Hearing the discovery, Fera let out a long, shuddering breath. Around her, the tension snapped and the survivors answered with sounds of raw relief. Several of the exhausted dropped to their knees or sat down heavily against the stone as fatigue finally caught up with them.
"By the old stones," one grizzled fighter muttered, voice trembling.
"We still breathe."
"Praise the light," another rasped, closing their eyes.
A researcher pressed both palms to his chest and whispered, "Thank you," over and over.
Fera pushed through the small crowd to the front and called for a head count. Two captains stepped forward: a Serpar captain whose scales were streaked with dust and a Drakon captain clutching a broken spear. The Serpar captain bowed once, then spoke plainly.
"Your Highness, Serpar has seventeen fit for movement. Five are severely wounded and cannot march. The rest have minor or moderate injuries."
The Drakon captain took his turn. "Drakon has twenty remaining. Three severely wounded. The others are fine."
A researcher from the group, still wiping dust from his forearms, added quickly, "Brakkan has thirteen total. Most are researchers with small injuries. They were kept behind the fighters for protection."
Fera's face slackened at the tally. She pressed her hands together at her midriff and murmured barely audibly, as if speaking to something beyond the stone.
"May our brave steps in this life lead us to calm beyond. May we find peace when this ends."
Her voice was low, almost a prayer. The others fell quiet and did not interrupt.
When she finished, she asked, "Any soldiers remaining on Urdu's side?"
The Serpar captain's jaw tightened. "Your Highness… the last one fell just before the passage opened. We could not save him."
The news landed hard, and a hush spread through the group.
Fera shifted her posture and gave quick, practical orders to make up for the losses.
"Those too injured to move will remain here at the entrance," she said. "Three Serpar will tend the wounded. Five Drakon will guard the threshold in case the barrier breaks."
The captains acknowledged immediately.
"Understood," the Serpar captain replied, already motioning to gather volunteers.
The Drakon captain snapped a salute and called, "Five of them will hold the opening."
The assigned draconians moved to their tasks with brisk efficiency, rearranging the small group into the new distribution of duties.
Fera called out the names and ranks of the remaining ones in a sharp, clear tone so everyone could hear.
"Serpar, report. Drakon, report. Brakkan, stand forward."
The Serpar captain answered, "Present, your Highness."
The Drakon captain echoed, "Present."
The research lead stepped up and spoke, "Here, Princess."
Fera counted quietly under her breath as she listened to each confirmation. When the roll finished she said aloud, "Thirty souls total, including me."
There was no triumph in the number, only a dry acceptance. She glanced one last time at the injured left at the entrance, then squared her shoulders and issued the order.
"Begin the march. Move now."
They advanced into the pitch-black corridor as a single, organized column. Six Drakon and five Serpar, Fera among them, led the way. The researchers followed in the center in rows of three, while the remaining Serpar took up the flanks and the rest of the red drakes brought up the rear. Each of them carried, or rather each had hovering near them, a small floating orb about two inches across. The orbs drifted within arm's reach and emitted a steady whitish luminescence that cut through the darkness ahead. The light came from a strange energy the draconic people could shape and sustain by will. The orbs responded to that energy, hovering and brightening as their owners directed. Thirty orbs in total moved with the column, casting a narrow path of light down into the unknown.
The researchers moved along the narrow corridor with their orbs bobbing beside them, eyes fixed on the walls.
"Feel that metal under the stone," one murmured, running a fingertip along a seam.
"It's the same alloy as the pillars we mapped..."
Another peered closer at a patterned band and said, "These motifs aren't like the floor's glyphs. They loop without breaks."
A third slid down low and traced a continuous engraved line that circled the passage.
"There are no gaps. Every panel links to the next..."
They compared the carving styles as they walked.
"The floor-level runes are broader, mixed with ornamental flourishes," one noted.
"Here it's all functional, they were designed to transmit..." Another researcher tapped at a small inset and frowned.
"These patterns wrap the entire circumference. It's a uniform system; triggering a mark here would ripple through the circuit."
They paused in a narrow stretch and looked down the corridor.
"See how it slopes?" one said.
"Just a slight decline, north higher and south lower, the same tilt as the rest of the twenty-sixth floor, only this angle is so gentle you barely notice it while walking."
The group fell silent, eyes scanning the continuous bands of metal and engraving as the column continued downward into the dark.
Fera kept her attention split. She followed the researchers' technical observations with a steady, reserved focus, but her primary watch remained forward, eyes scanning the darkness, sword ready in her right hand and every muscle primed for sudden movement. Minute by minute the column moved, fighters keeping tight ranks and making no more sound than the soft drag of scales and the faint hum of the floating orbs. The researchers' low, clipped exchanges threaded through the quiet, a steady undercurrent of analysis that did not reach beyond their small group.
