A blind monk sits in the desert.
He tilts his head a bit.
'An interesting swing of the brush. Do you think she can hold on to the light of the Moon? You can see the Tower's trio stepping closer to her easel, can you not?'
The shadow next to him shivers a bit in an attempt to show shrugging shoulders.
A hollow voice from somewhere completely different yet right next to the blind monk answers: 'If she's quick enough, she and her kin might just make it out. He is crumbling, but the City of Brass had a lot fall into its lap over time.
But if the little ones are not careful, not only the three henchmen will collide.'
The monk tilts his head to the other side.
'The Sun is out, it's time for shadows to shine,' he says, 'will you do me this last favor?'
The monk nods, as his shadow disappears.
Under the City of Brass stone is moving, light seeps through cracks, a shadow finds his new bearer and an old elemental awakes.