Location: The Valley of Thorns, once the edge of the ley fractureTime: Seven years after the Crown's shatteringNarrator: A child's journal, written by a young student of the new Accord
"They say this land used to burn every solstice.""But now we grow songroot here. The healers say it only blooms in places that almost died and didn't."
The sun hung low over the rebuilt outpost. Its rooftops curved like open hands, designed to listen to the ley rather than bind it. Children ran between driftwood pillars etched not with wards, but names — not of kings, but of those who stood and bled when power asked too much.
Among them:Orien. The scholar. Kael. Cassie. Elara. Revan.And a name left half-faded, unspoken but honored — the Masked Woman, etched in ash-colored stone.
The New Accord
A council now met under trees, not towers. Not to rule, but to remember.No Crown. No fragments.
Only the promise: No one bears it alone again.
The leylines still pulsed — but gently, in rhythm with the land. Not servants. Not masters. Just breath.
Whispers of Legacy
"They say Revan teaches shadowcraft to Veilborn children now.""Elara crossed the Wastes to chart lost constellations.""Cassie? She brought frostflowers to places that never knew winter — so the heat has someone to talk to.""No one's seen Kael in years.""And the scholar? They're gone. Or they're everywhere. I haven't decided yet."
The Final Note
"Sometimes, when the ley is quiet, I hear a hum. Like the Crown is dreaming.""But I don't think it's angry anymore.""I think it's waiting — not for a ruler… but for someone willing to listen."
– from the journal of Nalin Vire, age elevenFirst Keeper of the Songroot Circle
THE END
or maybe the beginning, again.