𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐋𝐃'𝐒 𝐆𝐑𝐀𝐕𝐄

The world itself has opened up.

The sun’s glare rains down like liquid gold, spilling the gaze of the heavens on the unearthed remains of the ruins below, exposing its bones, bared for the naked eye to see and behold. Dust settles, yet a little lingers in the air, and could almost be mistaken for flecks of copper dust as it catches the sunlight just so. A sight so magical that she almost forgets to breathe. She has to tell herself to do just that.

Breathe.

The air tastes of ancient earth and even more ancient magic, and Citric Puff feels it mingling with the adrenaline in her veins. Never before in her life has she seen a site like this, and she couldn’t comprehend finding something so wonderful ever again. This.. this is a place that she will never want to leave. She will explore every single inch of this place, no stone unturned, nothing forgotten or left behind. If there was ever a time to pinch herself to see if she was dreaming, it was this.

She holds her breath as she carefully climbs down the crumbled remains of once-magnificent stone stairways, not wanting to disturb that which has already been ruined, and uttering a silent promise that she will return to take photographs. Even in just the stairs, there is raw beauty in its architecture. Humans were once here. They built these stairs, walked on them. Everything around here, it’s a place that was never made for symprites, yet has been left to be discovered by them.

As she descends a bit more, Citric Puff takes note of the large cluster of jerbs skittering across the ruins, wondering if this is where they consider home. She’ll have to take care to not disturb their homes, and decides to keep those areas untouched for the time being. Most of the jerbs are earthen-toned in color, with the insides of their ears being bright and vibrant. They’re all incredibly beautiful, and look like they belong here. There are a few that sit on their haunches and keep their ears flicked towards her movements, but none of them make any motion to come and investigate. Probably for the best.

Her descent brings her towards the crumbled remains of a wall, and the molding, crumbled remains of what was probably once-fantastic artwork is all that is left on the ground. Breaking out her dusting brush, Citric Puff tries to gently clean off what remains of the artwork’s surface, hoping to see what it had once depicted, but there’s no such luck. The paint flecks are naught but sun-bleached dust, and she quickly pulls her brush away to avoid any further damage. Luckily, the archaeology team should be here in a few hours, along with the salvage team, and they’ll be able to hopefully save these pieces.

A little farther, she notices what looks to be fragments of a large plaque on the ground, probably having been on the wall and had fallen off over time. She can see bits of writing underneath the thick, heavy layers of dust and dirt, and she starts dusting off the largest piece she can find.

“Humanity’s finest” is all that particular fragment says, at least she thinks. Learning human languages isn’t the easiest thing for a symprite, but Citric Puff knows enough to put together some small phrases on occasion. Surely the rest of the fragments will tell more of what was here.

She stands there, holding the plaque fragment in her hand, reading it over and over.

It was humanity’s finest, wasn’t it? All of this, all of it.

It still is.