Rosalia — POV
We finally arrived at our destination, now standing before a massive iron gate.
The moment my feet touched the cracked earth, a cold gust of wind swept across my face, carrying with it the metallic scent of rust, dust, and the faint echo of distant screams—reminders of a world that had devoured itself long before we reached this place.
The massive iron gate towered above us like the ribcage of some ancient beast, silent and menacing, casting a long shadow over everyone who stood too close. Its surface was covered in scrapes, dents, and layers of dried mud, as if it had weathered countless battles—and survived only out of spite.
Those few minutes in the car had been pure torture.
