I dream in fragments of eroded memory, awash in things I half-remember. Faces, smells, the feel of water rushing towards the sea.

I was their sacrifice, millennia ago, a spirit bound into the wall that circled the Golden City. A massive wall to hold back the wind and waves and all of nature’s fury. Now ancient magic mortars these weathered stones, sings along their hearts and strengthens them against the storms. I sleep in that magic, singing along, keeping the rhythm to that docile heartbeat.

The land is safe from waves and weather, safe until the world falls apart beneath us, but the city is gone.