The murmur of voices rose steadily in the cavern, fractured by the palpable tension between groups of survivors. As Aeliana leaned against the jagged wall of the basin, her breaths shallow and uneven, she watched as the survivors began to form their factions.
The mercenaries were the first to pull together, their rough, pragmatic demeanor evident in the way they spoke in clipped sentences and sized up their surroundings. They didn't waste time with sympathy, instead prioritizing survival. One of them, a broad-shouldered man with a scar running down his cheek, barked orders to the others.
"Stay sharp," he growled. "This place isn't safe. Could be more traps, or worse."
