Once, in the heart of the great Azora Kingdom, there reigned a king named Kala. He was once a man of strength and wisdom, beloved by his people, and his rule had brought peace and prosperity to the land. The fields were golden with crops, the rivers flowed freely, and the people sang songs in his praise. But as the years passed, Kala changed. His hunger for power and wealth consumed him, turning his heart cold and his hand heavy.The council, fearful and silent, nodded in agreement. None dared speak against him, though the weight of his demands was breaking the kingdom. Outside the palace, the whispers of the suffering people grew louder. The farmers toiled under the scorching sun, their fields bare. The hunters returned from the forests empty-handed. The people were starving, yet the king demanded more.That night, a storm unlike any other descended upon Azora. The wind howled through the palace, and the rain beat against the windows. In his chamber, King Kala tossed and turned, haunted by restless dreams. He found himself standing in a vast plain, surrounded by shadows. Before him stood his ancestors, their faces grave and sorrowful.King Kala stood on his balcony, looking out over his crumbling kingdom. The sky was dark, and the wind tore through the trees. Suddenly, the ground beneath him trembled, and a great crack split the earth before his feet.From the darkness, the old woman emerged once more, her eyes now glowing with the fury of the spirits. Shadows swirled around her as she spoke, her voice booming like thunder.