As Ethan crossed the threshold, the oppressive darkness of the chamber seemed to push back against the tactical lamps of the soldiers.
"Crul, internal grid. Give me light," Ethan commanded under his breath.
[Initiating emergency illumination protocols. Routing residual mana through the secondary crystal orbs.]
A low hum vibrated through the floor, and suddenly, the room erupted in a pale, spectral glow. Orbs of crystalline glass embedded in the ceiling flickered to life, their ancient matrices stabilizing into a steady, cold light. As the shadows retreated, the triumphant cheers of the soldiers died in their throats.
The room was a graveyard of industry.
