Chapter 4 – The Lost Continent begins as the narrator, convinced that the pursuing tribesmen would no longer follow them, reflects on how the fear of the lion god’s domain would dissuade even the hungriest cannibals from continuing the chase. He reasons that, from their perspective, anyone who enters that forbidden place is as good as dead. This provides him a measure of safety and enough confidence to bring Victory along as he makes his way back toward the launch. However, as they navigate the riverbanks through the abandoned camp of the lions, he becomes preoccupied with how to explain her sudden appearance to the rest of his team. The peculiar alliance he shares with her defies conventional explanation, yet it has grown out of necessity and survival. That bond, forged under threat, now carries emotional weight he hadn’t anticipated.

Arriving at the shoreline, they are greeted by Snider, who is visibly shaken and overwhelmed. His words tumble out in a frantic rush, describing how he feared the narrator dead after finding his cap. Snider shares that they had rescued Taylor, whose disoriented account of the events made little sense. The mention of a mysterious inland sighting only added to the confusion. Snider accuses him of chasing shadows, risking everyone’s safety for what seemed like an illusion. But as the narrator calmly recounts what had truly occurred—his encounter with Victory, their escape from the predatory cult, and the tribal myths of the lion god—Snider listens in stunned silence. By the end of the tale, his demeanor has shifted from skeptical irritation to pale-faced disbelief.

Without another word, Snider turns away and steps into the launch. He starts the engine and simply gestures for the others to follow, his mind clearly processing what he’s just heard. The narrator turns to Victory, searching for the right words to explain the parting that now seemed inevitable. Before he can speak, she addresses him with a soft, composed farewell. Her tone carries neither bitterness nor sadness—only a quiet acceptance. She tells him he must return to his people while she remains with hers. Her farewell is calm, dignified, and final. As the launch pulls away, she stands poised by an ancient stone archway, her silhouette framed by the light of the rising moon.

Victory’s farewell leaves a deep impression, not merely because of her composure, but because of what she represents—a lost era, a final symbol of a civilization forgotten by time. The narrator, moved by her courage and grace, turns to Delcarte, expressing a solemn vow. They must return, not just to rescue her, but to aid her in rebuilding a society that has been reduced to ruins. This is no longer about curiosity or survival. It’s now a mission to restore something noble in a world that has surrendered to chaos.

As the launch drifts further into the open waters of the Thames, the skyline of New York begins to rise against the horizon. But the narrator’s mind remains tethered to that lonely figure standing amidst the stones, holding the remnants of a once-great nation in her quiet hands. In her, he sees not only a person but a cause—one worth revisiting, worth risking for. Victory is no longer just a companion or a figure of fascination. She has become a symbol of perseverance, a reminder of what must not be left behind. The ruins she inhabits may crumble, but the spirit she carries refuses to fade.

This chapter closes with a haunting contrast: the booming rise of a modern city in the east and the silent fall of an ancient kingdom behind them. Though physically separated, the connection remains. Their time together, brief and turbulent, is now sealed by unspoken understanding and mutual respect. The lost continent may be behind them for now, but its last queen, and all she represents, remains deeply etched in the hearts of those who witnessed her strength.