They brought it in carefully, like it was something rare.
Maybe it was.
Not because it came from the future, but because it came from us.
Every generation leaves something behind—a story, a belief, a dream carved into the world. Some build temples. Some build machines. Some build things so large they begin to look like gods.
Standing before it, I can't help but wonder:
If everything we created was all that remained of us, would it tell the truth about who we were?