They did not fly to the Memory Sea.
They descended into it.
The journey began at the edge of a dreamscape, where the ruins of Hyracil bled into waters that reflected not light, but recollection. A liquid archive of every moment, of every soul that had lived, died, and dreamed. The Sea had no shore. It had no bottom. It simply was, spreading infinitely beneath the layers of time.
Lucius stood at the bow of the memorycraft, a vessel forged from crystallized remembrances—woven by Walter from the remnants of a thousand stories. The ship rippled with flickers of laughter, sorrow, rage, and joy as it cut a silent path into the endless sea.
Lilith clutched his arm.
"I don't like it here," she whispered. "It feels like drowning in someone else's life."
Luna leaned against the railing, her expression unreadable. "That's exactly what it is."
