The days bled into nights in a rhythm that felt almost sacred. Our city grew, not from the labor of hands alone, but from the weaving of dreams and wills bound together.
We called it Solgard—the Garden of the Sun—for it was born from a single flame, and from that flame, life had blossomed.
I walked the wide streets we had carved from the earth, the living stone under my bare feet humming with a pulse that mirrored my own heartbeat.
Around me, laughter filled the air, mixing with the scent of flowering trees and fresh bread baking in ovens built into the walls of the city’s heart. Children raced through the streets, trailing streams of shimmering magic like comets in their wake.
It was beautiful. It was everything we had fought for.
And yet... the shadows never truly disappeared. They
