The wind carried ash like snow.

From the shattered ridge above the valley, the council’s remnants watched as the earth itself began to pulse with light — not red, not gold, but something colorless and alive. The glow spilled through the fractures in the stone, rippling outward like veins beneath skin, tracing the scars of battle until the entire Vale shimmered in unnatural rhythm.

Someone whispered, “It’s still alive.”

No one answered. No one knew how to.

Elder Vareth’s cloak ...