They stood there with dust in their mouths and light in their eyes.
Lynea's spear-shadow had torn the sealed face wide; the slabbed stone split, sighed, and fell back into itself in gray sheets. Behind it, the chamber woke.
Color happened.
Not just blue. Not just the tidy white-gold you get when a clean vein is proud of itself. The whole geode breathed - milk-blue at the core sliding into cold green that warmed to rose, each facet catching the next until the wall was a slow aurora boxed in rock. It made their lamps look depressed. It made their coats look like they'd been dunked in a rainbow and shaken out to dry.
Shards from Feris's earlier blow littered the bowl like fallen stars. Some lay still, clear as ice in the dust. Others lifted a finger's width, thoughtful, then settled again as if they'd changed their minds. When two drifted close, the tiniest sound rang - glass greeting glass. A soft, accidental chime.
