August reached the top of the vine-laden climb, pulling himself onto a vast stone platform.
His breath caught as he took in the sight before him—Tavirah the lost, floating city, shrouded in an atmosphere of eerie darkness.
Heavy, dark clouds hung over the city, blocking any hint of sunlight and casting everything in an oppressive gloom. The air was thick with an unnatural chill, and the faint sound of echoing whispers drifted through the wind, carried like ghostly murmurs.
Ahead, phantom-like beings drifted aimlessly. Their bodies were translucent and shadowy, swirling in and out of form as if caught between existence and oblivion.
Abandoned buildings lined the streets—houses with shattered windows, crumbling statues of forgotten heroes, and towers that leaned precariously under the weight of time. In certain areas, swirling mists of ash formed ominous clouds that obscured the path forward. Their slow, swirling movements added to the city's haunted feel.
