The Wall of Decay

The middle ring of Lotringen was a wasteland of ash and ruin. The once-proud structures that had stood as monuments to the city’s resilience were now reduced to blackened husks, their remnants crumbling under the weight of destruction. The people who survived huddled in the shadows, too fearful to rebuild, too broken to hope.

Amid this desolation, Plaga stood at the edge of the ruined middle wall, her hollow eyes surveying the destruction with a detached calm. The wall, once a symbol of division and security, was now nothing more than a jagged line of crumbled stone and shattered hopes. But to her, it was an opportunity.

“From decay, we rebuild,” she murmured, her voice soft but firm, carried on the faint wind.

Behind her, Gerald stood silently, his shadowed armor glinting faintly in the dim light. He watched her, his thoughts heavy with the weight of her words. “What do you intend to build?” he asked, his voice low.