Stone crashes down, and Shimo, Bram, Kaelen, and Wulf plunge into black water. The fall ends in a cold cistern chamber, knee-deep and reeking of rot.
Their lantern-lightless world is all slick brick, hanging roots, and drowned echoes. Above them, boots hammer across the floorboards, close enough to rattle dust from the arch.
Bram
Keep low. This water runs through the old channels. It will take us to the sump stairs if we are lucky.
Shimo steadies himself in the waist-deep dark, one hand on the wall. The tunnel ahead splits around a crumbling support, with a rusted ladder barely visible in the murk.
Kaelen
I hear them above. If they pry open that panel, we are done for.
Wulf
Then move. Quiet feet, no splashing. Bram, lead.
Bram points toward the narrower tunnel and starts forward. The water swirls around their legs as the group slips into the cistern's lower passage, away from the blocked rubble and toward a new route upward.