A man in his late 50s with a regal but weary demeanor is seated cross-legged on the barren, cracked earth of Olungwe's once-grand courtyard. His gaunt cheeks are stained with tears, and his freshly shaved head reveals a scar from a long-ago battle. He wears tattered mourning robes of dark slate, emblematic of his deep despair. Surrounding him, the once-lustrous golden fields of his kingdom are now dulled and drooping beneath an oppressive, overcast sky. In the distance, villagers dressed in muted hues watch solemnly, their expressions marked by both fear and reverence. A gentle breeze stirs the dust around the man, carrying soft murmurs of sorrow through the air.