Chapter 61 - Chapter 61: The Fragility of the Dawn

The sun that rose over the Sanctum of the Sanguine Moon was no longer the jagged, blood-soaked orb of the war years. It was a soft, pale gold, filtered through the morning mist that clung to the silver-veined peaks like a silken veil. For twelve months, the North had breathed in a rhythm of peace—a steady, quiet inhalation of reconstruction and an exhalation of mourning. The "Sanguine Age" had brought more than just victory; it had brought a lushness to the world. The once-frozen tundra was now a rolling sea of emerald grasses, and the Obsidian Peak was carpeted in Dawn-Lilies that glowed with a faint, bioluminescent pulse in the twilight.