Four pairs of eyes stare, unblinking at a pool hewn into the floor of a small chamber. The pool is full of a gelatinous liquid that gleams, ever so slightly, illuminating dark stone wall and casting shadows across the floor. A background murmur grows, out of silence, rattling discordantly off of the walls, vibrating the liquid which splashes steaming, corrosive droplets onto the floor. The noise grows and grows and grows until the chamber groans and shakes under the pressure. A film creeps slowly across the face of the liquid, thickens, tenses and cracks, jagged fault lines zig-zagging across the surface. Four pairs of hands, thin and ghostly pale in the dark, reach out and peel off the film with the gentlest of touches. Underneath liquid laps at the edges of the bowl, colour bleeding in as if from the stone itself. The colours swirl and mix and then, gradually, images form, shifting in and out of focus as the hum begins to rise again. Slowly Mahirl and Renarf appear in the pool, serpent tattoos glinting as they squat by a fire amidst ruins. They are chatting idly, relaxed yet watchful. The image becomes clearer, closer and the pair stiffen, suddenly alert,