Chapter 2 – Streets That Shouldn't Be
They stood at the base of the black archway for longer than any of them would admit, their breaths mingling with the pale morning mist, heavier than they expected after last night's ordeal, as if the mist itself was pressing down on them.
The reddish-gold shimmer in the air beyond it pulsed faintly, like heat rising from stone.
Max was the first to move. He stepped through without ceremony, his boots crunching softly against the damp cobblestones, the echo seeming to stretch and warp unnaturally around the narrow walls.
"It's nothing. Just… more street."
Ren let out a short laugh. "Well, that was dramatic for about five seconds."
John muttered something under his breath, hands shoved deep in his coat pockets.
Elli's gaze lingered on the archway a moment longer, studying the faint chisel marks that seemed to form no words, only curling patterns that stopped abruptly. "Let's just go," she said finally. "We can be at the hotel in ten minutes if we head straight back to the plaza."
They turned away from the arch and began walking, their footsteps muffled by the fog.
The first street should have taken them directly to the main avenue. Instead, it bent sideways, spilling them into an unfamiliar row of narrow buildings that seemed drained of life, the shadows of the walls stretching longer than they should, as if the city itself were leaning in to watch them.
By the third turn, unease was crawling under their skin.
"Wasn't there a bakery here yesterday?" John asked, glancing at a shuttered storefront with no sign above the door.
"Pretty sure this wasn't even a street yesterday," Ren said.
Elli walked ahead, her eyes scanning every door and window. "The map of Mare Rosso's north district hasn't changed in over a century. None of this exists on it."
"Maybe we just took a wrong turn," Max offered.
"No," she said, voice low. "This isn't wrong. This is… different."
They kept walking. The streets grew narrower, the buildings taller. Wooden balconies leaned overhead, dripping with condensation. Somewhere far off, a single drip of water echoed like a ticking clock.
It was the absence of people that bothered them most. The silences pressing in on them, heavier than the fog, the streets empty and still, as if the city had stopped breathing while observing their every move.
Mare Rosso never slept — even at dawn, there should have been fishermen shouting at the harbor, shopkeepers sweeping their steps, carts creaking along the cobbles.
But now here, there was nothing.
Not a single passerby. No carriages. No voices behind windows.
Liza's scarf was pulled tight around her neck. "Feels like we're the last ones left."
"Don't say that," John muttered.
Ren shoved his hands deeper in his pockets. "I'm just glad there's no street performers. Last thing I need is someone juggling knives at this hour."
But his joke fell flat. No one laughed.
The fog thickened, curling higher around their legs. At one point, Max slowed and looked down — the mist clung so tightly it seemed to resist his steps, like water resisting a hand.
They turned another corner and stopped.
A statue stood at the center of the narrow square.
It was black stone, tall as two men, and shaped like a crow frozen mid-cry. Its wings were partially unfurled, every feather carved in unsettling detail. The beak was open, as though it might scream if the wind hit it just right.
Its eyes were polished obsidian, reflecting the dim light in glints of cold fire.
Ren blinked, still half-dazed from exhaustion. The statue's obsidian eyes seemed to glint as if acknowledging him. "There wasn't a crow statue here yesterday."
Elli's voice was certain. "There wasn't a crow statue anywhere in the city. I'd remember."
Max walked a slow circle around it. "This isn't new. Look at the weathering on the base. This thing's been here for decades."
"Not in our Mare Rosso," Elli said.
They lingered, unsure why.
The silence here felt heavier, as if the air were thicker. The mist clung to the statue's wings, curling around its beak. Somewhere beyond, a faint breeze stirred — carrying with it something fragile.
A sound.
Thin. Trembling. Their tired minds jolted awake. The sobs seemed to echo from every corner at once, impossible to pinpoint.
They all froze.
It came again — higher this time. The unmistakable sob of a child.
Ren straightened. "Did you hear—"
"Yes," Max said quickly.
The sound came again, drifting from somewhere just beyond the square. It echoed strangely, stretching across the space, slipping between the narrow streets in ways that didn't seem possible.
"Where's it coming from?" John asked, voice low.
No one answered.
The sob returned, closer now, and for the first time, they could tell — it was leading them.
Ren glanced at the others. "Could be someone hurt."
"Or something else," Elli said flatly.
Still, their feet began to move, pulled more by instinct than choice. The streets between the crow statue and the sound felt tighter, as though the buildings leaned in to listen. The windows were all dark, their glass faintly warped like water.
They passed a fountain they didn't remember — its basin dry, the stone figure at its center worn beyond recognition. A single coin sat at the bottom, glinting faintly in the fog-filtered light. None of them touched it.
The sobs grew louder as they moved, the spaces between them shrinking until the sound pressed against their ears the fog thickened, curling higher around their legs, clinging to them as if it were alive, shifting in ways that made the streets feel narrower with every step. And yet… there was no other noise. No footsteps but their own. No gulls. No creak of harbor rigging.
Just the crying.
The last turn brought them into a narrow street that sloped toward the harbor.
Here, the mist was thicker still, curling around the corners in slow, deliberate shapes. The buildings leaned overhead, their upper floors almost touching, leaving only a narrow strip of pale sky.
The crying was just ahead now — in the thin alley that opened to their right.
The alley felt impossibly tight, the walls leaning inward subtly, almost imperceptibly, as if listening. The fog swirled around them in slow eddies, hiding details that might not be real.
It echoed off the walls in a way that made it impossible to tell how far it was. Sometimes it sounded a few steps away. Other times, it felt like it came from somewhere deep underground.
Ren hesitated at the alley's mouth. "We don't have to go in."
Max didn't answer. He stepped forward.
One by one, they followed.
The alley was barely wide enough for two people to walk side by side. The stones underfoot were slick, as though a tide had passed through not long ago. No doors lined the walls, only shuttered windows high above, their panes too fogged to see through.
The crying grew clearer.
And then it stopped.
They stood there, the silence rushing in like a held breath.
John's shoulders tensed. "Where—"
The cry came again, sharper, just at the edge of the fog.
They could see the faint outline of a small figure now, sitting with its back to them at the far end of the alley.
The mist shifted, swallowing the space between them.