For a spacefaring civilization, four years pass in a blink; for Steve, they closed a chapter that spanned the previous thirty. The Grand Project Terra Sancta, carried out under his unwavering orders, ushered in an unprecedented global campaign. The Human Federation's satellite network scanned every corner of the planet, leaving nowhere to hide—not for hermits in deep forests, not for scavengers in ruined cities.
Swiftly, uncountable silent AI robots slipped ghost-like everywhere, neither persuading nor forcing, but gently and firmly evacuating the final Earthlings to safe, vibrant SIDE colonies in orbit, and new lives. Simultaneously, a harsher "sanitization" began.
With Alaya's will reigning supreme, Gaia's power was suppressed like never before. The most direct proof was with the twenty-seven Ancestors of the Dead Apostles. The True Ancestor and Principle Blood members—anyone with "reality-distortion" abilities saw their powers simultaneously nullified the instant the "Geo-Gravitational Star Cannon" was triggered. Now mere VII-class vampires at best, they'd shrunk from "manifested by law" beings to regular, if powerful, monsters.
Against the Federation's fearless "God of War Legion," such force was feeble. Around the world, the long-dreaded Ancestors were decisively routed, exterminated one by one by overwhelming force and technology.
At last, with every stray family placed and every Dead Apostle Ancestor reduced to ashes, Earth—the blue planet—found a true quiet like none in millions of years. It became the sacred homeland of humanity, protected by law and consensus, never again to be violated.
Having seen this through, Steve—founder, peacemaker, and guardian of civilization—resigned the position of Supreme Commander without hesitation. Power transitioned smoothly to the elected government. The wartime dictatorship ended and the new era of "builders" dawned.
Freed, Steve devoted himself to his long-delayed true calling—pushing his celebrated "Astonishing Wisdom" to its furthest limits.
…
Spring, 2037. SIDE-1, Private Laboratory, Top Floor of the Colony.
Steve looked up from a sea of data, massaging his swollen temples. After four years of obsessive research, his knowledge had surpassed "genius," venturing into metaphysics on the nature of "information" and "existence."
But today, he chose to pause—an idea long rooted in his heart awaited closure.
"Watcher," he called quietly.
A shadow behind him twisted slightly as the quiet Observer materialized at his side. Since the war ended, Watcher—though his mission as Servant should be fulfilled—refused to vanish, declaring he'd remain by Steve's side by his own will, or by the collective latent desire of humanity, until Steve's life ended. Since he had no magic nor command spells to force otherwise, Steve simply accepted it.
"Here, Master."
"Ready the shuttle. We're going down to Earth," Steve said, voice calm but determined. "Use your Noble Phantasm. Help me find her. I want to see her."
"...Understood."
"Coordinates locked—Millennium Castle, Brunestud."
The shuttle pierced Earth's atmosphere—now pure once more. Out the window, the planet was breathtaking: vast green forests weaving into endless blue seas, devoid of city lights, a vision of primordial beauty. Under golden twilight, the entire globe seemed to slumber beneath a silken goddess's veil.
The destination: Millennium Castle ruins, deep in Romania's mountains. As the sun sank, the ancient castle's remnants—once shattered by war and time—were wreathed now in crawling vines, moss, and wildflowers. The air trembled with scents of earth and water, life unmixed and unspoiled.
Steve stepped out, black cape flapping in the wind, Watcher a loyal shadow behind him.
"She's been waiting, Master," Watcher said.
Guided by Watcher's sense, Steve climbed the steps to a pristine white throne, high atop the ruins. Someone sat quietly there: a woman of stunning beauty, her long golden hair shimmering like woven moonlight in the breeze, clad in an elegant white dress radiant against the setting sun. Her presence was both powerful and nurturing—like she could have been Steve's own mother. Barefoot, her pale ankles peeked below the hem.
She looked up, sensing his arrival. Her eyes—pure red, without a hint of impurity—met his. In them, no surprise nor curiosity, only an infinity and eternity as deep as the cosmos.
Archetype: Earth. Princess of the True Ancestors, last testament of Gaia, the will of the planet itself.
He ascended the steps, finally stopping ten meters away—without salute, fear, or fluster. Calmly, he spoke:
"First time meeting, Archetype: Earth. My name is Steve Weis."
She made no reply, simply studied him in silence.
"I've come to ask you two questions," he continued. "First, your thoughts on the planet's current state. Second, your view on all that I have done these past decades."
A soft wind rustled some fallen leaves. When her voice finally came, it resonated directly in his consciousness, almost like a phenomenon—like the whisper of wind, spill of moonlight, or the breath of the planet itself.
"...Planet...breathes."
At her words, a miracle unfolded: from the heart of the throne, countless silver-white flowers bloomed from the gap between ancient stones, bestowing the twilight with sacred beauty.
"Noise... has vanished.
This... is lost tranquility."
Her answer was simple, yet it was clear Earth was deeply content with a humanless world.
Finally, her crimson eyes fixed fully on Steve—a gaze piercing soul, past and future.
"You... are a foreign element, a variable that does not belong.
You 'corrected' things, removed the 'off-parts'—noisy humans, defunct Dead Apostles—all off the board.
Everything you did... benefited me."
She rose from the throne, quietly approaching him. Her bare feet made no sound, as if she walked as a phantom of the world.
"Isn't it strange?"
She stopped close, tilted her head slightly, eyes closed as if reflecting his steady face.
"To preserve the existence of 'people,' the final result brought 'peace' to the 'Earth.'
You pushed Alaya's authority to the peak, but it was my body as Gaia that received the greatest blessing.
This contradiction and reversal in causality... even I find fascinating."
Her voice carried neither gratitude nor praise, only pure intellect and curiosity, as if studying a rare specimen.
She turned to gaze at the sunset, leaving him her final words:
"You've cleaned the courtyard, foreign one.
But remember... in the deepest chamber, a 'guest' (ORT) still slumbers.
That dream has nothing to do with this planet.
Should you need to enter this land again, it must be for a reason—perhaps to face the one awakening from that dream."
As the sun vanished, so did her figure, fading from the air. Only the silver-white flowers remained, trembling gently in the evening breeze.
Steve knew this first encounter with the planetary will was his answer. Complex and transcendent, yet in some sense, the highest affirmation he could receive.
…