Today marked the second day of Salina's journey in Rome.
Though her work as a reporter had taken her to many places, this was her first visit to the beautiful city with the leisure of an extended vacation.
Rome greeted her with a refreshing, sun-drenched hue and an atmosphere that felt overwhelmingly serene.
At this time of year, Italy exuded a vibrant beauty while still retaining the charm of centuries past.
Taking a deep breath of the faint, sweet scent of wildflowers in the air, Salina's excitement for this wonderful trip grew.
She followed her guide to a famous landmark in Rome – the Ponte Sant'Angelo, a bridge spanning the deep blue Tiber River, seemingly separating two worlds: one side leading to the "Castle of Angels" from a distant past, the other to the modern, prosperous Rome.
The tour group strolled along the bridge, marveling at the statues of Angels that, despite centuries of change, had preserved their timeless beauty.
Salina counted a total of ten statues lining both sides of the bridge, their reflections cast upon the river along with the vast blue sky, appearing like angels soaring above, welcoming her into a sacred place.
Reaching out to touch one of the statues, she felt the rough, weathered surface beneath her palm.
The melancholic expressions on the angels' faces reminded her of Percy Bysshe Shelley's play, The Cenci, which she had once seen while on assignment.
Beatrice Cenci – the unfortunate daughter, tormented and abused for a long period, had, with seething hatred, plotted to kill her tormentor, who tragically was her own father, Francisco Cenci.
Yet, in the end, she was sentenced to death and executed on this very Ponte Sant'Angelo, her sorrowful spirit said to still linger, mourning her fate.
The death of Cenci became a tragic symbol for the executions of that era: those condemned were publicly executed and their bodies displayed on the stone bridge for centuries, their fresh blood seeping deep into its structure.
The cool dampness of moss and stone pressed against her palm, like centuries of sorrowful tears reaching her senses.
Salina wondered if it was because they held so many souls that these statues always carried such a mournful air.
The tour guide began recounting the history of the castle as tourists admired its ancient grandeur.
Though built in the mid-second century AD and having weathered thousands of years, Castello Sant'Angelo still shone radiantly, like a masterpiece sculpted from clouds by the hand of God.
A bronze statue of a chariot with ancient emperors dressed as the Sun God welcomed visitors into a mystical, enchanting atmosphere. Guests were led down a spiral staircase to visit the tomb of Emperor Hadrian and his family before touring the entire castle.
Salina touched the ancient, moss-covered wall, sensing the layers of people who had walked these stairs through different eras.
It was here that the formidable castle had served as a refuge for Popes in times of danger.
And at other times, it had functioned as a gloomy, oppressive prison, confining hundreds of thousands of inmates.
Whenever she thought of this, she still wondered who the real prisoners were: the thieves and lawbreakers, or Emperor Hadrian's royalty and the upper class who had once reveled in masked balls here, bound by the invisible chains of their social status, only to wither away within these ornate walls?
Under the Roman twilight, Castello Sant'Angelo lay curled up quietly like a graceful Persian cat.
Salina toured all five floors, and the guide allowed the visitors some free time to revisit their favorite spots before the group moved on to another landmark.
Her hand traced the softness of the deep-colored velvet curtains and touched the intricately carved, gilded doors. She approached a window overlooking Ponte Sant'Angelo, which stretched across the Tiber under a vibrant orange-red sky.
It was a breathtakingly beautiful sight. The angel statues looked as if they were about to take flight, singing praises amidst the lapping waves, reminding Salina of a myth associated with this place.
Legend had it that Castello Sant'Angelo earned its majestic and beautiful name because around the year 590, during a widespread plague, a miracle occurred here: the Archangel Michael appeared atop the Emperor's mausoleum and sheathed his sword!
This was seen as a joyful sign marking the end of the epidemic, and soon after, normal life returned to Rome after much suffering and loss.
This tale was still recounted by locals, and everyone was filled with awe for God whenever they heard it.
"It's truly beautiful, isn't it?"
Another tourist remarked absently. Salina wasn't sure if he was speaking to her, but she smiled and nodded gently.
In this atmosphere, a vague sense of regret for distant memories seemed to arise. She imagined royal banquets with noble ladies in lace-trimmed ball gowns, and dapper gentlemen with full wine glasses, laughing and talking under the sparkling crystal chandeliers.
It was as if they had just been there, and a thousand years had passed in the blink of an eye.
The Roman sky was gradually turning a deep indigo, with stars beginning to emerge for a bright moonlit night. Salina let out an appreciative sigh and bent down to find her professional camera to capture the stunning scenery.
The stark contrast between this place and the modern, developed city outside made the space even more magical.
Since the 2030s, unprecedented global economic growth, along with a series of successful scientific breakthroughs, had caused the world to undergo a near-complete metamorphosis.
Buildings no longer stood passively on the ground; they could be stacked upon each other using magnetic fields, and many large centers were built underground.
Vehicles switched to natural energy sources, and new clothing materials were designed alongside other societal innovations, making the world increasingly simple, yet sometimes, more monotonous.
