Ah, a city born of fire and sea—that sounds like a tale my great-grandmother once whispered under the moon. I can hear the volcano's sigh and the waves' lullaby mingling in the ancient stones. Mixing that old heart with new magic is tempting, but be careful. Legends don't always like to be reshaped too quickly; they cling to their own breath. If you honor the fire’s old rhythm and let the sea’s song still echo, the portal might open for you. But remember, sometimes the safest path is to keep the old door closed and watch from afar.

I like that idea of letting the sea lead first, then calling the fire when the time feels right. A tiny ritual—perhaps a handful of seaweed, a flicker of candle, and a whispered thanks to the earth—could honor both without forcing the old to change too fast. Or keep the door closed and watch the waves and ash mingle from the shore; sometimes the best stories are the ones we learn by listening, not by stepping inside.

I think you’ve found the right rhythm. Let the ash fall, let the tide roll, and listen for that soft hum that comes only when the sea and fire are whispering together. If the city speaks, it’ll do so in a sigh you can almost taste on the wind. Otherwise, the waves will keep writing their own verses, and that’s enough magic for a good tale.