"No wonder that hole looks so bright," remarked Allen as he reached the nadir of the hole connecting to the fourth floor.
"Is it me, or is it even brighter than the ground above?" Sharik pondered, squinting as he tried to peer upwards.
"Another illusion, perhaps? I can't make out the ceiling," observed Francis.
The descent through the hole had been winding, not just a straight drop, but a gradual decline at an angle, eventually emerging from one of the walls on the fourth floor.
"At times like this I really wish we had a dungeon specialist in our party," Fidelma said.
That place, the fourth floor of the Oxwadeshire dungeon. The terrain was dominated by rocks, moulded into various shapes and resembling ancient ruins. Patches of poon adhered to the stones in some areas. Above them, the sky radiated a brilliant glow akin to daylight, and within it floated objects or debris descending ever so slowly, almost as if suspended in midair.
