The rebuilding of the world was not immediate. It was slow, imperfect, full of missteps—but for the first time, the people shaping it were doing so not out of fear or obligation, but from freedom. In the ashes of the Empire, communities formed from the fragments of the old world, each adding their own rhythm to the new melody being born.
Miraen wandered for a time after the fall of the Spire. She journeyed through the Whispering Valleys, where old statues still echoed with enchantments. She crossed the broken bridge of Valcoran, where rebels and Harmonizers once clashed, and where now children drew runes with chalk and laughed in every language. She no longer needed the Codex—it had sung its last note. But she carried its shell with her as a reminder.
