The cavern ceiling was a temple of forgotten sky.
Constellations stretched across the volcanic stone in patterns that predated every star chart Tiberon Drakenfell had ever studied, and he had studied all of them. The arrangements were wrong by modern standards, star positions shifted by millennia of orbital drift, and the wrongness was a timestamp more accurate than any written record could provide.
Between the constellations, Old Fae script curved in spiraling lines that followed the arcs of the star formations. The language was similar to what Tiberon had seen in the oldest sections of the Drakenfell archives, the scrolls that Hyran kept behind three wards and a locked door, but this was older. The characters were sharper, less evolved, carrying the visual weight of a language that had been carved before the one he recognized had finished being invented.
