The image before them began to shift once more, the burning ruins of Azareth slowly dissolving into something far calmer—almost painfully serene. The scarlet skies turned into soft hues of gold, stretching across a horizon so vast it felt endless. Emerald plains rolled beneath a sun that glowed like a living heart. Rivers of silver water glimmered through valleys of mist. Mountains stood proud in the distance, and within their shadows, villages thrived, smoke curling lazily from hearths.
It was a world untouched by chaos—a realm so alive that the mere sight of it eased the soul. Birds soared across sapphire skies, and humans walked the fields, smiling as though they had never known what war, famine, or despair felt like. The sound of laughter echoed faintly as Aesmirius's voice came, distant and heavy with memory.
