Dream no more, sweet prince. Primal Light hath fallen. She fled Hallownest's broken bones into a realm beset by the void, reborn into mortal flesh. From there she aspires to former glory like a moth to flame. The roses will blossom, fates of young heroes intertwined. Remnant beware the Radiance and those that follow in her wake.
A kingdom falls between the cracks born of a god's birth. Dream, children, for the age of gods and magic is come anew. Sometimes, what one receives is exactly what one needs.