The messenger slowed.
He stopped several paces short of the chamber ahead and did not look back at me.
"They are waiting," he said.
The chamber doors were already open. I resolved myself and crossed the threshold.
It was vast, yet deliberately so, its ceiling swallowed by darkness, the walls receding just enough to make distance feel intentional rather than excessive.
The air was colder here, heavier, pressing faintly against the chest with each breath.
Andestine again, though darker than the halls I had passed through, its surface untreated, left raw.
My steps slowed on their own.
Suspended above the ground was the Lethyrae.
Its mass was held aloft by thick organic cords that grew directly from its back and shoulders, not attached but grown.
The strands disappeared into the darkness above, stretched taut, bearing its weight without strain.
