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.