The sea roared beneath the cliffs, dark and endless, as if whispering secrets only the dead could understand.
Seriona rose before them—an ancient city carved from salt and memory.
Its towers leaned toward the sky like prayer-worn fingers, and the air hummed faintly, alive with a tension Alessia couldn't name.
The car rolled to a slow stop at the foot of a stone archway, its iron gate etched with runes so old they pulsed faintly under the headlights.
Luca stepped out first, his expression unreadable, the wind tugging at his dark coat as if testing his resolve.
Alessia followed, the silk of her dress whispering against the gravel.
The city's scent—amber, salt, and something metallic beneath—filled her lungs.
She felt it before she saw it: the pull. The strange thrum beneath her skin, the same rhythm as the locket's heartbeat from her dream.
"This place…" she murmured. "It feels—alive."
