The limp figure sagged when the last mark burned itself in. Another stepped in to steady them. From this distance, with the strange distortion between them, Rhaen could not see their faces.
But she could feel something.
Intention.
The desire that had driven them to cut these marks here. To turn this hall into something more than a passage.
They wanted control.
Control of the mana that flowed here. Control of the dungeon's growth. Control of whatever lay deeper down.
Her own chest hurt.
For a moment the scene in front of her twisted with something else.
The hall flickered.
The we blurred under her feet. The sigils at the far wall shifted, and suddenly she wasn't looking at robed strangers anymore. She saw her own team.
Four people around a small camp table in a low stone room.
