The wind had stopped.

Only the surface of the sea pulsed—faint and slow.

Where waves brushed against steel, a low thrum rose from beneath her feet.

Light thinned, and the line between sky and water blurred as evening collapsed into a dull orange.

The floating city of Lemris.

Steel bones rooted deep into the sea; bridges and catwalks stacked like tangled ribs.

Vent towers turned their blades with tired ease, sending the smell of oil ahead of the salt.

A single horn sounded somewhere in the fog, its echo unraveling into the dusk.

Rust bloomed along the beams overhead.

Rainwater lingered in the seams of the plating, catching the first glow of evening lamps and drawing thin rims of light.

Along the upper walkways, workers streamed past—cloth and metal fittings chiming against the wind.

Their footsteps overlapped, then drifted away.

A girl walked alone.

Small frame.
A single bag.
Her stride never wavered.

Each time her shoes hit the wet steel, a dry tok rang out and passed cleanly to the next step—
a thin sound rising above the city’s deep murmur.

She rounded a corner.

A notice board stood there, its pinned paper curling slightly from the humidity.

The faded letters rose in the orange light, shadows trembling with each breath of wind.

—A funeral notice.
A familiar name.

Her fingers did not move.

Her gaze stopped just short of the paper, then slid to the seam in the floor.

The fact passed through her like something long known.

No voice formed.

Her steps quickened by a fraction.

At the joint of a bridge, the steel let out a low groan.

Below, the water struck the underlayer in even pulses, throwing latticework reflections along the beams.

She tightened her grip on the strap of her bag.

Her fingertips pressed into the leather, leaving shallow dents that faded quickly.

The sea wind dragged salt and oil across her cheek.

The cold traveled to her brow, then behind her ear.

Her breath thinned, sinking shallowly in her chest.

The handrail beside her held no warmth from the day.
Only a pale glow traced the dull edges of metal.

Small puddles dotted the walkway’s seams.

Her shoe brushed each edge, dividing the sound and sending it off in two directions before it died.

A drop from the upper layer struck the floor, spread into a ring, and broke.

She did not stop.

The sky above the water hung low.

Behind the clouds, sunset collapsed, and the city lights rose one by one.

The vent tower blades slowed.

Wind shifted, and a distant chain at the docks clattered once.

The notice board dissolved behind her.

The letters vanished; only the curled corner swayed, remembering the wind’s habit.

The name belonged back there, not here.

She did not speak it.

Her footsteps alone tested the path.

Near the stairs leading downward, boys’ laughter bounced and fell away.

As the shapes moved past, she never turned.

Numbers carved into the edge of the steps peeked through chipped paint.

A light touch could peel them, but she did not reach out.

At the end of the walkway, the sea drew closer.

Through the gaps in the railing, the dark surface heaved once—slow and heavy.

The shadow of a seabird crossed her sight, tearing into a white streak before dissolving.

The scent of iron thickened.

She did not lift her shoulders.

Her breathing did not change.

Walking was the only certain shape she held.

The tok sounded again beneath her, swallowed quickly by the city’s breath.

Wind paused.

A vent tower’s turning lagged by a single beat.

Lights stretched over the water in thin paths.

A figure moved behind a window above, then sank from view.

This city stands in the sea, and melts into it.

At the edge of the world, metal and water trade weight with each other.

She walked between them without hesitation.

The name she carried had not yet arrived in this place.

She turned the final corner.

A ribbon of wind unraveled, and sound thinned out.

One of her footsteps returned with a slight delay.

In the unlit corridor ahead, silence swelled, then flattened into a thin plane.

A silver key clicked softly against her chest.