When nobody came to greet Stroth and Krellos on the landing pads of the Halls of Aneth, an almost funerary silence descended between them. That feeling of unease only grew as they walked intricately paved corridors and ornately painted chambers which were immaculate but desolate.
The many charities and initiatives that once resided here had evacuated after the Threshold Tragedy. Ensconced within the bowels of the holy site, the Aneth Fracture itself hadn’t lifted a finger to stop the departures. Now, only automated attendants remained to hear the two travellers’ booted footsteps echoing through the halls.
Neither Stroth nor Krellos deigned to break the silence as they boarded the ancient lift into the depths of Kollian itself, but after a long minute Krellos broached, “Remember, we can leave any time. We don’t gotta stay if it seems bad.”
“It all seems bad, Tren,” Stroth responded solemnly, words feeling strange in her mouth. “It’s bad that I’m even considering this. But GLoW owes me a favour, and I’m certain they can help us reach Aglostarros alive.”
The lift doors parted before them to reveal an altogether darker domain, black soot and the warm light of industrial machinery lending strange exaggerations to the walls of the cavern in which they stood. Directly ahead waited Stroth’s contact, Challe, smirking in a tailored ensemble she suspected could double as a vacuum suit.
“I hate this guy already,” Krellos mumbled so that only Stroth could hear, encouraging her forward with a gentle hand, “but alright.”
Comments