daily life?

Day 1:

Morning

Professor John pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose, unfolding a map of the Mariana Trench on a worktable. "Today, we'll compare oceanic sediment layers to the metallurgical analysis of the statue. If David's hypothesis is correct—"

Anna cut in, twirling in her chair. "But what if it isn't from the ocean? What if someone placed it there to conceal it?"

John sighed. "Anna, we've taken its density measurement. It's compatible with deep-sea pressure. Now pay attention—help me label these core samples."

Afternoon Phone Call

Anna's phone buzzed. Her mother's face materialized, pixelated against a dusty background. "Sweetheart! How's the museum?"

"Boring. John's got me sorting rocks," Anna said, holding up a sediment sample. "Did you find something cool?"

Her father's voice crackled in. "We've found carvings of winged figures in the temple ruins. Sound familiar?"

Anna sat up. "Like the statue of the archangel?"

Her mother smiled. "Exactly. But don't tell John—he'll demand a peer-reviewed article before we—"

The phone went dead.

Day 2:

Noon

Anna took notes in the museum library, surrounded by tomes on angelic iconography. John leaned over her shoulder. "Medieval representations of archangels tend to symbolize protection. But your statue's stance is defensive, not beneficent. Notice the clenched fists?"

"Perhaps it's protecting something," Anna replied.

"Or someone," John grumbled, turning a page.

Evening Phone Call

Anna's father picked up, his face smeared with dirt. "Anna! We discovered a room under the temple. Walls with symbols that match the markings on the statue. Your mother is decoding them now."

Anna leaned forward. "Do they tell us what the statue does?"

Her father paused. "It's… ambiguous. But there's one phrase repeated: *'The tears of the guardian drown the world."

Static engulfed his words.

Day 3:

Morning

Anna stormed into John's office, grasping a dusty book. "Look! This 12th-century book has 'a metallic sentinel forged to bind the Abyss.' That's the statue, isn't it?"

John scanned the page. "Poetic metaphor, Anna. Not evidence."

"But it fits! The Africa carvings, the stories David told—"

"Legends aren't facts," John snapped and then relaxed. "But… I'll do a spectral analysis on the statue's 'tears.' Satisfied?"

Final Phone Call

Anna's mother replied, her voice tense. "Anna, listen. The symbols here—they're warnings. The statue isn't a relic. It's a *seal*. If it's activated—"

The screen went dark.

Anna gazed at her phone. "Mom? Mom!"

John came in, carrying a lab report. "Anna, the statue's 'tears' have traces of an isotope that doesn't occur on Earth. I… think you may be onto something."

Anna didn't grin. "We're out of time."

That Night

Anna turned over in bed, her mother's words repeating in her head. A seal. Activated. Out in the city, Paris slumbered, oblivious.

Then the world blew up.

The floor creaked, sending Anna tumbling to the floor. Glass exploded as display cases crashed, and the ceiling screamed like a wounded animal. A cacophony of sound filled the air—stone cracking, metal writhing.

Earthquake? Anna crawled to her knees, gagging on dust. Emergency lights flashed, sending hellish shadows dancing. The wings of the archangel statue shone in the mayhem, its face unnervingly serene.

"John!" Anna shrieked, but her cry was lost in the din. She staggered toward the door, rubble falling around her. A piece of marble crashed into a vase next to her, showering porcelain shards.

Move. Just move.

She reached the grand staircase as the ceiling above it fell in. Anna stood still—the way was covered.

Think. The service corridor.

She spun around, but a harsh aftershock threw her off balance. Her head hit the lip of a pedestal, and everything whirled. Blood seeped into her eye as she crawled on, her eyesight fading.

"The… statue…," she breathed, her parents' advice and the warrior's words clashing in her mind. The seal is broken.

A pillar creaked above her. Anna glanced upward just as it fell.

Then—nothing.

Professor John's Point of View

John was in the archives when the earthquake struck. Shelves of aged manuscripts came crashing down around him, but he hardly saw them. All he could focus on was Anna.

"Anna!" he screamed, digging through debris in front of the gallery entrance. His fingers were bloody as he hurled wedges of marble aside. "Anna, respond to me!"

A distant groan came from the wreckage. John's heart jumped. "Hold on! I'm coming!"

He pushed through a hole in the rubble, flashlight shaking in his hand. The light illuminated a glint of black hair under a broken pedestal.

"Anna!" He knelt down, pushing the stone off her unconscious form. Blood clung to her temple, but her chest moved slightly. Alive.

"Stay with me," he grunted, pushing off his lab jacket to cradle her head. "We're getting out of—"

A thunderous crack rang out. John glanced up as the ceiling gave way.

"No…!"

He leaped over Anna just as the world was ending.

---

Kallen and Sasha's Point of View

In southern African temple ruins, the ground shook. Kallen pulled on Sasha's arm as dust poured down the old walls. "The chamber's collapsing! Run!"

Sasha pulled free, holding a stone tablet. "The symbols—they're a countdown! The seal's already broken!"

"Forget the tablet!" Kallen bellowed, pulling her toward the door. "Anna needs us alive!"

They staggered through broken corridors, the air heavy with dust. Sunlight glimmered ahead—the exit.

Sasha stumbled the tablet breaking. "Go! Get to Anna!"

"Not without you!" Kallen spun back, but a pillar fell between them.

"Kallen!"

He grabbed for her hand, but the floor collapsed. Sasha's scream was heard as she fell into the chasm.

"SASHA!"

The ceiling caved in, silencing Kallen's scream.

Grandparents' Perspective:

Earlier That Day

"I said we should've ridden the train," Gerald complained, gripping the steering wheel with white-knuckled fingers as their old sedan merged onto the freeway. "This vehicle's older than your meatloaf recipe."

Martha slapped his arm, her perfume with flowers colliding with the odor of old fries. "Don't you begin? You're just angry 'cause I won at cribbage last night."

Gerald snorted. "You cheated. Nobody wins three 29-point hands in a row."

"Skill, Gerald. Pure skill." Martha pushed her cat-shaped glasses up her nose, narrowing her eyes at the GPS. "Next exit's in 10 miles. Anna better be grateful we drove six hours to pick her up."

"Kid's lucky to have us," Gerald said, relenting. "Kallen's always off running after rocks, and Sasha… well, she's got her head in the clouds."

Martha sighed. "They mean well. But that girl needs family. A real family."

The radio crackled with a news bulletin: *".unusual seismic activity reported worldwide. Authorities urge caution—"

Gerald turned it off. "Bah. Fearmongering. Remember Y2K?"

Martha laughed. "You stockpiled enough toilet paper to last a decade."

**Moments Later**

The initial tremor struck like a speed bump. Gerald swore as the vehicle lurched. "Potholes the size of—"

The road split apart.

A crude fissure ripped open in front, asphalt fraying like old cake. Gerald depressed the brakes, but the vehicle slid onward, tires howling.

"Gerald—!" Martha shrieked.

The world tipped sideways. The sedan plunged into the chasm, headlights cutting through dust and blackness. Martha's fingers closed around Gerald's, their wedding rings clinking.

Then—silence.