In the aftermath of the brutal clashes, as the echoes of war faded into a tentative silence, Incursio stood alone on a ridge overlooking the once-corrupted heart of the World Tree. The ancient tree, whose roots had nearly been suffocated by the Chaos Curse, now trembled with the promise of rebirth. The air was cool and fragrant—a mingling of damp earth and the subtle aroma of rejuvenating magic.
Before her, the altar at the tree's core pulsed erratically, its dark energy now softening as if in mourning for its own decay. Then, from the depths of that twisted power, a figure materialized—a clone of Typhania, created through the ancient art of Spirit Art. The clone shimmered into being as though woven from the very essence of the forest itself. Its features were exquisitely elven: delicate, luminous skin; deep, knowing eyes; and long, flowing hair that cascaded like liquid silver over graceful shoulders.
