The seasons passed in peace.
The valleys once drowned in sorrow now bloomed with green terraces and laughter.
The curse was gone—or so they believed.
Lalin lived among the highlands, tending the rice terraces with the villagers who now called her Guardian of Dawn.
Her laughter blended with the sound of streams and wind.
Yet, each night, when the mist rolled in, she sometimes saw faint figures dancing at the edge of the fields—
shapes too graceful, too ancient to belong to humans.
Emma had returned to the forested lands of her ancestors.
She rebuilt what was lost, creating a sanctuary for those who carried remnants of the three bloodlines.
But even as life flourished, the trees began to whisper again—
voices that spoke of a power stirring beneath the roots.
And far to the north, Allia walked through the Frosted Plains, where silver tombs once stood.
She was the last of her kind, yet she could feel the cold ground pulse softly beneath her feet.
The moonlight shimmered, and for a brief moment, the statues of her people seemed… to breathe.
Then, one night, the sky split open with a sound like shattering glass.
A column of light surged from the mountains where the three Mists once met,
reaching upward into the heavens.
The earth trembled.
Lalin looked toward the glow, her heart pounding.
Emma stopped mid-prayer, sensing the surge through her veins.
And Allia—her silver eyes widened as frost cracked beneath her boots.
> "It's awakening again…" she whispered.
"The Mists are not gone—they were only sleeping."