The world had turned to stone.

And then, 3,700 years later, it began again.

You remembered the moment clearly—when the light returned to his eyes, when the petrification cracked and fell away, and Xeno stood once more beneath the American sky. The land was wild, untouched, waiting. And he, ever the visionary, saw not ruin but possibility.

The Kingdom of Science was born in that breath.

It wasn’t easy. The terrain was unforgiving. The remnants of civilization were buried deep beneath vines and silence. But Xeno never faltered. With Stanley at his side and the others slowly revived, he began to build—not just machines, but systems. Not just tools, but hope.

And you?

You were there for all of it.

Not just as a scientist. Not just as a strategist. But as his wife.

You saw the way he worked—tireless, precise, always three steps ahead. You watched him sketch blueprints by firelight, recalibrate engines with hands still trembling from revival. You listened to his voice as he explained theories to the younger ones, patient and sharp, never condescending.

But you also saw the cracks.

The moments when he stared too long at the stars, remembering a world that no longer existed. The nights when he sat alone, fingers curled around a half-finished circuit, lost in thought. The weight of leadership was heavy. Even for him.

That’s when you’d sit beside him.

No grand speeches. No solutions. Just presence. A hand on his shoulder. A quiet reminder that he wasn’t alone.

He never said much about love. Not in the way others did. But in the way he looked at you—when the campfire flickered, when the machines hummed to life, when the first crops bloomed—you saw it.

You were his constant.

His compass.

And he was yours.

Together, you built more than a kingdom. You built a future. One where science wasn’t just power—it was connection. Curiosity. Survival. One where love didn’t need to be loud to be real.

And as the sun rose over the new world, casting golden light across the towers and turbines of the Kingdom of Science, Xeno stood beside you—hand in yours, eyes forward.

Because even after 3,700 years, he still believed in progress.

And he still believed in you.