"Hrrmh," Ochazuke pondered, the meditational field of sense-awareness picking up the shape of the chamber Held might have been able to see more directly, following the path of the nodules of energy. Pillar-columns twisted apart, bisected walls and shattered stairways that led nowhere. "Whatever had befallen this place had quite literally buried it."
Then at the edge of the Shingan's field of view, something stirred. First it was as if the image of the sequestered briefly out of focus from the distance and effort of peering through its substance. Then, as if blurred at the edges, it read like a silhouette. Something was stirring down there. Its true nature unreadable, but its countenance was gargantuan.
Suddenly, the heavy steel thud of a latch rang through the ancient stony hollow of the King's Grove, followed by footfalls. Somebody approached.
"Raider officers." Ochazuke mulled, "Jack, focus, keep us concealed."
There was more than one voice, and their conversation at this distance was indecipherable, where it echoed but was quite animated, with passionate disagreement.
The Golem's stream of consciousness lurched in a brief inner monologue that reached them where they stood within; fleeting, abstract, like the meaning without words.
Comrades, Echoed Damask's thoughts, an intonation that was as much an affirmation as it was a query to the group.
Rendezvous?