A faint aroma of roasting sugar and smoky ash drifted through the cool basalt tunnel.
Deacon Vane crawled out of the narrow rock passage first, brushing red volcanic grit from his knees.
Behind him, Commanders Wu, Zhao, Fang, and Lin squeezed through the crevice one by one.
Each commander gripped a heavy, iron-tipped entrenching shovel. Their battered armor clanked softly against the stone walls.
They expected to enter a grand, terrifying underground sanctum.
They expected to see Master Ash standing beside a towering nine-tier bronze cauldron, surrounded by crackling lightning and swirling pill-clouds.
Instead, they stepped into a small, rounded basalt alcove lit by a single glowing orange hearth.
In the center of the alcove sat a young man on a low, folding wooden camp stool.
