Mystery of the Sunken City: A Magical Tale of Lost Worlds

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In a futuristic city where gleaming glass buildings stretched endlessly toward a sky that shimmered like crystal, a young woman named Aurora stood by a vast window. Her hazel eyes, magnified behind her plastic-rimmed spectacles, were fixed on the urban landscape — the towering glass structures, the slow-moving elevators gliding on metallic rails, and the sky above that seemed itself to be made of glass.

Aurora imagined breaking through the cold pane and reaching out to touch the sky’s glittering surface. Suddenly, a loud, almost otherworldly sound — like the trumpeting call of an elephant — echoed through the air, stirring her imagination even more.

In glowing neon letters across the sky, a mysterious message appeared:

“You will see an ancient sign, cuneiform writing.”

Excited and curious, Aurora adjusted her spectacles, grabbed her notebook and coat, and hurried toward the bridge where she was to meet her friend Lusiya.

Snowflakes floated down silently, sparkling like tiny diamonds before settling on the frozen ground, which was damp and slippery beneath their feet.

Lusiya was already waiting, stamping her feet to keep warm. “Aurora, hurry! That strange sound is making me nervous. Where could it be coming from?” she asked.

Aurora smiled and explained, “It comes from that building shaped like a giant glass melon. The glass elevator moves up and down on a metal track, and the friction makes that eerie creaking noise.”

As they walked, Aurora’s mind wandered. “The sky tonight looks like glass, too, shifting between a gas and a solid, like liquid crystal. And those neon words… they told us we’d see ancient cuneiform signs. I wonder what that means?”

Lusiya watched Aurora’s breath cloud the air as she wiped snow from her friend’s glasses. The biting cold made their fingers sting like they had been pricked by icy needles.

They crossed the bridge and slipped into narrow streets leading to an art gallery known for its modern exhibitions. Inside, the gallery was quiet and almost empty, with only a solitary bed draped with a quilt, a book, and a nightgown scattered across it.

Lusiya looked around, amazed. “I wasn’t expecting such an eerie exhibit.”

Aurora was already moving down a long corridor glowing with pale white light and the faint scent of violets. “Wait until you see this—it captures my idea of ‘fashion in the imagination,’” she said.

At the end of the corridor stood a huge, mysterious structure that filled the room. Aurora whispered, “This is a tesseract—the four-dimensional version of a cube.”

Small clockwork devices ticked rhythmically on its corners, and suddenly the eight cubic cells of the tesseract began to shift and turn. Letters formed between the rotating faces, spelling out a title:

“A Tale of the Sunken City.”

The glowing title floated toward Aurora and Lusiya, brushing their foreheads like a gentle breeze before vanishing.

Then, with a screech, the tesseract transformed into a shimmering turquoise-blue lake. Without hesitation, Aurora dove into the water, and Lusiya followed. They found themselves breathing easily, swimming through the crystal-clear depths of an ancient submerged world.

Around them, fish with translucent fins darted past, jellyfish floated like ghosts, and strange aquatic plants swayed gently. They passed centuries-old ruins — broken pillars, fallen statues, and the remains of a church bell engraved with Byzantine numbers and mysterious hieroglyphs.

Aurora tried to decipher the bell’s markings, but the language was lost to time. Lusiya touched remnants of buildings and layered tree trunks that had survived underwater for millennia.

As they explored, they encountered artifacts like copper belt buckles and helmets, all decorated with strange, undecipherable symbols.

Suddenly, the haunting trumpet sound returned. Lusiya felt it inside her chest as much as in her ears.

Abruptly, they were back in the gallery. Lusiya blinked, surprised to see Aurora fumbling for her glasses on the floor and walls.

Outside, the cold bit harder as the two friends crossed the bridge once more. The trumpet sound echoed again. Aurora cleaned her glasses and gazed upward.

In neon letters glowing above them, the word appeared again:

“UTRARU.”

“UTRARU,” Lusiya repeated, teeth chattering. “It’s the mirror image of ‘URARTU’—the ancient kingdom beneath the frozen river.”

Aurora pulled Lusiya close, but noticed her friend’s fist clenched tightly. “Why don’t you open your hand? Your fingers will freeze if you keep them hidden.”

Slowly, Lusiya opened her palm — but it was empty.

“I thought I took a small metal cross from the lake, like a delicate lace of wires,” she whispered, confused.

Aurora smiled gently. “You carry it in your heart. It belongs to those who came before us.”

Though her hand was empty, Lusiya still felt the faint impression of the cross on her palm, and her heart beat steadily like the ticking clock of the tesseract, a timeless rhythm connecting past and present.

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