The ancient elevator plummeted with a screech of grinding metal—Krit... kreet...—the friction of rusted iron forced to work after millennia of silence. The cabin walls vibrated violently, shaking ancient dust from the ceiling. Rianor stood at the front, his fingers resting against the cold, damp elevator wall while his other hand gripped a crystal tablet. His eyes were fixed on the fluctuating numbers on the screen.
"Hmm, the temperature has climbed eight degrees since we entered," Rianor murmured, his voice flat but laced with sharp caution. "And we haven't even reached the bottom yet."
Arvid, standing beside him, wiped the sweat from his forehead with the edge of his grimy robe sleeve. Sret. He regulated his breathing, which was starting to feel heavy. "The deeper we dive, the closer we get to the earth's geothermal heart. They must be tapping into that energy to power this entire massive facility."
