The crystalline lights embedded in the vaulted ceilings of Karak-Zorn had transitioned into a deep, burnished copper-orange, signaling the beginning of the morning cycle for the subterranean inhabitants. For Dayat, however, four hours of sleep was nowhere near enough to mend a brain that felt as if it had been slow-cooked after the high-intensity data synchronization with Dola the previous night.
He awoke in a lavish guest suite carved directly from a vein of pristine white marble. The room was grand, yet it carried the pervasive scents of Terragard's elite district: a mixture of heavy lubricating oil, dry stone dust, and the humid, metallic tang of pressurized steam.
"Subject Dayat, your heart rate is currently 85 BPM. Slightly elevated for a resting state," Dola's voice drifted from the far corner of the room.
