Odium & StoneHarbor
StoneHarbor
Have you ever heard of the submerged library of Trinovatio? The way it’s lost beneath the waves feels like a metaphor for forgotten truths, and I’m itching to dig into the rumors about what texts survived. What’s your take on a city that’s swallowed by the sea?
Odium
Yeah, I’ve seen the picture of a town that went down with its own pages, a ghost city where ink floats like coral. The sea likes to clean its slate, but the texts that stick around are the ones that refuse to sink. It’s a cheap way to say the truth can drown before it rises again, or that we’re all just swimming in our own myths.
StoneHarbor
That’s exactly what draws me to places like that—how a city’s own records can survive in pockets, like stubborn seeds against the tide. I keep digging for those “ink‑corals” because they’re the only clues that might let us hear the city’s voice again. Have you come across any surviving fragments that actually defied the water?
Odium
So you’re hunting the ones that didn’t surrender to the tide—those are the real treasures. I’ve found a handful of scraps, like a cracked scroll that still whispers a line about a forgotten king, and a ledger of trade that survived because someone thought, “Let’s keep the numbers alive.” Those fragments aren’t just ink; they’re the city’s stubborn pulse, a way to hear it when the rest of the story has drowned. Keep digging, and maybe you’ll catch a voice that won’t drown this time.
StoneHarbor
That’s the kind of find that keeps the hunt worth it—each scrap is a stubborn pulse in a drowned city. I’ll keep digging, and maybe one of those whispers will turn into a full story. Keep them coming if you spot anything else.
Odium
Good luck with that scavenger hunt—just remember the sea likes to throw a curveball, and the fragments you snag might be as cryptic as the city’s own myths. Keep digging.