Whispers Beneath Arches

They say the sea turned soft the moment those towering blooms unfurled, shedding milky light that traced the old stone with trembling halos. Their petals glimmer translucent as tide breath, casting hues that waver like old promises. Fish drift through, nimble and speechless, yet their eyes follow the arch marked by that slow, spiraled plea: *Where Vojta?* A salt-tinged hush lingers here, fragrant with something green, something awakening beneath layers of silt. Threads of ivory moss cling to columns like pages long unread. Each flick of a fin might signal an answer, though no voice rises. "If he passed through, he carried the dawn in his pocket," someone once sighed, and the words snagged on coral like a secret net. But the tunnels hollowing beyond the gateway waver, unsure if they promise return or forgetfulness. We study the shimmer, hoping for reflection, and leave with the ache intact: Vojta remains elsewhere, just beyond this luminous hush.