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.