The rain had not stopped in three days.
Beneath the endless gray skies, the city of Virellith lay forgotten, swallowed by time and buried memories. Ivy coiled through shattered windows, and cracked cobblestone streets whispered the echoes of those who once walked them.
In the heart of it all stood Alira, a lone traveler wrapped in a tattered cloak, clutching a faded journal. It belonged to her mother — a woman last seen venturing into the ruins twenty years ago.
Each step Alira took was heavy with dread and hope. The buildings, once majestic with towering spires and carved stone, now leaned into decay, as though weary from holding their secrets too long. Statues of forgotten gods lined her path, eyes blind, mouths sealed.
Deeper she went. Through abandoned marketplaces, down into catacombs where candles still burned, untouched by time. And there, in the deepest chamber, she found it — a doorway shimmering with ancient energy and carved with symbols that matched those in her mother’s journal.
"She made it this far," Alira whispered, her fingers tracing the symbols.
A voice, soft as wind yet filled with power, replied:
"And now so have you."
The gateway pulsed open.
And she stepped through.
