High above, floating untethered from the earth, the natural world watched in rapt attention as the forces of destruction ravaged above. Centuries ticked by with a slow and measured pace, yet the creatures that clung to the upper echelons remained cowed by the weight of their history. Locked in a cycle of repeating their past mistakes, they seemed unable or unwilling to learn from their missteps. Perched upon the precipice of a plateau, a mere few hundred feet above the tumultuous sea, they clung to their elevated existence with a tenacity born of fear.
Amidst the gusts of the wind, which whispered like a taciturn messenger, the scent of iodine lingered on the air during stormy weather. Seagulls, long vanished, remained frozen in time, serving as relics of a generation that had passed into myth. The rare rooms that enshrined these artifacts were dedicated to a time before, a time when the beings that had called themselves humans had roamed the earth with reckless abandon.
