From within the dragon's collapsing belly, a dazzling ball of golden flame slowly rose.
It was the primordial spirit of natural rights.
It broke free from the cage of capital and once again illuminated the land.
---
Chapter Eight: The Gods Return to Their Places, Awaiting the Next Generation
[I return this fire to humanity. It may illuminate the long night, or it may be your undoing. It is all in your hands.]
Atop the ruins of Manhattan, the smoke of battle had not yet cleared.
Washington stood among shattered beams and pillars. He extended his battle-worn hands and firmly grasped the golden flame that symbolized natural rights.
The flame did not burn him.
It danced nimbly in his palms, radiating a warm and sacred light.
Gabriel slowly descended from the broken clouds, his enormous wings stirring a gentle breeze.
