The wind from the sea was different.
Colder. Sharper. It smelled of metal, salt, and something older than the world itself.
Lina pulled her coat tighter around herself, the sand crunching beneath her boots. Each step brought her closer to the line where the golden light ended—and the bluish shimmering darkness began.
At the horizon, the boundary was clearly visible:
A wall of fog, laced with electric flashes that twisted spirally into nothingness.
This was the West. What Rhea had called the point where the world forgot itself.
And somewhere there was he.
Alaric.
She had seen him leave during the night—wordless, purposeful, as if something inside him knew the way.
Now she had followed him for three hours, not knowing if she would ever get close to him.
Above her, the Network sang—weak, flickering.
But with each step westward it grew quieter until it finally disappeared completely.
Only the wind remained.
And a humming in the distance.
Not mechanical. Not human.