After a measured march the corridor opened. The column slowed as the passage gave way to a place broad enough to force them to spread slightly. Fera lifted her left hand, palm flat and raised in a practiced halt that the others recognized without question. She stepped to the edge of a shallow drop at the place's threshold, then gathered herself and leapt down more than a meter to the floor below. Her scaled feet hit solid stone with a single, resonant dong that rolled through the place and faded against the high walls.
Fera stepped forward carefully, sweeping her orb's light across the immediate ground. A thin, straight split in the floor caught her attention. It was a narrow fissure, no more than three inches wide, running from the place's center directly toward the passage behind her. The gap was clean and uniform, too precise to be natural. She followed it with her eyes, but the place was so dark that her light faded after only a few meters, leaving the rest of the fissure swallowed in black.
She crouched slightly and touched the floor near the split. The surface had the same metallic texture as the passage, cold, and smooth, but unlike the corridor, this place lacked any carvings, patterns, or technological symbols. It was bare metal from wall to wall.
Fera remained where she was, feet planted squarely on the metallic ground. She waited several minutes without shifting, listening for any reaction from the darkness deeper inside the place. No hum, no vibration, no movement, just a heavy, stagnant silence.
Satisfied that nothing stirred, she straightened and turned her head toward the passage above.
"Clear enough! Come down—slowly!" she called out, her voice echoing through the place.
One by one they dropped into the darkness until the last soldier's scaled foot struck the metal floor and the echo died away. The brief cascade of dongs faded, and for a heartbeat the place held only the low breathing of exhausted fighters and the soft drift of the thirty hovering orbs.
Fera moved without haste and signaled for the group to reform. They fell into ordered ranks and followed the fissure's line toward the center, each step measured and cautious. The walk lasted only a few minutes before a shape broke the monotony of shadow ahead. The column slowed automatically; weapons lifted and orbs brightened by instinct.
Fera lifted her left hand and pointed. The six Drakon at the front answered and pushed forward to scout, their breaths shallow. A pair of blue drakes, then Fera herself, kept a careful distance of a few meters behind them, maintaining depth in case the scouts triggered anything. They moved with practiced caution until the silhouette resolved into a small structure: several thin platforms stacked concentrically like a flattened pyramid, and atop them sat a rectangular black box, compact, precise, and no more than half a meter across. The narrow stair-like platforms rose in diminishing layers to support the tiny box, which dominated the small assemblage by its stark geometry against the empty floor.
They closed ranks around the small stack of platforms and stepped in a slow circle, weapons raised and orbs dipping to cast angled light across every surface.
"Careful—don't crowd it," a Drakon warned, voice low.
"Sweep for traps," a Serpar added. They edged closer, murmuring to one another.
"Let us examine from the north side first," one said.
"Keep your blades ready," another replied.
After a brief inspection, Fera motioned with a flat hand.
"Bring the rest forward. Give the researchers room," she ordered. The others shifted, forming a wider ring so the researchers could move to the platforms.
"Hold formation," Fera said.
"Protect the researchers while they examine it." Fera instructed. The fighters obeyed and took positions, weapons outward while the researchers climbed the thin steps to inspect the box.
The researchers called findings back in clipped phrases as they worked.
"There's another split on the far side similar to the one that led us here," one reported, peering over the edge of a platform.
"It stops at the lowest tier right beneath the box." Another traced the metal with a careful fingertip.
"If these match, there could be a corresponding passage opposite this one." A third added, "Both fissures align toward the center, likely channels to something below or beyond."
Fera listened, then inclined her head. "We will explore that other side once you finish here," she said.
"For now, secure this area."
Returning their attention to the device, the researchers examined the box from all angles. They focused on the rectangular box again.
"This box is likely some kind of mechanism," one said.
"But the problem is the surface," another added.
"It's smooth. No seams or markings."
"Yeah," a third agreed. "We can't find any obvious clues with this."
They continued checking it from different angles, trying to get a proper look despite the lack of carvings.
As the researchers were busy with their observations, the Drakon captain stepped forward and spoke in a flat, practical tone.
"Your Highness, can we sweep the far side of the place? If we map the perimeter now, we'll know what to expect."
Fera considered for a moment, before nodding at him.
"Take two more and move quietly. Report anything unusual."
"Understood," the captain replied. He picked two more Drakon and the three of them moved off along. As they walked away, Fera saw their silhouttes went hazy as the light emitting in their orbs gradually disappear as the distance between them rose. This made Fera confused and be concerned as the darkness in this place seems off.
Meanwhile, the researchers kept working without pause. They traded short, direct notes while inspecting the box from different angles. They shifted their orbs to lower intensity and crouched closer.
After a quick vote, one of them volunteered and stepped up. He set his palm flat on the box's surface. The moment his scaled hand made contact, a bluish wave spread outward across the box like a drop hitting still water, rings of light moving from the point of contact to the edges. The surface under his hand brightened as if registering touch.
"Your Highness, there's a reaction on the box!," the volunteer's urgent voice sounded, directing the call back toward Fera.
...