His gold-crimson eyes narrowed.
'Just follow me," he said.
He walked. Not toward the bridge. Past it. His feet, on the rough stone, found a path that was not visible. A path that existed in the spiritual energy, in the divine qi, in the perception of a being who could see what others could not. A path of solid ground, hidden by the illusion, that led directly across the fissure. Past the pool. Past the traps.
The women followed. One by one. Their feet, on the path he had revealed, crossed the fissure. The pool, below, churned. The energy, the devoured life force, flowed.
They reached the other side. A corridor, dark, narrow, led deeper. The walls, the stone, were carved with formation diagrams. The diagrams, ancient, were active. The spiritual energy, flowing through the carvings, fed the pool. Fed the mechanism. Fed the core.
