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The city smells of smoke and wet stone. The rain from last night
has soaked the streets, leaving puddles that reflect fractured
sunlight like shards of broken mirrors. I step carefully over
a fallen beam, boots slipping slightly on slick metal, and feel
the weight of the silence pressing against my ears. It's a quiet
that isn't peaceful-it's the kind of quiet that signals danger is
hiding somewhere, just out of sight.
Lyra walks beside me, her hand brushing against mine, small
but steady. I don't need her to speak; I can feel her tension as
sharply as my own. Every shadow seems to twist, every alley
feels like it could hold someone-or something-watching us.
And maybe it does.
Elias moves ahead, scanning the broken city with eyes that
are both haunted and calculating. He pauses at the shattered
remains of a fountain, its bronze statue slumped and twisted,
arm reaching skyward as though it had prayed and been ignored.
"The Dominion's gone," he murmurs, almost to himself.
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