Stormbound Search

I have waded these flood-ruined streets since the storm began, the salt and ash filling my mouth as thunder rolls and lightning draws the words WHERE VOJTA? across the sky. Ancient colossi lift worn arms above churning water, their carved faces like tired sentries, and the domed temple smolders where a search turned to smoke. Each broken arch and scattered pillar explains how the city fell and why the hunt grew frantic; no trace of Vojta has been found, only erased tracks and echoes. I keep the covenant we swore in those first panicked hours, naming ruins and tallying signs as if vows could hold a shape against the rising sea. Hope clings to a single ember still burning in the temple and to the way lightning carves the question into the night; time beats like surf and the search must quicken, but Vojta remains unfound.