Ethan walked in silence.
The elder led the way, flanked by two silent warriors whose scaled hides shimmered in layered tones of dark sapphire and storm-violet. The rest of the small procession moved with a rhythm that was almost ceremonial, but never stiff. The T'Shalari were a people in tune with their world; every motion bore weight, every glance held purpose.
The path wound beneath carved archways grown from fused bone and crystal. Here, the living rock resonated faintly with their passing, reacting not to footfalls but to presence. Ethan could feel it — the subconscious field of energy that threaded through the entire stronghold like an underground stream of thought.
"You feel it," the elder noted, not turning around.
"I do," Ethan replied, his voice soft. "The mountain is alive."
"It has always been. We did not build atop it. We learned to listen. It grew with us."