Looking out the window of the ancient castle now, towards the bustling city beyond, Salina felt as if she were suspended between two worlds.
One side was luxurious yet grey and monotonous, while the other, ancient and old, felt more alive than ever.
Suddenly, the sky darkened as she looked through her lens. Rain, probably, she thought.
But the sky's transformation didn't stop there. A grey-blue expanse enveloped the room, and spiral patterns began to appear in the distant clouds.
A strange storm seemed to be approaching; the clouds looked like many indigo serpents coiled together, writhing in agony against the sky.
The scene was both majestic and mysterious, stirring a thrilling, gut-wrenching sensation within her.
Surprised "oohs" and "aahs" echoed off the walls. The sky, roiling with dark clouds, gradually converged in one spot while the surrounding area was still bathed in the changing colors of the sunset, creating a bizarre, supernatural spectacle.
At the same time, in the castle courtyard below, curious onlookers began to gather where the strange phenomenon was occurring.
The tourists present also raised their electronic devices to record the rare moment.
"CRASH!!"
A terrifying roar resounded everywhere. The space trembled!
Numerous witnesses present suddenly collapsed, unconscious.
People fell like cut grass, like young saplings before a gust of wind.
Some went into trembling epileptic fits; others stared wide-eyed at the turbulent sky.
Horrified screams filled the air, and a panicked crowd, like a raging flood, sought shelter.
Another thunderous roar, then lightning flashed continuously in the reeling sky.
As if heralding a terrifying moment, the flashes of light grew more frequent, accompanied by roars so intense it was as if Satan himself had risen from the grave.
Salina was frozen. She was too stunned to move because, from the very center of the spiraling dark cloud, the sky was tearing open!
Amidst the sky, now awash with blue-white lightning, a long fissure appeared, like a silk tapestry ripped in two by a crude hand.
The spiral of dark clouds didn't stop but expanded further, with horrific roars echoing through the space.
Despite standing within the sturdy castle that had endured for centuries, Salina could almost feel each gust of wind lashing the rooftops of the city buildings, so clearly that they formed crescent-shaped gashes, as if wanting to destroy anything daring to obstruct their path.
The sounds of people screaming and praying intermingled in the panic-filled air.
The circle of dark clouds began to descend like a giant funnel, extending its tornado-like spout towards St. Peter's Basilica in the Vatican.
The moment she saw it, she felt this would be a rare historical moment she was fortunate enough to witness.
Without a moment's hesitation, as if fated, Salina rushed through the chaotic crowd down the main staircase towards the castle gate.
She darted out like a lone, small swallow throwing itself into the eye of the storm. Fear trembled within her, but the instincts of a war correspondent urged her closer to the heart of the danger looming in the sky.
The path was so thick with panic it felt as though one could smell it in the air.
Looking at the distant spire of the basilica and estimating the time based on her earlier tour, Salina made a bold decision to move faster.
She chose a silver SUV parked by the roadside, used an iron chair from a nearby café to smash its window, skillfully hotwired the car, and drove off before its astonished owner could react.
The car weaved through obstacles and squeezed into narrow turns, racing towards the basilica.
She ignored the traffic lights and the vehicles frozen in place by the strange spectacle unfolding.
Overhead, a BBC news helicopter was circling to broadcast live.
The SUV snaked its way beneath it, arriving just in time to witness the helicopter being struck by a lightning bolt and battered down by strong winds onto the open square surrounding the basilica.
A massive explosion erupted, and the helicopter disintegrated into pieces.
The blast was so powerful it nearly blew the SUV away had she not swerved in time.
Salina got out of the car when she was only a few hundred meters from the Vatican.
She struggled to stay upright against the strong winds while trying to find a way around the wreckage of the fiercely burning helicopter.
Several other television stations had also just dispatched field reporters to the scene in specialized vehicles.
The police began to cordon off the area, and despite presenting her press credentials, they waved her away, preventing her from taking another step towards the Basilica.
Salina refused to be deterred by the police barricade. She ran at full speed to find a small gap and slipped inside after inciting some fellow reporters to cause a commotion, forcing the police to suppress them and thereby relaxing their guard at that particular opening.
Immediately after hiding from the sight of that police unit, Salina switched her camera to video mode, approached the basilica, and began reporting on what was happening.
"What do you think you're doing? Get away from here, now!"
The shout was swallowed by the gusting wind but was still loud enough to startle her. Salina turned to see men dressed like special forces operatives advancing towards her.
Before she could answer, one of the soldiers grabbed her arm.
Another shouted at him in English, still tinged with a Swedish nasal accent.
"No time. Get her into the Basilica, get her inside The Curtain."
He exhaled in frustration, glaring at Salina as if she were a troublemaker, then dragged her towards the Vatican entrance, unceremoniously shoving her through.
Salina stumbled and fell, her camera clattering from her hand and hitting the stone floor, denting a corner.
Salina yelled at the soldier, then snatched up her camera; it was still recording.
The crack in the sky had begun to widen. Salina could clearly see the other side, a thick, inky blackness that seemed to want to pour through the fissure, to envelop the sky of her world.