City of Whispering Mist

The mist curled around the edges of the carriage window, clinging like a restless specter to the glass as Mikhailis leaned back, his arms folded behind his head. He had seen plenty of cities in his lifetime, but Luthadel—the border city of the Kingdom of Mist, Serewyn—was something else entirely.

Unlike the sprawling capitals of other kingdoms, where towering castles and marble halls stood as testaments to power, Luthadel seemed to breathe with an eerie, arcane life of its own. The skyline was a mesmerizing blend of towering obsidian spires, their surfaces etched with bioluminescent runes that pulsed like the slow heartbeat of the city itself. It was as if the very bones of the land had been carved into these monolithic structures, imbued with ancient magic that refused to be forgotten.