For a time, the world caught its breath.
The War of Scars was memory, but the New Peace fragile.
Our gods were fallen, our faith broken.
We waited for One-Who-Comes in a breath between the storms.
We waited for one already born.
It has been said that the ghosts of our world far outnumber the living.
It has been said that the legacies of our mothers and our fathers decide our fate.
It is said that war begets peace, death brings life, and victory is won by blood alone.
We are scions of a fallen world, the daughters and sons of broken promises.
The War of Scars is over. Our war has only just begun.