The spiral ramp climbing to Vault 7 was carved from a single nonstop vein of solid white quartz. It spiraled three hundred meters above the floor of the Core Throne Cave.
Arthur Vance walked with a steady, rhythmic stride, his combat boots ringing softly against the smooth crystal tread. The diamond-silver-steel osteo-lattice within his legs absorbed every ounce of moving rebound. That made the steep ascent feel like a level stroll across flat stone floor.
Beside him, Grimm matched his pace step for step. The twelve-hundred-two-pound Fenrir hound moved with the silent, hungry smooth speed of a phantom. His event-horizon coat took in the radiant light of the climbing pylons. Whenever the ramp narrowed near a steep cliff edge, Grimm’s shoulder nudged gently against Arthur’s hip, deliberately positioning his huge bulk between his human and the sheer drop below.
Above them, Pip drifted on the heat updrafts, his golden wings barely shifting as he banked between the towering quartz rows of stone pillars. Titus lumbered ten paces behind, his eighty-five-ton mass anchored by nearby gravity dampening that kept the delicate crystal bridge from experiencing a single micro-fracture. Vesper paced along the narrow outer handrail with easy, acrobatic grace. Meanwhile, Echo floated inside a floating orb of water hovering just ahead of Arthur’s left shoulder, blowing curious azure bubbles at the precursor carvings etched into the stone.
