Chapter 112: The Drowned Choir
The Song-Cutter hung in the black water, a tiny bead of light suspended above the vast, glowing wound of Myrathis. The city was not a ruin in the traditional sense. It was not crumbled; it was preserved, frozen in the moment of its drowning. Towers of pale, organic stone like carved coral or petrified melody reached up, their peaks shattered as if they had struck a solid ceiling of water that had then become their tomb. Bioluminescent algae clung to every surface, casting the city in a cold, blue-white radiance that revealed intricate, flowing architecture built for beings who thought in spirals and harmonics, not right angles.
