Beneath a storm-ravaged sky stood a hill—or what appeared to be one. As one drew closer, the illusion crumbled.
It was an obsidian monolithic structure, veined with black twisting cables that anchored it to towering spires across the ground. The structure was colossal—nearly twenty feet long—dwarfing every other edifice around it.
An old woman stood at the tower's balcony. Her eyes were so deeply wrinkled they could not open. She leaned heavily on a black cane and wore a dark ensemble that seemed like liquid shadow cascading down her body. Her face was ghostly pale, her hair beyond white and gossamer-fragile.
She stirred slightly and turned toward the room beyond the balcony.
Her cane trembled, her shoulders too. Then the cane clattered from her grasp, and she slowly lowered herself toward the ground.
However, a strong, pale hand caught her.
"Akanni. You shouldn't do that. You are far older than I am."
