The sea roared beneath the cliffs, dark and endless, as if whispering secrets only the dead could understand.
Seriona rose before them—an ancient city carved from salt and memory.
Its towers leaned toward the sky like prayer-worn fingers, and the air hummed faintly, alive with a tension Alessia couldn’t name.
The car rolled to a slow stop at the foot of a stone archway, its iron gate etched with runes so old they pulsed faintly under the headlights.
Luca stepped out first, his expression unreadable, the wind tugging at his dark coat as if testing his resolve.
Alessia followed, the silk of her dress whispering against the gravel.
The city’s scent—amber, salt, and something metallic beneath—filled her lungs.
She felt it before she saw it: the pull. The strange thrum beneath her skin, the same rhythm as the locket’s heartbeat from her dream.
"This place..." she murmured. "It feels—alive."
Luca’s hand brushed her back, firm but gentle. "Seriona remembers everyone who walks through its gates," he said quietly. "And it never forgets those who leave."
The guard at the entrance bowed deeply when he recognized Luca. His voice trembled slightly. "Don Morano and Mrs morano, Welcome to the city of seriona, do enjoy your stay."
Alessia’s eyes flicked to her husband. "I love the smell of this fresh air, everything seems so fresh and cool"
He smiled, the kind of smile that could hide a thousand secrets. "I knew this is the perfect place you need for vacation . Nothing you need to trouble yourself with, amore."
But she saw it then—the flicker in his gaze. The same flicker he’d had when he first touched the locket weeks ago, the night he told her never to open it again.
They entered the city as the gate groaned shut behind them.
The streets were narrow, lined with glass lanterns burning violet flame. People moved like shadows—elegant, precise, too quiet for an ordinary town.
The rhythm of their footsteps echoed like a hymn.
Every building looked both ancient and untouched, as if Seriona had been carved yesterday by hands that had already forgotten time. Nᴇw ɴovel chaptᴇrs are published on novel※fire.net
A man in a white coat approached, his smile tight, professional. "Welcome, Signor and Signora Morano. The estate is ready."
"Estate?" Alessia echoed.
Luca nodded. "My family’s old home in this place. You are surprised we have properties around. We’ll stay there for the night before visiting the mysterious powerful places around. You’ll like it, It overlooks the sea."
The car wound through the inner district, where marble bridges curved over black canals.
The water shimmered oddly, reflecting not the moon, but faint sigils that seemed to move beneath its surface.
Alessia pressed her palm against the window, mesmerized. "It’s beautiful," she whispered.
"Yes," Luca said softly, his voice distant. "But beauty here always costs something."
The air hummed again faintly, the same tone as her locket.
Inside, servants moved silently, their faces polite, but eyes avoiding hers.
A storm gathered over the ocean, lightning flashing against the distant ruins of a cathedral far across the water.
When they reached their suite, Alessia turned to him. "Luca, why does everyone here look at you like that? Like you’re.... "
"Someone they owe," he interrupted gently, brushing his knuckles against her cheek. "Don’t read their faces. This city feeds on old debts."
His tone was softer than the warning it carried. He kissed her forehead, then her mouth—slow, lingering, as his hands cupped her huge boobs, with the kind of weight that said too much and hid more.
"There’s a veil party tonight and i have to meet someone soon." he murmured against her lips. "You should rest, Lock the door and if you hear anything—anything at all—don’t come out."
She frowned. "Luca.... "
But he was already walking away, coat over his shoulder, the faint gleam of his ring catching the light as the door closed behind him.
The clock ticked past midnight.
Alessia lay awake, staring at the ceiling.
The sea’s roar had grown louder, mingling with whispers that seemed to come from within the walls.
The locket rested on the bedside table, its faint glow pulsing again just like before.
The script inside—Alessia of the Bound Veil—burned faintly gold now, letters rearranging themselves like ink in water. She reached out, hesitating, then touched it.
The air around her shimmered, and for an instant she wasn’t in the room anymore.
She was standing on the same marble cliffs but centuries earlier.
The city below was brighter, alive with banners, laughter, and music that vibrated in her bones.
And in the crowd, a man who looked exactly like Luca.
Her breath hitched. He was dressed in the garb of an old noble—black and crimson, his hand entwined with a woman who looked... almost like her, same eyes and same locket.
The woman turned and mouthed her name.. Alessia.
Then the vision broke. The sound of glass shattering pulled her back to the present.
The room trembled, and the mirror cracked down the middle.
The locket fell from her hand.
A single drop of blood slid from her palm where the metal had burned her.
The reflection in the mirror flickered again and this time, a face appeared behind her.
It was a woman’s. Pale, regal, eyes black as the sea outside, lips curved in something between sorrow and triumph.
"You were never meant to wake," the reflection whispered.
Luca stood there, breathless, eyes burning. "Alessia.... What did you touch?"
She couldn’t answer. The locket on the floor pulsed once—then split open like a wound, releasing a soft, golden mist that curled toward the ceiling.
From the corridor beyond, alarms began to wail—the deep, ancient kind that didn’t belong to machines but to the bloodline itself.
Luca’s expression turned to steel. "Get dress in your veil," he said under his breath. "No room for you to dream anymore, you are here to relax and get your sanity back."
"Who is dreaming?" Alessia choked out.
He grabbed her wrist, pulling her toward the balcony as the room’s candles snuffed out one by one. Below them, the city of Seriona glowed—not with lamplight, but with fire.
Flames erupted in the lower quarter, spreading fast, reflected in the black canals.
A distant bell tolled once, twice—then stopped.
Luca turned to her, eyes dark with something close to fear. "Whatever happens," he said, voice low and rough, "don’t open the locket again, Not until I tell you... It’s making you dream alot."
The ground shuddered.
Below, the city’s streets shifted—stone rearranging itself like a living thing.
And in the distance, over the flames, Alessia saw two figures watching from the hill.
A woman in a torn gown and a man beside her, holding a faded map.
Princess elowen and Donato.
But they weren’t looking at the fire.
They were looking at her.....