Chapter 5 – The Lost Continent continues with a haunting yet captivating glimpse into the skeletal remains of what was once London. The deeper we ventured into this forgotten metropolis, the clearer it became that nature had slowly reclaimed what man had abandoned. Overgrown vines curled through window frames, and moss blanketed what little was left of once-grand public halls and shattered spires. But it was not complete silence that welcomed us. Every so often, a breeze would stir fragments of the past—faded fabric, rusted metal, or brittle pages from forgotten books—reminding us that this city once lived, breathed, and thrived. Beneath the rubble, it still whispered its legacy.

As we followed the Thames, our pace slowed by curiosity and caution, the presence of wildlife became harder to ignore. We first saw faint paw prints in the dust and claw marks gouged into stone, growing fresher the deeper we traveled. One sight in particular, a majestic black-maned lion perched on a broken balcony, solidified our awareness that we were far from alone. The creature’s calm poise was deceptive, for its watchful gaze never left us. Though it made no move, its presence brought a chill of ancient danger, like something primordial watching from the veil of a dream. The city, it seemed, had not been entirely abandoned—just inherited by new rulers.

Driven by a mix of awe and sorrow, we sought to uncover what remained of the London we once knew from stories and maps. But little survived. The Tower stood in fragments, its stonework cracked and choked by wild ivy. Of London Bridge, barely a broken arch remained, swallowed by the river’s steady current. The grandeur of Westminster had all but dissolved, reduced to crumbled walls echoing only with birdsong. What time had not destroyed, nature had concealed.

In the heart of this forgotten capital, one building stood apart—remarkably whole, cloaked in greenery yet upright against the odds. It drew us in with its eerie preservation. Inside, the past lingered like perfume in the air. Thick carpets still lined the floor, their colors dimmed but distinct. Portraits hung with faces whose eyes seemed to follow us, and tapestries revealed a people whose inventions and elegance far surpassed what we had imagined. Victory stood entranced, her fingers brushing against the edge of a painted map, her voice soft as she whispered that she could remain here forever, among the ghosts of greatness.

Yet our presence had not gone unnoticed. In the depths of what appeared to be a once-royal hall, we discovered not statues or scholars, but lions. An entire pride, lounging where kings once sat. The shock was instant, and our retreat was desperate. Upstairs, we barricaded ourselves in a study, where the skeletal remains of a uniformed man sat slumped over a desk. He had chronicled the city’s final days in fading ink, referencing a cataclysmic event called “the Death” and a chaotic flight that left the island to wilderness. In that moment, history came alive—not through monuments or relics, but through the quiet testament of one man’s final account.

With no time to lose, we planned our escape down the building’s ivy-wrapped façade. The climb was perilous, but even more so was the jungle below. A lioness caught our scent and surged from the shadows. We fled, leaping through a ruined garden and plunging into the cool safety of the Thames. The river offered no peace, but it distanced us from our hunters.

In the water, exhausted and breathless, I urged Victory to swim for shore and leave me behind. She refused. Her defiance, so simple and fierce, defied every survival instinct and underscored something more powerful: loyalty. When the lioness returned, eyes burning and claws slicing the riverbank, we stood our ground. Victory raised her knife, poised and unwavering. But fate gave us an opening, and we took it—escaping not only with our lives, but with our unity forged anew.

This chapter reveals not only the collapse of civilization but the tenacity that still survives in those who endure its aftermath. The remnants of London speak in ruins and roars, in memories sealed in dust and pages. But amid all that was lost, there still flickers the hope of what can be found: courage, resolve, and the refusal to surrender in the face of a world that has turned wild.