From the highest point of the divine realm, where the clouds met the stars, the heavens stretched endlessly beneath a new light.
What was once broken had been remade. The rivers of faith flowed steadily again. Gleaming bands of silver and gold weaving through the void, connecting the countless small worlds below.
Fu Ling stood with his hands clasped behind his back, the long white folds of his robe brushing against the edge of the celestial dais.
The faint wind that carried the scent of creation tugged at his hair. The vastness below pulsed faintly of life, reborn.
Beside him, Chaos stood silent. His robes were dark yet shimmered faintly as threads of light flickered across the fabric.
Below, the echoes of the old god's corruption still lingered. Though the heavens had healed, the marks of imbalance had seeped into the small worlds.
