Long ago, in the shadows of a bygone era, I embarked on a quest. A journey through the ruins of ancient scriptures, through the words of lost ages, searching for the true way to approach the gods and bring them peace. The sacred books of Earth-34189 whisper in legends of how the world lost itself—and how nature reclaimed its power.
On the grand square of Metamelei, a statue rises—a monument in remembrance of what once was and a warning of what mankind has done to the Earth. At the top, a sphere floats, the rebirth of the new Earth. New and pure, sprouting from the roots that now carry it. These roots shed from the new Earth like a snake discarding its old skin. But these roots are not merely plants; they are the silent chronicles of a planet that has broken free from its oppressors. Cast off, eliminated as if it were a mere mosquito that disturbed our sleep at night. It is the force of Mother Nature herself, tightening her grip after an infection from a virus.
Beneath the sphere, hidden within the tangled roots, lie the three maidens. Their bodies fused, torn, and abused, their voices silenced by the relentless march of nature. They embody the downfall of humanity on Earth-34189, trapped in a web of their own negligence and ignorance. Where once cities rose, flowers now bloom again and wild bees hum. Where machines once thundered in the name of progress, the wind now sings through the abandoned towers of past civilizations.
Lower in the sculpture, deep beneath the shadow of the roots, rests a mirror of the old Earth—a sphere dripping with deep black, glistening oil. A reflection of mankind’s reckless ego. The sphere is saturated, oozing the liquid black gold, the excess that devoured the world at a rapid pace. Even the man who bears it—the ancient Greek god Atlas—can no longer endure its weight. His back bent under the greed of the creation of his forefathers. The oil drips down his fingers, over his face, making everything heavy, unbearable, and blinding him to what is truly happening around him. Humanity, always striving higher, kept building, kept taking, kept pushing the Earth to its limits, even when it was already too late.
The roots of the new world pay no heed to the despair of the old. They grow, spread, break through the marble halls of former heroes, through forgotten cities, and envelop the remnants of a lost civilization. This monument reminds us that no power—no empire, no technology, no divine claim—is stronger than Mother Earth herself.