Centuries passed like breaths. The empires that claimed divine right began to crumble under their own weight. The age of knights and crusades bled into an era of thought. Scholars began to question what priests once decreed. The flame of faith flickered, and in its place rose the light of reason — or what men believed to be light.
I watched as the world divided itself once more, this time not between gods and men, but between belief and knowledge. The church fractured into countless sects. Wars were fought not for altars, but for ideology. Books replaced temples, and science replaced prayer. Yet the hunger remained the same — the human yearning to understand the infinite.
Some sought the divine through discovery, others through rebellion. The Architect's voice grew faint beneath the noise of invention. Steam replaced incense; machines replaced miracles. Yet deep within the growing hum of progress, I felt something stirring again — a resonance too familiar to ignore. Mankind was reaching beyond the stars, unaware that the heavens were still watching.
The Word had not ended. It was only evolving, reshaping itself to fit the hands of the new creators — those who would forge gods not from stone or spirit, but from light and thought. The First War had never truly ceased; it had simply changed its weapons.
And as the world entered its modern age, I, the Eternal Witness, closed one book and opened another. The war of gods had become the war of minds. But every war, no matter its form, still echoes the same truth: creation cannot escape the memory of its beginning.
The silence deepened again. The stars waited. And I began to write anew.