As the first rays of the sun cast a resplendent glow over the newly erected Phoenix Terrace camp, the entire area shimmered with a golden radiance. The landscape, adorned with tents crafted from mismatched fabrics stitched together in haste, bore the marks of recent construction, scattered broken branches, repurposed fence wood, and supply boxes stacked haphazardly, awaiting organization.
Amidst this rebirth, the entire camp seemed to pulse with the grandeur of 'Thus Spoke Zarathustra', each note painting the harsh wilderness in hues of gold. However, within the lord's central tent, the atmosphere contrasted starkly with the luminous dawn outside; here, darkness prevailed.