The lake sat in a bowl carved by mountains that had not moved in longer than the Lands of Stone had been called by that name.
Damian and Serala descended to its edge after two hours of flight, the kind of two hours that covered distances armies spent weeks crossing.
The mountains surrounding the lake rose on every side in walls of dark stone that made the water below feel like something secret. The surface of the lake held the sky above it in a reflection so clear that landing beside it was briefly disorienting, one sky above and one sky below with the thin line of the shoreline the only evidence that the world had a floor.
Serala walked into the water without stopping.
She went up to her waist, then her chest, then her shoulders, and then she went under, and the lake took her with the easy acceptance of a body of water that had no opinion about what entered it. Damian sat on the bank and closed his eyes.
Three minutes passed.
The water erupted.
