The Dawn of a New Age

The world had shifted. After the trials of the past, after the Judgement Day and the many wars, the world entered a new era. It was a time of peace, a time when the lands flourished, and the old wounds of the past slowly healed. The mortals, driven by a newfound sense of unity, named this age "The Age of Rebirth." It was a time when all things seemed possible, when new beginnings were born from the ashes of old conflicts.

The celebration of this new age began with grand festivals across the lands, where the people rejoiced in the coming of the "First Year" of this new era. The stars above, still brilliant from the meteor shower, seemed to confirm the dawning of a new time. The cities of mortals blossomed, and their cultures thrived. It was an age where hope and possibility filled the hearts of the people.

Meanwhile, Yggdrasil, in her new form, found herself spending time with her partner, her King, wandering through the cities of their children. Disguised as a mortal, she roamed the streets unnoticed, experiencing firsthand the growth of their descendants. Her children had established their own families, building nations and cultures that reflected their origins. Yet, Yggdrasil's eyes were filled with both joy and sorrow as she observed the choices made by her offspring. She wondered how their fates would unfold.

The Gods, the twelve original beings who had once shaped the world, were also adjusting to the new age. Some reunited, holding grand gatherings to celebrate the new life birthed from their union with the mortals. But not all Gods attended. Some, in their pride or fear, made excuses to avoid these gatherings, choosing to remain distant, silent in their own realms.

"We are too vast to be contained in one place," some of the Gods argued. "Our children must find their own paths, and we shall watch from afar." But in their absence, a rift grew among them. A rift that could not be ignored forever.

Across the world, far away from the lands of gods and immortals, the demons continued to live in peace. They resided on a continent completely separate from the one where the mortals and gods lived. Here, they lived in harmony with the land, building their own society, unaware of the existence of the other realms. Their history was still being written, their culture still developing.

The demons had no knowledge of the ancient past or the creation that had once shaped the world. Their understanding of the world was as new as their existence. They carved their own path, creating a rich history that was uniquely their own. Their lands were untouched, a place where they could grow and learn, free from the struggles that had defined the other continents.

The demons had no gods, no divine beings watching over them. They relied on their own strength, wisdom, and unity to build their future. They had no recollection of the great battles that had come before them, no knowledge of the Judgement Day or the wars that had ravaged the world. They were free to live as they saw fit, creating a society that was both strange and beautiful in its own right.

And in the midst of all this, the Architect—the creator of worlds, the silent observer—watched from afar. He had seen the world change and evolve, and he was content. His creation, his children, had learned, grown, and prospered. For a time, it seemed as though peace would last, and the world would flourish.

With a sigh, the Architect spoke his final words for the moment, words meant only for himself:

_"It is finished."

The Architect, satisfied with what had come to pass, took a rest. His work was done—for now. He had created, shaped, and observed. He would remain in silence, ever watchful, in case his children ever needed him again. But for now, the world was at peace, and he could find solace in the knowledge that his creation had blossomed in ways he had hoped.

The Age of Rebirth began, and as the mortals, demons, and gods moved forward, each with their own destiny, the world seemed to breathe a sigh of relief. It was a time of new beginnings. A time where the future, though uncertain, promised endless possibilities.

Yet, in the silence of the Architect's rest, the world continued to turn. What the future held, no one could say for sure. But one thing was certain—the Architect's creation would endure, shaped by the choices of those who inhabited it. The fate of the world now rested in their hands.