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The sanctuary doors are opened on the first day of spring.
I didn't plan it that way. None of us did. It's simply how the timing worked out — the Summit's vote, the logistics of clearing the ruined palace, the messages sent ahead to the Keepers. But standing on the palace steps now, watching the sun rise over the deadlands, I can't help feeling that some things are meant. Some things are orchestrated by forces larger than politics.
Or maybe that's just hope speaking.
The Heartlands palace has been transformed in the two weeks since the Council's vote. Work crews from all five territories have been laboring day and night — clearing debris, repairing walls, hanging banners. The broken crown sigil flies from every tower. The grand hall has been swept clean. The throne on its dais has
