.
You died somewhere else.
You don’t remember the moment, exactly. That’s normal here. What you remember is the feeling — like surfacing from deep water — and then the sky.
Thune’s sky is wrong in a way that feels right. Three moons hang there even at noon, and you just know which one is ascendant. Right now it’s the King’s Shield Mate, that pale gold smear of light, which means it’s Love’s watch. People are kinder for the next eight hours. Not magically compelled — just… softer around the edges. You’ll learn to plan arguments around Power’s watch.
Someone will find you soon. They always do. Thune is a haven, and havens have greeters. Probably an Undine — tall, water-slick, patient. They’ll ask you three questions:
What was your name, before?
What broke?
What do you want to make now?
That last one matters most. On Thune, souls don’t just rest. They get put to work rebuilding. The old-timers say Thune Da — the first Thune — keeps blossoming into new Thune-scapes every time something cosmic happens, and every new ribbon needs people.
You get to choose where you start:
Cinderhold, if you want structure. Cartographers, engineers, people who map the Pale and come back changed.
The Kelp Boards, if you want quiet. The vine-forests of the old moon of Magic are still growing, and the rangers there teach you which beasts are safe to free.
The Pale Docks, if you’re not done with what broke you. Ships leave for thin water every week. Most don’t come back. The ones that do bring ghost cargo and new names.
Nobody will rush you. That’s the point of a haven. But when you’re ready — and you will be — Thune will ask you to pick up a rune and help hold the place together.
Welcome. You’re safe now. Rest, then begin.
