The Ivory Island was separated from the rest of the city by a wide chasm. Once, it had been connected to seven islands by seven unbreakable chains.
Now, only two remained.
There had been several arching bridges leading to it, as well, but most of them long collapsed. Only one still stood, arching and monumental, built of pristine white stone.
An old man with a wrinkled face and grey hair was sitting on the steps leading to the bridge, dressed in a white tunic. It was different from the clothes most of the citizens wore, resembling that of a priest. The man had a frail body and pale blue eyes.
The old man's face was strangely calm. He observed the burning city with solemn indifference, as if the weight of years made him numb to the cruelties of the mortal realm. Even though his world was ending, the elder remained poised and dignified.
Noticing the approaching devil, the old man tiredly leaned on his cane.
