The chamber looked like the end of the world.
Cracks split the stone walls from floor to ceiling, branching like lightning frozen mid-strike. Half the vaulted ceiling had surrendered to gravity, leaving a ragged wound through which cold night air poured in. Shattered glass from the examination mirrors caught what little torchlight remained, scattering it across the rubble like scattered stars. The scholars who hadn't fled were pressed into corners, silent, small, making themselves invisible.
And in the center of all that destruction, an old woman sat cross-legged on the floor with two sleeping infants cradled against her chest as though the chaos around her was nothing more than a light breeze.
