I took a bird's eye view of the clan from every window of my home. Despite no lives being lost, there was significant damage, a testament to the battle of Essence between the Taurians and the Rebels. I frowned, watching humans and indigenes picking up scraps and destruction, all bearing sombre faces after the loss of over 50,000 humans to the Primevial Void.
I noticed something about death in the Paradox. It wasn't as mournful as death was meant to be. Perhaps the idea of death from my world was what influenced this sentiment. Nonetheless, only sad, worried faces were expressed—no tears or mourning. It was as if they were more concerned for their own well-being and survival.
As a cold wind brushed past the plains, I grew more concerned about the clan's survival of food and other essentials in the coming weeks. The Winter Pause could bother me later—that was the whole Paradox's problem, not just the Vale's.