The valley of Oakhaven transformed rapidly in the weeks following the fall of the High Heavens. It was no longer a desperate military encampment hiding beneath a flickering dome. It was a thriving, magnificent sanctuary bathed in the uncorrupted light of a liberated sun. The mortal refugees who had huddled in the dark cellars were now aggressively building a sprawling, beautiful settlement around the base of the World Tree, their natural magical sparks aiding in the rapid construction of stone homes and flourishing gardens.
Valeria did not summon her pantheon to the war room to plan a new offensive. She summoned the surviving leaders of the physical world to the courtyard to draft a peace.
Word had traveled incredibly fast across the purified leylines. The absolute, undeniable truth that the celestial tyrant was dead and the magical drought was permanently broken had reached the farthest corners of Aethelgard.
