Zen loved it out here. There was a grand, untamed beauty to this kingdom that no poem or epic could do justice. Mountains plunged into the silver skies above, mists coiled around them like sleeping dragons. Rivers grew wide and plentiful, spilling into lakes that might have been oceans. One morning, he woke to a flock of white herons taking flight, their majestic wingbeats echoing long after they were barely stitches against a silken blue sky. Here was a land unsullied by Elantian rule. A land he could still fight for.
