Chapter 7 – The North Road
The morning after their leisurely exploration of Mare Rosso's northern quarter—the winding lanes,
flowering courtyards, and sunlit stone walls—the group felt the pull to venture farther. The
previous day had been a balm to the spirit, a slow immersion into a part of the city where time
seemed less urgent, where the whisper of history floated on every breeze.
They had savored sugared almonds from a weathered street vendor whose hands moved as swiftly
as the spring tide. They'd watched a glass craftsman etch delicate, spiraling patterns into fragile
goblets, the sunlight catching the shards like frozen fire. The faint strains of a violin drifted from a
sun-dappled balcony, wrapping the streets in a lilting melody that felt both foreign and achingly
familiar. Elli's sharp eyes had traced the frost-etched motifs on shutters and the steep, pitched
gables—a northern signature carved in stone and timber. Liza had caught every detail in her
sketches, each stroke a careful homage to the charm around them.
Now, with the memory of that quiet beauty still fresh, they followed a narrow road curling along the
cliffs, pushing beyond the familiar streets and into wilder, less tended territory. The air felt cooler
here, sharper with salt and something less tangible—an edge of something waiting.
The trail beneath their boots was rugged, strewn with loose stones and patches of tangled, thorny
bushes. The grass leaned heavy with the weight of morning dew, its scent mingling with the salt
tang rising from the sea. To their left, the ocean stretched endless and deep, its surface a restless
mirror fractured by whitecaps and darting gulls. To their right, cliffs rose jagged and shadowed,
their sheer faces splintered by ancient cracks and wild ivy clinging like desperate fingers. Shadows
pooled under the towering rocks, as if the cliffs themselves harbored secret histories.
Liza stayed close to Elli, clutching her sketchbook tightly. The bleeding red sky she'd drawn
haunted her thoughts, the twisted bird's shadow lingering like a dark stain in the corners of her
mind. Her eyes flicked upward now and then, scanning the horizon for signs only she seemed to
perceive—a silhouette in the clouds, a ripple in the light, the faintest flutter of wings.
Ren walked ahead, lowering his brass camera with a slow frown. "There's something different
here," he murmured without looking back. "Not just the landscape... it's like the air itself is heavier.
Like the place is holding its breath."
John nodded, his gaze sweeping the rocky slopes with cautious attention. "You can feel it, can't you?
That silence—not just the absence of sound, but something waiting beneath it. Like the land itself is
listening."
Max's gaze darted constantly—watching the cliffs, the empty sky, the wild grasses stirred as if by a
breath unseen. His fingers twitched, a familiar unease threading through his chest, the kind that
made the hairs on the back of his neck stand tall.
As they pressed forward, the trail narrowed sharply. Wildflowers clung desperately to cracks in the
rocks, their petals pale against the dark stone. The path wound precariously close to the cliff's
edge—one misstep would send them tumbling into the churning surf far below.Suddenly, Max paused, pointing ahead. "Look."
Half-buried in a thicket of ivy and moss, an ancient stone wall rose out of the earth—weathered and
crumbling but defiantly standing against time's decay. Beyond it lay the ruins of a forgotten
settlement—collapsed roofs, shattered walls, empty windows that stared like hollow eyes into the
restless wind.
Elli knelt carefully, brushing away layers of moss and dirt to reveal faded carvings etched deep in
the stone. "Northern script," she whispered reverently, tracing the characters with a gentle finger.
"This is older than Mare Rosso itself... markers, maybe. Or warnings."
"Warnings of what?" Liza's voice dropped to a whisper, barely carried on the breeze.
Before anyone could answer, the wind shifted sharply—a cold, biting gust that slipped down the
trail and wound through the ruins. It carried with it a haunting whistle, low and mournful, echoing
off the cliffs like a voice from some forgotten past.
The group stiffened. Shadows deepened, stretching unnaturally long across the rocky ground. The
sunlight, once bright and warm, dulled as if swallowed by an invisible cloud, yet the sky above
remained a cruel, unyielding blue.
Max's voice was low and steady, breaking the silence. "Let's not linger here after dark. Whatever
this place is, it doesn't want visitors."
Elli nodded slowly, her eyes reflecting the strange light. "These ruins... they feel like a memory—
something erased but never forgotten. There's a story here, buried beneath the stones, but it's not
one we're meant to read easily."
John's gaze lingered on the desolate settlement. "Places like this always have their ghosts.
Sometimes, the past reaches out, even when you don't want it to."
As they turned to leave, a faint flutter stirred the cold air—a delicate, almost imperceptible sound,
like wings beating against an unseen current. Max glanced back over his shoulder, the weight of the
cliffs pressing down behind them.
The rock face wasn't merely darkened by shadow—it seemed to swallow the light, absorbing it with
a hunger that made the day's end feel like a sudden, unwelcome visitor. The ruins remained, silent
and watchful, their secrets locked away beneath layers of stone and silence.
The group quickened their pace, eager to leave the brooding cliffs behind, but the memory of that
place clung to them—a cold whisper beneath the roar of the sea, a warning carved in stone and
shadow