The Lighthouse of Orisyl was not a lighthouse at all.
It was a spine of ancient coral that had grown through the bones of a dead god, spiraling upward from the cliff's edge until it pierced the low-hanging clouds. Terra led us through a door that was not a door, speaking a word I did not know, and the coral parted like a wound remembering how to heal.
Inside, the walls breathed.
I felt it immediately — the pulse of something vast and patient, woven into every surface. The coral was alive, yes, but more than that. It was aware. It tracked our movement with faint bioluminescent flickers, blue and green and a deep, aching violet that reminded me of the space between stars.
"Welcome to the last free threshold," Terra said. "What remains of the old world."
