At long last, Venos guided Chiaki and Temoshí to the legendary Lyvoria Crest—an ancient city nestled atop a vast, isolated island.
"Well, looks like this is your stop," Venos said with a grin, planting his hands on his hips as the thick mist slowly parted, revealing the island in all its grandeur.
What unfolded before them was a sight straight out of legend. The capital of Lyvoria Crest rose like a jewel of a forgotten empire—resplendent and awe-inspiring. Towering palaces forged of gold and silver caught the sunlight, their domes and spires gleaming like crowns of the divine. The central plaza pulsed with life, packed with jubilant citizens gathered beneath immense statues and pillars carved from shimmering marble. From above, scarlet petals floated through the air like soft rain, a shower of celebration cascading through the streets.
Vibrant red banners danced on the wind, threading their way through vast coliseums and regal halls etched with ancient artistry. The fragrant aroma of fresh blossoms hung in the air, blending with the thunderous cheers of the crowd below. Grand processions paraded down the marble roads, each step a tribute to a city that once stood tall in the golden age of unity, pride, and unshakable triumph.
Chiaki stood leaning against the fence, her hand gripping it tightly for support, her gaze fixed on the bustling crowd ahead. A sense of unease gnawed at her. "I... I don't know. Something feels off. Look at all those people. And those flags—there's so many of them. What's going on in there?"
Temoshí stepped up beside her, eyes scanning the scene, followed by Razor, whose usual enthusiasm didn't disappoint. "Maybe they're gearing up for a bloodbath! Those red flags definitely look ominous, wa-hahaha!" Razor grinned, more thrilled than worried, but Temoshí could sense Chiaki's concern.
"It doesn't look like a war, but I get what you mean—it has that tense vibe. Lyvoria Crest must have its own dark history that we don't know about yet. Maybe that's why we got that invitation." He looked over at Chiaki, who was double-checking the letter, hoping there was something they missed. But, of course, there was nothing—no names, no further explanations.
Chiaki shook her head and muttered, "It reminds me of those stories about ancient Romanian empires I read as a kid. The ones that spoke of massive, hidden cities. But I never imagined something like this—an entire island that mirrors those legends." She swallowed nervously, her thoughts racing. "I just... I can't shake the feeling that we're here for a reason—and we're not supposed to be alone."
Temoshí turned to her, trying to calm the rising tension. "We'll figure it out, Chiaki. Whatever it is, we'll face it together."
But no—this feeling wasn't just nerves. It was something far deeper, far darker. Chiaki's face was a wreck—pale and slick with sweat, her eyes wide with dread, and her expression shadowed like someone who'd seen a ghost. She looked poisoned, dazed, as if the very air around her was twisting her insides. This fear—it wasn't natural. It was something that reached into her bones and wouldn't let go.
"This is..." Her voice trembled, words hitching in her throat. "This… feeling. It's crawling up my spine. It won't stop. It won't go away..."
Temoshí, Fioren, and Razor watched her closely, instantly alert. When their eyes turned to Fioren—thinking perhaps this was some Vorean trick—she quickly shook her head, her face serious. "This isn't me. I swear it."
Something about the island was wrong—something that didn't show in its golden palaces or cheering crowds. Something that reached out, specifically to Chiaki. Was this island tied to her in a way none of them could understand? Did it hide a truth buried far deeper than the celebration on the surface?
Temoshí stepped closer, steady and calm, placing a reassuring hand on Chiaki's shoulder. "I'm here. Whatever this is... we'll face it together. It'll pass."
To his surprise, Chiaki raised her hand and gently placed it over his, her grip trembling. It was the most vulnerable he'd ever seen her. "Please... don't go too far from me," she whispered, her voice barely holding itself together.
Chiaki's grip tightened—firm, strong, but still trembling. It was like she was clinging not just to Temoshí, but to reality itself, trying to ground herself in the storm of emotions overtaking her. This wasn't just fear. It was dread, ancient and suffocating, bubbling up from something long buried in her soul.
Temoshí stared ahead at the looming island, its beauty now twisted by the fear it inspired in Chiaki. He didn't say a word, but deep inside, he made a silent vow: whatever was haunting her, whatever nightmare lay waiting on that island, he would face it head-on. He had to uncover the truth—why this place had stolen the light from her eyes and filled her with such paralyzing terror.
And then—like a crack ripping through silence—it came.
A voice. Low. Guttural. Masculine. Darker than the deepest ocean, and colder than the night sky. It wasn't a whisper in her ear—it was inside her head. A voice she hadn't heard in years… yet somehow hadn't forgotten.
"You finally came."
The words echoed in a hollow realm—colorless, distorted, like a half-finished memory drenched in static. Chiaki blinked, and suddenly she was no longer on the deck. She was standing in that void again—that pale, shapeless place she had seen once before… the place she had awakened in, the day she met Temoshí in the Vast Expanse.
"Once you set foot on that island," the voice continued, each syllable heavy with ominous certainty, "we shall meet again."
She couldn't move. Couldn't scream. Could barely breathe. She was floating in that limbo, powerless—trapped between past and present.
"For now… be warned. Your time is short. Believe me… your resonance—it shall be severed."
The moment the final word hit, the vision—or whatever it was—snapped. Color returned to her sight. The chill left her bones. She was back on the boat, clutching Temoshí's hand, but now her chest heaved as if she had run miles.
But something had changed.
And whatever waited on Lyvoria Crest… it knew her. It had been waiting.
"What... is happening to me?" she whispered, placing her trembling hand over her chest, where her heart pounded like a war drum. Her breath came in sharp, uneven gasps, her lungs struggling to pull in air. "Who... was that?" she asked, her voice barely holding together as her body shook beneath the weight of something unseen—something far too real to ignore.
She hadn't even set foot on the island, yet something—or someone—had already reached into her very soul, clawing at her from the inside out. The words haunted her. Resonance… severed. They echoed like a curse through her mind, twisting and unraveling her thoughts like tangled threads.
Nothing made sense. Nothing felt safe.
And no matter how tightly she gripped the present, that invisible force kept scribbling chaos across her nerves and mind. This wasn't fear. It wasn't paranoia.
Temoshí stood still, lost in thought, eyes narrowing as the pieces started falling into place. "First, it was Yumiko who got that letter," he muttered. "And now it's Chiaki, suddenly overwhelmed before even stepping foot on the island…" He glanced at her, still shaken, then back toward the looming silhouette of Lyvoria Crest. "Could all of this be connected? Is this… another trial we're being dragged into?"
His voice was low, as if saying it out loud would summon whatever answer waited in the shadows.
To be continued...