For nearly fifty years, Encara knew something resembling peace. But it was not a gentle peace. It was an era of struggle, of rebuilding, and of forging new bonds in the wake of unimaginable devastation. Nations that had once been at war now stood side by side, not out of mere diplomacy, but out of necessity. The remnants of the old world—the scars of the Summoning War—could not be erased alone. And so, across the land, people reached out to one another, forging alliances not through treaties and words, but through shared hardship and determination.
It was an age of compassion.
Nafaldr druids sought out places of sickness and corruption, urging the land to heal, coaxing forests to return where once there had been only ruin. Majaatu alchemists worked to purify poisoned lakes and springs, developing new methods to cleanse tainted waters and reclaim the rivers choked by magical contamination. The Dresvadr dwarves, who had always kept to the depths of the world, opened their halls to the Felaari geomancers, granting them passage into the deepest places of Encara so that they might sing to the bedrock itself, urging stability and renewal.
It was a time of terrible danger still. Beasts summoned from beyond Encara lingered, nesting in corners of the world no one had dared reclaim. Monstrosities prowled the wastes, and some of what had been brought forth from the worldgates had begun to carve a place for itself in the natural order. There was no undoing all that had been done. But every day, the balance shifted. Every lost field that was tilled again, every city rebuilt, every road reclaimed from the wilderness was a victory, small though it might be.
But for many, it was not enough to simply rebuild. Measures had to be taken to ensure that such devastation could never be wrought again. The gods of Encara, who for all of recorded history had acted only through their clerics and paladins, issued a rare and final command. The worldgates, which had become the source of so much destruction, would never be opened again. Across the lands, clerics and champions of every faith were tasked with sanctifying the ground around the gates, a process that took years of unyielding effort. When the work was done, for the first time in an age beyond memory, the gods reached down and touched the world directly. In a single, overwhelming act of divine will, they placed their seals upon the worldgates, barring them from ever being used again. No summoning. No exploration. No crossing of realms.
All study of the gates was outlawed. What knowledge remained was deemed heretical, redacted, burned, or locked away in vaults where it would never again be used. Those few who still understood how the gates had been opened were bound by the gods themselves, stripped of the ability to share or act upon their knowledge. With that final act, the worldgates became relics of the past—silent monoliths, their once-terrible power sealed away forever.
By the time the work of recovery neared completion, Encara itself had changed. Nations had shifted, merged, or fallen. The environmental devastation wrought by the war had reshaped rivers, altered ocean currents, and transformed landscapes. Old trade routes had vanished, and new ones were forged in their place. The world was not as it had been before—but it was whole again.
In Yldan, King Thalvarn lived to see this new age bear fruit, and in his time he fathered two daughters. The eldest, Orienda Thalvarn, ascended the throne at forty-six, sixty-three years after the end of the Summoning War. She inherited a world finally regaining its strength, and under her rule, Yldan flourished once more as a center of trade, learning, and culture.
But Orienda was not content with the stability of her own realm alone. Where others saw a world recovering, she saw a world still divided. And so she set her sights on healing more than just the land—she sought to mend the wounds between nations.
At her command, new diplomatic channels were opened, even with those once deemed enemies. The Kaldjari Remnant, isolated and struggling, received envoys from Yldan. Though some among her council balked at the idea of aiding the remnants of the Imperium, Orienda believed that only through shared prosperity could lasting peace be secured. The Remnant, reluctant but pragmatic, reciprocated. A tenuous trade relationship was established—Yldan and its allies provided food, livestock, and raw materials, while the Kaldjari shared select secrets of their artifice, ensuring that their people could begin to rebuild on stronger footing.
For a time, it seemed that Orienda's vision of a united Encara was within reach.
But not all was well.
In the east, the devastation of the war had been no less severe, but the recovery far slower. The monstrous incursions had left entire regions uninhabitable, and the final summoning had shattered what fragile economies remained. Some nations, such as Fehdrun and Marth, turned their eyes westward, seeking aid. Crossing the Balladine Sea had never been an easy feat, and the war had made it even more treacherous. But envoys from the east made the dangerous journey to Yldan, pleading for assistance.
Orienda listened. And, despite the difficulty, she acted. The western nations—Yldan, Ainor, Elendris, and their allies—extended cautious hands to the east, sending emissaries, supplies, and trade envoys. A fragile bridge was formed between the shattered halves of the world.
And then, in what would prove to be one of the greatest advancements of the age, the sky was claimed.
Valdeschstauk engineers, drawing on the theoretical designs of their old brass birds, entered into an unprecedented partnership with Kaldjari artificers. With the aid of a dragonborn wizard—Felidara Thanorax, an opal and copper-blooded sorceress of remarkable genius—they achieved what had long been thought impossible.
The first skyships were born.
Though the secrets of their construction have not survived into our present day, the impact of their creation was undeniable. Trade flourished as never before. The barrier of the Balladine Sea was broken, and for the first time in history, Encara was truly connected as a single world. The Age of Rebirth was realized in full.
Felidara Thanorax, though barely recognized in her own time, would go on to be remembered by a far grander name. It was only in the decades that followed that she was honored as The Opaline Saint, the architect of Encara's new era.
But, as is so often the case, no age of peace lasts forever.
Even as the world soared to new heights, a shadow loomed on the horizon.
The final age of Encara had begun.