The white mist was not air. It was a fluid silence that swallowed sound and light alike. Lyra plummeted, her fingers locked with Malphas, feeling the rush of a thousand lifetimes passing through her skin. The sensation of falling ended abruptly as they struck a surface that felt like polished glass, vibrating with a low frequency. She gasped, scrambling to her feet in a vast, subterranean chamber bathed in soft, amber luminescence.
Where are we? Malphas asked, his voice echoing off walls made of translucent crystalline structures. He touched the surface of a nearby pillar, his brow furrowing as he recoiled. It feels like bone. It feels like the past.
Lyra stood, her body aching from the impact. She could feel the Jantung Void deep within her ribs, calm and rhythmic. This is not a prison,
