Ten years is a massive, incomprehensible expanse of time for a struggling mortal, but it is merely a quiet breath for a god.
Valeria stood on the wooden porch of the manor, her hands wrapped comfortably around a steaming ceramic mug of sweet tea. She leaned her shoulder gently against the sturdy wooden pillar. She did not wear heavy leather combat boots or a thick tactical harness. She wore a simple, flowing dress of soft amethyst silk, and her feet were completely bare against the warm, sun baked floorboards.
She looked out over her home, taking a slow, deep breath of the incredibly crisp morning air.
The valley of Oakhaven was completely unrecognizable from the desperate, ash covered sanctuary she had founded a decade ago. It had not merely survived the apocalypse. It had absolutely flourished, blooming into a magnificent, sprawling capital city of white stone and vibrant green life.
