Far beyond, on the outer fringes of the Forest of Nature.
Within the gathering place of demonic monsters, on the fifth floor of the Black Tower.
A flicker of void energy distorted the air, and a sinister figure materialized, settling onto a throne of polished obsidian. The chamber was a palace, a sanctum afforded only to a High Priestess of the Cult of Four.
Yilaya, the Witch, leaned back against the throne and, with a lazy wave of her hand, commanded the grand doors to swing open. It was a signal. Only with the gates agape would the lords on the fourth floor know she had returned.
While she waited for her subordinates to assemble, Yilaya produced a grotesque fruit shaped like a human heart. She bit into it without ceremony, its dark juices replenishing the power she had expended, knitting together her wounds.
