Hundreds of structures made from black glass and bloody rubies sit alone in silence.
Nothing stirs; nothing lives.
It is silent, cold, and dead.
The sky is dark here, the light only moves in whispers.
Grey mist sways from here to there, always filling the distance with sorrow.
Black mist slowly flows throughout the city like a river,
It plummets over the side of a crumbling sea cliff into darkness.
Below a sea of rusting derelict ships rot atop a dried ocean.
However, something plots in the black city.
Something thinks, sees, and hears everything.
In the center of the dead city a black tower lay, sheering into the mist with its black stone.
It knows everything past, present, and still to come.
The tower waits, calculating.
The city has long been dead.
The black tower cannot accept this fact; it must revive the city.
It must finish the duty that it was constructed to accomplish.
Hope is dim; everyone has passed away into the world beyond.
Then, as the mist rolls and the silence deepens, a pulse.