Ariana stood on the bottom floor of the central structure with her hand raised toward one of the side walls, her palm hovering a few inches from the stone.
Between her hand and the wall, a magical sigil turned silently in the air. It was not bright in the way battle spells were bright. It did not flare, spark, or announce itself. The sigil moved with technical precision, rings rotating at different speeds, inner markings splitting apart, shifting positions, and realigning into new arrangements before dissolving and forming again.
Some symbols sank halfway into the wall and faded. Others rejected the stone entirely and broke into fine motes before Ariana adjusted them with a small movement of her fingers. Every change seemed to ask the wall a question, and every faint ripple through the stone gave her a little more of the answer.
The bottom floor remained quiet around her.
