The silence that follows the dissolution of the Void is not empty. It is heavy, saturated with the scent of ozone, crushed pine, and the impossibly sweet, cloying fragrance of accelerated blooming.
I am on my knees in the snow that is rapidly melting into warm, fragrant mud. My hands are pressed flat against the earth, feeling the frantic, joyful pulse of the ley lines beneath the soil. The golden energy Elara released isn’t just dissipating; it is being absorbed. The land is drinking it in, healing the frostbite, knitting together the cracked bark of the ancient oaks, and pushing vibrant green shoots through the thawing ground at a visible, breathtaking speed.
But I can barely appreciate the miracle. My own body feels like it has been run through a thresher.
Through the permanent, fray
