The war unfolded like a symphony of chaos.
Rivers that once offered life now coiled with vengeance, carrying warriors into whirlpools that obeyed the Serpent's caprice. Flames from the Titan scorched both earth and armor indiscriminately, leaving molten scars across the valleys. Forests of the Stag moved as one, tendrils snaking through hills and villages, testing devotion and punishing neglect with a judgment that was patient and absolute.
Everywhere, belief shaped reality itself. A priest's whispered vow became a sword sharp enough to cleave mountains; a farmer's quiet gratitude caused seedlings to burst into sentient blooms, whispering secrets to those who passed. The lattice was no longer a stage—it was a crucible.
