With the death of the sirens the journey to the lighthouse was much smoother. After a few hours of drifting the soon made their way to the source of the light
Fortunately, they had more than enough food stored in the void gem.
"We're finally here!" Damien sighed
The makeshift raft of driftwood and rotting lily pads bumped against the jagged black rock with a hollow thud.
Damien stepped off the wobbling platform onto solid stone.
He didn't stumble. His trench coat, protected by a thin layer of his Will Armament, was perfectly dry, repelling the freezing sea spray that soaked Elian and Isabelle.
"Solid ground," Elian wheezed, kissing the rock. "Thank the gods."
Damien looked up.
The Lighthouse of the Damned was a crooked, needle-like spire of natural rock that pierced the darkness.
At the summit, a fortress clung to the stone like a barnacle, its rotating beam of white light cutting through the eternal gloom.
Around the base of the spire, the water churned violently.
