The morning sun over the Verdant Reach rose with a gentle, golden radiance, casting long, peaceful beams across the newly harvested fields and the bustling stone streets of New Hearth. Eighty years had now passed since the fateful night upon the ramparts of Eden, and the world had grown deep, sturdy roots in the rich soil of mortal existence.
Inside the old stone homestead on the southern ridge, the air carried the familiar, comforting aromas of roasting barley, crushed mint, and burning cedar logs. The heavy oak table, once cluttered with strategic war maps and blueprints for rebel weapons, now rested beneath stacks of illuminated chronicles, botanical field guides, and handwritten letters from distant lands governed by trade and mutual trust.
Ethan sat quietly by the open balcony doors
