Burning Storm trudged toward the complex's fountain, his boots heavy against the shattered ground.
His weighted steps betrayed his exhaustion from the recent battle, visible only to the keen observer who might notice the slight drag in his otherwise purposeful stride.
He circled the fountain, its once-delicate design barely clinging to existence, as if the world itself had taken a blade and cleaved it cleanly down the middle.
On the balcony above, a figure stood leaning against the railing. Despite the great structure being split in two, it remained upright, though a deep groove scarred its massive form.
The man on the balcony seemed unconcerned by the damage, simply watching as Burning Storm approached with measured steps.
Black hair with streaks of white danced like silk ribbons in the gentle breeze as the sun sank beneath the horizon, casting a cantaloupe glow across the ravaged landscape.
