Hill of Sorrows

The Hill of Sorrows rises as a barren expanse of weathered stone outside the temple precincts, its slopes littered with dark shards of ancient rock that catch the dim light of an overcast sky. The ground crunches underfoot with brittle vegetation, the skeletal remains of plants that struggle to take root in the thin soil between jagged outcrops. No trees offer shade here, no birds call—only the wind carries a low, mournful whisper through the ravines that score the hill’s flanks. The earth bears the scars of ritual: shallow pits where offerings were made, faint scorches where fire once licked at the altar stones. From its summit, the temple dominates the skyline like a black monolith, its spires carved with constellations of a forgotten sky. To stand here is to feel the weight of prophecy pressing down, the air thick with the unspoken fate that binds Sarah’s arrival to a cycle older than the stones beneath her feet.