I had always thought of Te'Lethia as a cold place. On this visit, it was particularly cold, having lost all shreds of humanity with the last of the piteous cries uttered long ago. Though time moved on unaltered, there was nothing left here; the clouds rolled over an expanse of harsh rock and struggling waves. Crude staircases cut their way around the watchtower in the center of the island, the only remaining evidence of what had been. The tower stood, perched on the top of the ivory tusk of some ancient and immense beast, the pearl color etched with age and dirt. Bronze and copper supports wound themselves around the cherry wood of the curved walls, which were darkened by rain and weathered by wind. It was past midday now, and if someone had still inhabited the tower, he or she would have found an incredible view of the ocean from the south facing balcony; now, though, the door was closed and windows stood glazed. The metallic green roof shimmered in the stark light creeping in from between the clouds. I could barely see the dark insides of the tower; the elevator, the workstations, the peculiar conundrums that made the tower what it was; all were still now in their solitude. All were abandoned; the place left with only a dim memory of the past. The J'nanin watchtower has lost its use, and with that, its life.