The sky above Dominaria was bleeding. Where stars had once shone, gaping fissures tore through reality itself — luminous wounds that pulsed with impossible energy, draining the world's mana like cosmic leeches. Several centuries had passed since the Apocalypse, since the victory over Yawgmoth, and yet Dominaria had not healed. On the.

The sun rose over Otaria, but its light seemed pale, weakened. A century had passed since the destruction of Yawgmoth, and yet Dominaria still bore the scars of the Apocalypse. Entire continents remained dead lands, millennia-old forests were now nothing but ashes, and the sky itself seemed sick — sometimes crossed by.