Seraph Hollow's Arc

Chapter 3 of 3

Seraph stood in the observatory and studied the logbook again. Three visits meant Maya had cared about this place. Someone must have worked here who knew her. The city had a network of safe zones marked on old emergency maps. Seraph had seen them in the record hall. Those zones would have shelters, maybe survivors who remembered faces and names. The northern district held the largest one, built into an old transit station underground. Seraph folded the logbook page with Maya's signature and tucked it inside their robe. They climbed down the tower stairs as the sun dropped low. The path north would take two days on foot, but their wings could cut that in half. This world had broken apart, but its bones still stood. Roads led somewhere. Shelters held people. And people held memories. Seraph flew low over the ruins as dawn broke. The northern district appeared below, less damaged than the rest. Buildings still stood upright here. Streets remained clear enough to walk. Then they saw it—a brick wall covered in bright paint. The graffiti sprawled across the crumbling surface in bold letters: "Love me do." Someone had taken time to make this. Someone had believed things could get better. Seraph landed and touched the wall. Paint flaked under their fingers. This place still held hope, even after everything fell apart. If people could create this, they could remember one person's face. The transit station entrance waited three blocks away. Seraph walked the empty streets and found the stairs leading down. This shelter had protected people when the world came apart. Maya might have come here. Someone inside might know where she went next. Seraph descended into the dark with the painted words still fresh in their mind. Second chances existed in this broken world. They just had to keep searching.