A world where connection is the deepest form of magic—where the Time of Arcadia hums not only in the skies and the stones, but in the unspoken moments between people. In the city of Asbeth, dragon riders stand side by side, hands clasping forearms in gestures of trust, their bonds with their dragons visible in the flicker of light that passes between them. But beyond Asbeth’s walls, in the untamed lands where gryphons soar, a different kind of bond exists—one that does not rely on signets or magic bound to the body, but on something deeper: understanding, shared breath, unspoken knowing. The camera moves through moments of human connection—a young rebel sharing stories by firelight, their words met with quiet awe by a Sivergent who had only ever heard one side of history. Thalia sits across from an elder who does not speak, but whose gaze holds the weight of generations. Cassian stands at the edge of a gathering, watching as hands reach across divisions, as what was once seen as ‘other’ becomes familiar, becomes part of something whole. Between Thalia and Cassian, a different kind of bond forms—not one of conquest, not one of sacrifice, but of recognition. Their fingers brush in passing, an unspoken acknowledgment. They do not speak of love in grand declarations, but in the way Thalia listens without rushing to answer, in the way Cassian watches without seeking to shape. The tension of tradition and change unfolds in subtle moments: a Sivergent hesitating before stepping into a rebel’s camp, a gryphon keeper watching a dragon rider with wary curiosity before finally offering a nod of recognition. A teacher in Asbeth running their fingers over ancient texts, realizing the stories they were taught were not the only ones. A child laughing as they reach out to touch a gryphon’s feathers for the first time, no longer afraid. Magic exists in these exchanges—not in fire or storms, but in trust built between hands once kept apart. The camera lingers on the warmth in an elder’s eyes, the shift in posture when an argument gives way to mutual respect, the way a crowd forms not to fight, but to listen. The climax is not war, but a gathering of voices. In the heart of Asbeth, rebels and riders, gryphon keepers and elves, young and old, stand together—not in opposition, but in shared knowing. The camera sweeps across the crowd—faces filled with uncertainty, hope, quiet resolution. And in the skies above them, dragons and gryphons no longer fly apart, but together. The final image: Thalia and Cassian standing at the center, neither leading nor following, but simply there—two people who chose to hold, to listen, to gather. Around them, the world does not break. It does not burn. It begins