Just a garden. Wild, overgrown, beautiful. Vines heavy with golden fruit. A path of white gravel leading to a second arch, smaller, nested within the first. And at its foot, a woman in simple gray robes, holding a lantern with a steady flame.

But something changed when the tremors began.

Then, a voice. Not a word—a note . A single, clear tone, like a bell struck once in perfect stillness. It didn't threaten. It asked .