The caves of Roxtus. Silent. Deadly. Even in its furthest corners, where the light of the surface seemed several lifetimes extinct, the very shadows themselves spoke of utter supremacy, iron walls of both ethereal and stone force erected around the domain of the Skrall Empire. Only fools and beasts had the gall to ever venture this deep; not even the rough, jagged colonization of the City of Rock spread this far into the shadows of the underworld, before the people would start requiring the assistance of lightrock again. Down here, the caves of Roxtus, there was nothing blackness.
Stronius struck the rock with his fist, letting the sharp noise penetrate the darkness and etch out a perfect silver world in his mind's eye. Jagged walls arched up in segments, spinning sharp stalagmites in an eerie centripetal pattern and wounding deeper until the black abyss engulfed everything. The ground beneath him was a flat slate, adorned with pebbles and sediments that had found their place with time. Not even cave rodents scampered this far
into the earth. He had yet to share this hidden sanctum with another living soul, and he preferred to keep it that way.
The warrior traveled on in the unbroken void. His steady breathing and footsteps, which would be nigh silent anyplace else, were thunderous in comparison to the absolute quiet of the massive place. His club racketed as it hit his back in synchronized patterns. Every ten minutes or so he would slam his fist against a stone to create a fresh resonance, which he would recall continually until they faded entirely.
Stronius rapped his knuckles against the stone again. It took longer for the resound to reach him, and when it did, the chamber had swelled tenfold; so enormous he failed to make out the ceiling or the wall across from him. In the curving stone that unfolded around him, small tunnels and caves shot out even further into the unknown. But he needed not travel any longer. He'd reached his destination. Stepping down once more, he felt lukewarm water swallow his feet. He could smell the mat of lichen covering the lake. And beneath that... beneath that was the work of art that would spell his freedom.
Stronius unwrapped a rough, parched log from his belt and a piece of flint. It would be a good idea to close his eyes while he set the lake ablaze, but he couldn't miss the scene. Firmly, he dragged the flint across the torch and felt it crackle as it went ablaze, burning brightly and illuminating the surface of the black water before him. Immediately, Stronius reared back and launched the burning stick into the lake. The lichen immediately caught fire, bursting with vibrant hues of blue and green and throwing spontaneous light across the cavern as the scorching heat spread, lighting up the lake in a dramatic display of forced luminescence.
When it was finished, less than half of the strands were left. The fire had burned out, but they still shone brightly, casting multicolored light deep into the laden water. And there it was. Spindly and dark, an undisturbed artifact of incalculable age and forged of ancient metals and stones Stronius had never before witnessed. Wires and tubes that were meant to harvest energy spun out in all directions, loose and lifeless. A chaste creation of the Great Beings. An actual Spirit.
Stronius strode deeper into the water, deeper until he was fully submerged. The time had come. Grabbing hold of the strands of lichen, he arched over and dove, his life force flowing through the twisted plants into the Spirit. The brilliance that ensued lasted an instant and it lasted forever. And then, they were one.