A man in his late 50s, with a regal yet weary visage, sits cross-legged on the barren, cracked ground of Olungwe’s once grand courtyard. His gaunt cheeks are streaked with tears, and his recently shaved head bears a scar from a past battle, a legacy of his warrior past. Dressed in worn mourning robes of somber gray, he embodies despair. Surrounding him, the once golden fields of the kingdom stand faded, their stalks bowing under a heavy gray sky. In the distance, villagers clad in muted hues watch in silence, their faces carved with fear and respect. A gentle breeze stirs the dust around the king, carrying faint whispers of sorrow through the air.