The transition from the adrenaline soaked nightmare of the Ascension to the absolute stillness of the morning was jarring.
Valeria opened her glowing amethyst eyes. She was not staring at a shattered diamond door, a corrupted void metal ceiling, or a dying celestial tyrant. She was looking at the familiar, exposed wooden beams of her own bedroom in the manor at Oakhaven.
She lay perfectly still for several minutes. She waited for the inevitable alarm to sound. She waited for the deafening roar of a celestial beast or the terrifying, mechanical scream of the planetary Forge overloading beneath her boots.
Nothing happened.
The mattress beneath her was incredibly soft. The air was perfectly temperate, smelling of fresh pine, clean linen, and the faint, comforting scent of deep ocean salt. For the first time in an entire year, there was no distant rumble of artillery, no howling blizzards, and absolutely no oppressive, suffocating dread pressing down on her chest.
