In the caldera, her torch burned green. She kept walking until her companions' voices faded.

Here. It spoke in each footstep across the scree-covered mosaics.

She stopped at an enormous platform. At eye level sat a swordtip. Higher, draped cloth and rounded hips. Above, a face of terrifying perfection looked out.

You have come.

It rang through her like the baying of wolves, the cry of a falcon, a weeping figure over a crow-pecked corpse.

Zenobia claimed godhood.

This was one.

#promptodon