Earth. Abandoned temple in the jungle.

  Hidden from the eyes of drones and satellites, forgotten by time, this temple, imbued with ancient power, sleeps in the jungle. Everything around is buried in greenery, and only the sounds of the wild nature penetrate the silence, broken by rare steps. On the floor is a circle of rusty metal, soldered into the slab. It surrounds the figure of Ivor.

  Ivor sits in the lotus position, his eyes closed, his face expressionless. He is lost in thought, as if dissolving into space. The air around him trembles, warps, as if over a hot stone. The space around him changes, as if the boundaries between worlds are becoming more and more transparent. He is immersed in a moment where time does not exist, only waiting.

  A figure materializes before him, as if from nowhere, an exact copy of Ivor himself. He sits on an invisible throne, his eyes glowing with a dull golden light, and his presence fills the space with an invisible weight. This is not just Ivor. This is Cyrus, the god to whom Ivor swore allegiance, and whose words became his guiding star.

  "God Cyrus," Ivor says quietly, his voice not trembling, but filled with respect and inner tension. "Your commandments say that all who are preserved in Terma will be reborn. But when will that moment come?"

  Cyrus, his double, answers slowly, his voice as if it were in the heads of millions at once. The answers he gives seem both close and distant, weighing heavily on the mind.

  — There are two amulets in the universe.

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  The first is the embodiment of me, Cyrus.

  The second is my brother, Khanaris.

  Each of us has our own commandments.

  For the Renaissance to begin, the repositories must be united. But that is not all. We must create unified commandments. One of us must accept the will of the other.

  But in that case... there will be only one amulet. One god.

  Cyrus pauses, his words growing even heavier, as if each word contained a universe of pain.

  — Khanaris will never accept my commandments. And I will not accept him. That is why the revival is delayed. That is why we fight. Endlessly.

  Ivor leans forward, his attention completely absorbed by the reflection of the god. He realizes that this is not just a creature, but the power behind all history and war. Everything about him demands questions, and he cannot stop.

  - Let me ask you one more question.

  Cyrus nods calmly, allowing him to continue.

  - I consider myself a rational being. Why should I submit to your will?

  God laughs, quietly, almost with a soft ironic edge. He lifts his hand, and images appear in it – fragments of the lives, thoughts, memories of trillions of beings. Faces, cities, disasters, desires, murders, dreams – all of these flash before Ivor’s eyes, who is silent, feeling each image deep in his soul.

  — The Terma vault contains the consciousnesses of millions of civilizations. I see through them. Their fears, their choices, their doubts. Do you think your pain is unique? Are your questions new? No. I am the sum of all the answers. You obey me because in return I give you the best possible solution.

  Silence falls. Ivor cannot answer right away. His mind is a jumble of emotions: horror, admiration, doubt. But Cyrus does not wait for an answer.

  - That's enough. That's all for today.

  Cyrus snaps his fingers, and everything around him starts to blur. Ivor's eyes snap open. Sweat pours down his face. He's back in the temple, in the same place he was before. The sounds of the jungle return, but something has changed inside Ivor.

  He remains alone. Only now his chest is filled with a strange echo of someone else's will. These are not his thoughts, not his feelings, but they become part of his essence.