Eira’s POV
I blink, waiting for my eyes to adjust to the gloom, but the gloom never comes. Instead, the heavy, suffocating pressure of the arch vanishes, replaced by a cool, clean breeze. It smells like rain that hasn’t fallen yet.
I look up. The sky isn’t blue or purple. It’s a soft, shifting silver, filled with clouds that never move.
"Damnation," I whisper.
We’re standing on a wide avenue of pale, smooth stone. Buildings rise on either side, grown rather than built, their walls woven from pale rock and thick, silver-leafed trees. Ancient lanterns hang from wrought-iron brackets, burning with a steady, warm light despite the centuries of abandonment.
It’s beautiful. And it feels entirely wrong.
Art is already moving. He doesn't stare at the sky. He’s scanning the alleyways, ch
