Third Person POV:
The bells of Elyndor strike nine times, their echoes ringing into the morning air like slow, mourning smoke. Each sound lingered long enough to acus the city hang back, it's a reminder that one of the council had passed away. From the highest terraces to the lower streets, the people stopped working and faced the eastern horizon, where the Sanctum of Flame burned slowly through the mist.
At the top of that hill, the Eightfold Crown waited together, their dark silhouette hang between the sunlight and the blue shine of the barrier above. Before them lie the coffin of the High Seer. She lay covered in folds of white silk embroidered with gold runes, her office veil drawn over her pale face. The air around her flap a little, as if death itself could not rob her entirely of
