Cold water breathes through the lower chamber. Beneath Nanera, the seam anchor pulses in the dark, wrapped in bronze light that tightens with each tremor. Azera braces the seal above, and The Protector holds the threshold like a drawn blade.
The Protector
The path is clear. The choice is yours, Nanera.
Azera
If that anchor falls, the corruption should collapse with it. Be ready for the backlash.
Nanera steadies her stance on the slick ledge. Her bamboo staff angles toward the faint pulse, while the bronze barrier above flickers copper against the stone.
Nanera
The anchor is the source.
The chamber hums once, as if the whole grove holds its breath. The pulse gathers at the seam, vulnerable for a heartbeat, waiting for Nanera's strike.