Once the sacred extraction is complete,
Ezio, the robot, moves forward, mechanized, discreet.
With a cold arm of steel, precise, devoid of emotion,
He grasps the fragment, sealing the long-lived devotion.
Toward the shadow of archives, he carries the prize,
Joining the witnesses of a past that slowly dies.
There, in a sanctuary where time takes its leave,
Rest in silence the remnants of an empire's weave.
