A man in his late 50s, bearing a regal yet weary demeanor, sits cross-legged on the parched and fractured earth of Olungwe’s vast courtyard. His gaunt cheeks are moist with tears, and his freshly shaven head reveals a prominent scar from past battles. Clad in tattered mourning robes of somber gray, he embodies a portrait of despair. Surrounding him, the once-vibrant golden fields of his kingdom appear washed out, their stalks bowed under an oppressive slate-gray sky. Villagers, dressed in muted hues, watch solemnly from a distance, their faces marked by fear and reverence. A gentle wind stirs the dust around him, carrying with it the hushed whispers of sorrow.