Peace.
The word felt foreign, a delicate, untested thing in the aftermath of so much cosmic noise. In the days following the formation of the Convocation of Genesis, a fragile quiet had settled over the Sky-Mirror Spire. The frantic energy of impending battle was gone, replaced by the low, purposeful hum of diplomacy and the tentative first steps of a new government. Representatives from a dozen different realities came and went, their voices a strange and beautiful symphony of clicks, chords, and telepathic pulses in the once-silent halls.
For Seraphina, the change was not just external; it was a profound, cellular transformation. Standing in the Spire's central garden—a place that had once been a strategic command center and was now slowly being reclaimed by lush, alien flora—she closed her eyes and simply… felt.
