The city came into focus piece by piece.
Stone streets instead of warped ground. Building foundations still standing, walls cracked but recognizable, alleys laid out with intent rather than distortion. Compared to the lighthouse island, this place felt… grounded. Wounded, but not twisted.
Noel walked at a steady pace, boots echoing softly against the road. Beside him, Noir sat briefly on a broken step, watching the street ahead with quiet alertness before padding after him again. She didn't speak. She didn't need to.
"This one was lived in," Noel muttered.
Before he could follow the thought further, a faint vibration pulsed from inside his dimensional pouch.
He stopped.
The sensation was subtle, almost easy to miss—but now he recognized it. Noel reached in and pulled out the compact metallic device Theo had given him. The surface hummed once more, then a familiar, tired voice came through.
"Noel. I can see you now."
