All gods bleed.

All gods die.

Even those of our own making.

The flames of war have left a scar through the Heart of the Land, and its once-pristine landscapes have been stained with divine blood. After a battle that has cast a shadow larger than anything the Tribes have ever seen, who memory permits to endure shall be determined by the hand to pen the tale, and for whom it may be penned:

For Kamataa, who continues her centuries-long search for revenge, regardless of the cost.

For Tez, who must find her place after being stripped of her greatest talent.

For Aritz, who will stop at nothing to complete his conquest, and at any means necessary.

And for Sen, who must rise above her gravest mistakes to carve a path for her people.

But whether for friend or foe, memory shall ever remain a fickle thing, but it shall not forget the Harvests . . . and the legion who survived them.