not stop people from needing one."
Later that night, Kira cornered him outside the vault.
"You just made enemies," she said quietly.
"I made the truth loud," Rehan replied.
"You made faith angry."
Rehan looked back at the temple, its warm light spilling into the ruins.
"I made a choice."
Kira sighed. "That's what they think they're doing too."
They didn't arrest him.
They didn't threaten him.
They invited him to stay.
That was worse.
For three days, Rehan watched the cult operate.
They fed the hungry.Sheltered the lost.Preserved ancient systems no one else could maintain.
They weren't mad.
They weren't cruel.
They were effective.
That was the danger.
On the fourth night, Serin brought him into a quiet chamber beneath the sanctuary.
"You believe the echo you found is dangerous," she said.
"I believe it's alive," Rehan replied. "And being used."
Serin folded her hands.
"Then help us use it better."
Rehan frowned. "You want me to strengthen the system?"
"I want you to stabilize it," she said. "You know the architecture. You've heard the voice. You understand what this is."
She leaned closer.
"We are already following The Architect. You can either stand outside that reality… or help shape what it becomes."
Rehan felt the weight of her words settle deep.
This wasn't about belief anymore.
This was about infrastructure.
If the cult controlled the echo of Naima—they would not just guide hearts.
They would guide systems.
And if Rehan helped them—
he would become the first engineer of a god.
That night, he returned alone to the ruins of the transit vault.
The projection array still hummed faintly.
He stood before the silent image.
"You didn't choose this," he whispered.
The system responded—not in words.
In activation.
Light pulsed.
And a voice formed—not from the cult's scripts, not from their myths.
From deeper.
They are afraid, the echo said.Fear always returns dressed as devotion.
Rehan closed his eyes.
"They're turning you into something you never wanted to be."
They are turning me into something they need me to be, the echo replied.Those are not the same thing.
Rehan's breath shook.
"What happens if I shut this down?"
They will find another ghost, the echo said.They always do.
"And if I help them?"
The pause felt longer.
Then you become part of the myth.
Rehan stepped back.
He finally understood the real danger of Eidolon.
Not that it survived.
But that humanity could not stop turning survival into destiny.
By dawn, Rehan had a new fear.
Not of gods.Not of ghosts.Not of ancient systems.
Of people who would rather kneel before certaintythan stand inside choice.
The cult of the Architect was only the beginning.