Cavern of Demanding Light

They had carved the words with clenched wrists, each strike echoing deeper than the chamber itself, as if the rock swallowed oaths alongside dust. The hanging bulb swung—bare filament flaring against the amber shards embedded like accusatory teeth—casting quick, skeletal shadows that stretched and recoiled in rhythms only watchers would understand. No one speaks of the ladder now missing, but the scrapes on the stone rise too cleanly not to imply ascent. A ritual still hums in the air: breath held, spines rigid, palms grazing the glowing crystal tips like priests invoking fracture or clarity. Simultaneous scenes flicker—reflections on those facets suggest movements beyond the frame, wrists outstretched in prayer or restraint. The ceiling’s slit of blue insists on escape yet presses downward, twisting hope into feverish urgency. The etched question burns brighter than the lamp, consuming certainty, declaring what all their searching will not resolve: Vojta remains beyond reach, and the watchers are not done intervening.