After leaving the nameless tavern behind, with a heavy sense of dread following close on her heels, Gabriela had spent the better part of a month traveling. She headed north, following the unfamiliar stars that shone brightly during the night, and when the sun shone bright and she was weak, she slept in the dark places she could find. And so, along with her dread, there was a distinct and heavy weight upon her chest -- a sort of longing mixed with anxiety. She wanted to go back. She wanted to return to the only home she had left. The further away she got from [i]Him[/i] the greater the distance she put between herself and any hope of returning to [i]that[/i] place. But the logical part of her, that very delicate part of her mind that was slowly mending back, knew that there was no home to go back to. 

[i]Orisia was gone.

Valucre as well.

The world she knew no longer existed. [/i]

Through valleys, and over hills, beyond great expanses of thickly wooded territories -- she moved in search of something she could not yet name. She carried with her a single and precious possession. A tiny grain of white sand from the tropical beaches of Versilla. The small, glass-like jewel of a speck had been found upon one of her eyelashes, a forgotten relic of the kingdom she had nurtured and then destroyed. Gabriela carried it with her as if it were a child, for indeed it was.

And then, at long last, on a tepid night, when the breeze blew the sweet perfume of star jasmine and the faintest hint of orange blossom, Irene Gabriela DuGrace, known as the Black Queen, ventured deep into the heart of a secret grove. 

Her mind was heavy with remorse and regret more so than usual. The warmth and the fragrance of the night stirred the deepest and darkest parts of her memories. So the weight of her past actions came down, and hung like a shroud around her, suffocating her with each step she took. And the grove, secluded and untouched -- [i]mostly dead[/i] --, seemed like the perfect canvas upon which she could paint her redemption.

From the remnants of a tattered satchel, she produced and cradled the Seed of Orisia -- that tiny grain of sand, all that was left of her true home. And with renewed purpose burning in her summer-set eyes, she entered the grove, though the shadows seemed to whisper and the trees bent away from her. She was not wanted in this place, but she did not care. She would make this her home, or it would become her grave. 

It wasn’t hard to select a place, nestled in the moss and soft wet earth, where the grove’s magic pulsed like a massive and ancient heart. 

“I will begin anew,” she said to herself, and to fend off the harsh criticism of her logical mind.

[i]This wasn’t right.[/i]

She could not bring another country to existence -- she could not be the mother to a new nation.

And yet she did and she would -- for she birthed a new realm in that very moment, a new kingdom that would right the wrongs of her past. 

Gabriela knelt on the ground and plunged her hands deep into the soil, marveling for a moment at the warmth and feeling the earth’s pulse beneath her fingertips. With every ounce of power she still possessed, she lovingly planted the Seed of Orisia, a beacon for all of her aspirations of redemption and renewal. And the grove responded to her touch, stirred by the echo of La’Ruta that still resided deep in the bones of the Black Queen. 

The air changed, the energy becoming a nearly tangible thing as the dormant trees and other vegetation stirred to life. Lanterns, ethereal and otherworldly, flickered to life, casting a warm, and soft glow upon the newly birthed territory. It cut through the darkness of the night and created a sort of radiance around the edge of the thicket, a thing that fought back the frightful shadows that had once crept without any hindrance. 

As the grove blossomed with life, Gabriela knew that her sacrifice was not yet complete. She understood that the revival of Orisia and the creation of the [i]Illuminated Grove[/i] required her to give more than her power. For there was no birth without blood and pain -- one could not bring life into the world without being torn apart. 

Her child [i]demanded[/i] her blood, her essence, and the remnants of her godhood.

It was her only inheritance to give. 

With a resolute determination, Gabriela curled her fingers into her palms and tore into the tender flesh with her glass-like fingernails. She felt the bite of it deep into her bones but did not so much as whimper at the pain. Rather, she focused on the sensation and breathed through the agony of her life force flowing into the soil. Like black fire, she felt her vita pour out of her -- leaving her as nothing but scorched remains. Her blood mingled with the earth, her sacrifice breathed life into the very roots buried beneath her, and from there, traveled across a vast network that connected all of the trees within the woodland. Shadows from her blood swirled, blending with the Seed of Orisia, infusing it with the remnants of her divine power.

The heart beneath her hands beat stronger and faster, while her own slowed and ached to carry on. 

The process was arduous and draining, consuming her with each passing moment. Gabriela could feel the last vestiges of her strength being siphoned away, but she pressed on, fueled by her desire to rebuild and redeem -- even if she did not live to see it.

When it was all said and done, and the ritual was over, Gabrela could barely keep her golden eyes open or control the sharp tremble in her arms and shoulders. The grove stood vibrant and alive, glowing with a magnificent radiance that was simply uncanny, the legacy of Orisia reborn. The Black Queen's task was complete, her work a testament to her unwavering determination. And she, utterly exhausted, collapsed into a cradle of uprooted tree limbs that sprang forward to catch her.

As she surrendered to the embrace of sleep, her hands blackened with soil, torn flesh, and blood, Gabriela found solace in the knowledge that she had paved the way for a new world, a realm where her regrets could maybe be transformed into hope, and her pain could find purpose. And as the night whispered its lullaby, the rejuvenated grove cradled her, guarding her slumber.