Aeron came last. His body dropped from the chute in a controlled tuck, his boots finding the cavern floor.
He landed on his feet. Brushed one sleeve. Scanned the cavern. Filed twelve observations in three seconds.
"How remarkable," Aeron said, turning from warrior Master Mage into scholar with the speed of a switch flipping. His eyes were already tracking the rune patterns on the walls, the light sequences, the architectural geometry of a space that was ancient and deliberate and producing questions his journal was going to answer. "This predates the Second Age. The construction technique is pre-wolf. Look at the jointwork. Look at the rune alignment. This is the oldest thing I have ever stood inside."
They heard another rumble, closer this time. Dexmon swallowed his own fear down. Those things scared him more than he would like to admit. More than Dark Fae or dark mages ever had.
