Far away, in a dimly lit chamber, a woman sat cross-legged on a high-backed chair made of polished obsidian.
Her long, raven-black hair cascaded down her back like a waterfall, and her skin glowed faintly in the sparse light filtering through the narrow windows.
Her eyes, a deep crimson hue, were closed as if in meditation, but her mind was elsewhere—focused, concentrated on her power.
She was sitting around a table, with other people observing what she was doing.
"You think she saw something?"
"Never seen her this focused, so she probably did."
And less than 30 seconds later.
The connection snapped.
Her crimson eyes shot open, glowing faintly in the dimness of the room.
The disruption was immediate, unmistakable.
A surge of irritation swept over her as she realized what had happened: one of her crows, her eyes across the vast world, had been destroyed.
It was the crow that was supposed to survey [Undead Land].
