The morning brought no sunlight to the valley of Oakhaven. The dawn was merely a slight lightening of the bruised, sickly grey sky hanging heavily beyond the golden dome of Sanctuary. The world outside the magical barrier remained completely silent and perfectly still. The divine blockade held the continent in a suffocating grip. The ambient mana of Aethelgard was entirely dead.
Inside the manor, the atmosphere was tense and focused. The celebration of the previous night had faded into cold, tactical necessity. They had a pantheon of their own now. Kael radiated the comforting, infinite warmth of a sun god. Caspian pulsed with the heavy, unyielding pressure of the deep ocean. Silas stood cloaked in the absolute, pristine certainty of divine shadows. But raw power alone could not restart a dying planet. They needed a map.
