Time lost meaning. Hours—or perhaps what passed for hours underground—folded into one another. Lira observed patterns: how axolotls responded to minor currents, how they interacted with each other, how the pond itself reflected the movement of energy around it. Each ripple became a message, each movement a clue.
At one point, she closed her eyes completely, allowing the water's vibrations to speak to her directly. A faint whisper—a language of intuition rather than sound—nudged her attention toward a cluster of mushrooms along the far edge of the pond. They pulsed faintly, signaling a subtle shift in energy, guiding her eyes to a narrow passage partially hidden behind hanging roots and moss.
