Chapter 556 Ruins that Call Old Names
The sky is once again overcast. The sunlight that had managed to break through the ruins of the Philistines is slowly covered by thick clouds, making the atmosphere even more gloomy and gray. Fitran and Beelzebub move silently through the narrow streets filled with rubble, remnants of a once-thriving life that was destroyed by time and war.
As their steps take them further away from that lost light, dark shadows seem to chase behind, creating the illusion that this city is alive, with hidden secrets waiting to be uncovered. The wind carries a damp and dusty aroma, as if reminding them of the tragedy that befell this place. In every corner, bubbles of silence seem to patiently wait to explode back into horrific chaos.
The fog still faithfully envelops the old city, making each step feel heavier. The air feels colder than ever, piercing to the bone, as if the city itself rejects their presence within it. However, the most frightening thing is not the cold air, but the faint whispers that are increasingly heard from behind the ruins.
Among the rubble, a fleeting shadow appears to pass by, as if wearing a dark cloak, with eyes shining sharp like stars in the sky rolled by clouds. There is something here, something that waits, watches, and perhaps even longs. The aroma of wet earth mixed with smoke seems to indicate that the ritual is not yet fully over, and the forgotten souls still pledge their loyalty in this place full of mystery.
"You hear it too, right?" Beelzebub asks softly, her steps slowing as her anxiety becomes more apparent on her face.
Fitran nods, his eyes sharp as he scans their surroundings, alert to every movement. "This city holds many memories. Memories that are too painful to forget."
They continue to move forward until they finally arrive at an intersection surrounded by the ruins of old buildings that once served as the city's trading center. In that place, the whispering voices become clearer—seeming to come directly from the debris itself.
"Fitran..."
The faint whisper makes Fitran stop for a moment. The voice is so soft yet very clear in his ears—a voice he knows very well, a voice he has long buried deep in his memory.
In the gripping silence, shadowy figures begin to dance among the fallen debris. The thin fog swirls like a living creature, enveloping the atmosphere with a suffocating eeriness. In the corner of Fitran's eye, he witnesses the silhouettes of ghosts from the past trapped, unable to leave, longing for something that is no more. The atmosphere seems to vibrate with a repressed energy, where every breath is a rumble from the lost souls.
"That voice..." Fitran says softly, his gaze vacant as he stares at the ruins before him. "Sheena?"