"Alright," Sol said, gripping the heavy shaft of his Void-Oak spear. He turned his gaze away from the subdued army and toward the dark tunnel that led back to the surface. "Let's go see what happened to the war of lords."
He looked back at the Queen. She was a literal mountain of pale, translucent flesh, heavily injured, bloated to the size of a three-story building, and entirely incapable of walking under her own power. Her massive, withered legs twitched uselessly against the hardened earth of the dais.
"Okay, seems like we have a slight logistical issue," Sol muttered, scratching his chin as he took in her sheer, immovable mass. He sent a questioning pulse down the mental link, essentially asking: How the hell are we getting you out of here? Do I need to build a giant subterranean wagon?
The Queen's massive antennae twitched in response. She didn't possess language in the human sense, but she transmitted a wave of calm, instinctual certainty through the Silver Liquid tether.
