Valeria opened her eyes.
She was lying on her back, staring up at the sky. But it was not the sickly grey sky of the severed continent, and it was certainly not the brilliant blue of a summer day. The sky above her was a dark, churning crimson. It looked like a fresh, bleeding wound stretching across the heavens.
She sat up quickly, her heart hammering against her ribs.
She was sitting in the silver grass of the Oakhaven courtyard. The stone paving of the pathways was familiar, and the heavy oak doors of the manor were exactly where they should be. But the world was fundamentally wrong.
The silver grass was not glowing; it was brittle and grey, crumbling to ash beneath her palms. The hot spring was bone dry, filled only with cracked mud and rusted weapons. And the World Tree...
Valeria gasped.
