(c) 2023 Kyrinn S. Eis All Rights Reserved
Ayrqthon went first and held [the ladder] braced for Geas' descent. The chamber was cubic, with a cube inside it approximately three-quarters the size. The black rock from which it was carved exhibited properties of Jet, as well as Obsidian, as if the two were somehow one mineral and not mixed. It had a wet look to it but their footing was no less secure than on the roof before their climb down. Geaselle stooped to touch her fingers to its surface, and almost recoiled. She stood and looked at her husband. Ayrqthon crouched, placed his five digits upon it and closed his eyes; his handsome features lit by the torch Geas carried.
Syr Acaer lifted his left hand while his right remained in contact; from the palm of his left sprang a black flame which danced and swirled, leapt and forked. The Tsawbrer of Dabil Arasoya brought her own fingers near and felt the flames as something akin to the abrasive scour of a dust-storm, although she could not recall she ever had been in one such. Its sting was granular and vibratory, but so gentle as to almost feel luxurious, as when one traces one's fingers across velvet. She dared further place her hand within it, and Ayrqthon caused the flame to increase in volume and intensity; the sensation now was similar to play in pure sand, its vibration the same, but now doubled. Her gown's sleeve caught flame and it burned before her eyes but she felt no pain; out of curiosity, she allowed it to burn further, but then, did smother it under her left hand with no ill effect upon her flesh. She brought her torch of fire bright closer and saw that the threads of her gown were severed, disarrayed, bleached -- the leached colour had spread before the black flame, and those areas were threadbare.
-- "It ages what it burns, abrades it --"
"Like sandstorms weather rock over centuries."
Ayrqthon with blackened flame adark, moved to engulf the yellow fire of her torch--
-- "Syr, no!"
He looked to her; she calmed; he moved on his hand to the fire bright. Its glow dimmed by fractioned halves. At his approach it ambered, umbered, marooned, and then was naught but a reddish black. Ayrqthon's flame worked-loose embers, and splinters. It knocked free small coals of the wood home of blazing fire flaming. As these particles were dislodged, most failed to fly free, instead they were consumed into smaller and smaller embers. Then as stars adying, winked out into the nothingness of the chamber. The fire was snuffed, the torch a ragged, shaggy stump asmoulder.
