>>612
You stare intently at the two yawning, unlit openings to the subaqueous world below. They betray no hint of their contents, but that doesn't mean you can't guess. You begin by hypothetically exploring the southwest tunnel, which, you imagine, after a short, narrow shaft leading down at a roughly 45 degree angle, opens into a now flooded ruin. The crumbling masonry whispers of illustrious temples and unknowably ancient rites. Deeper into the structure, further into the cold, clinging water, the architecture twists maddeningly in Escheresque contortions that confound the eye. You sink down twisting helical staircases, through ornate archways, past elaborate arabesques in tessellating or fractal patterns, until you lose all sense of direction or self. You drown in your own imagination.
>>613
Returning to reality, you bend down, cup your hands and swallow several mouthfuls of the cool water. It washes the blood from your hands and your throat, refreshing you inside and out.
>>614
You hear splashing behind you. Conundrum-chan is stumbling in your direction. One hand is clutching her right eye, from beneath which a line of blood is tracing its way down her cheek. She calls something after you, but you can't even make out the words. Reginald swoops back and forth around her, and she bats at him a little, but continues drawing steadily closer to you.
Well, this is awkward. You hope she doesn't want to kiss you again or something. I mean, it's not like you'd like that or anything. Eager to avoid such an emotionally turbulent reunion, you rush off towards the southeast tunnel, as heading towards the southwest would involve having to pass Conundrum-chan. Using your stone morphing (active skill), you morph a fair chunk of cavern wall into a modest, single tank diving suit. This costs you 140 mana, leaving you 100 mana remaining.
Being made of stone, the tube covering your mouth and nose is immobile, making it a little inconvenient. Similarly, you have no way of actually compressing the air in the tank, meaning it's more like just a single extra lungful of air on your back. Still, it's better than nothing. Very, very carefully, you submerge the box of dynamite, which you are still carrying for some bizarre suicidal reason, and dive with it beneath the surface, praying that the increase in pressure doesn't offend it enough to detonate.
You cannot see anything, and navigate by following the roof of the tunnel with the hand that isn't otherwise occupied. The tunnel levels out soon after passing underwater, then carries on more or less straight for about fifty metres. Just as you are desperately running out of air, it begins to rise again, and you see faint lights glimmering on the other side of a water surface just above you. You emerge, breath deeply, and pull yourself out onto the shore.
You are in a large, black space. You cannot see any walls or ceiling. There are odd luminescent little white bell shaped objects hanging from strands, looking much like larger, glowing versions of lilies of the valley. These illuminate a small lake, from which you have just emerged, surrounded by tall, organic shapes that tower away into the darkness above. The ground is everywhere covered in a thick layer of glistening moss, soft and damp to the touch, with little clusters of mushrooms or foliate coral-like structures. The air smells musty, with a faint undercurrent of overripe fruit.
A persistent breeze is blowing from the west. A narrow valley, bounded on both sides by the glowing organisms, winds away to the southeast. Everywhere else is thickly overgrown and more or less unlit, but the foliage seems especially thick, dark and foreboding to the north.
>>615
Ignoring your surroundings for now, you set down the miraculously unexploded box of dynamite and slurp greedily from the pool. You drink, drink, gulping it down but never quite quenching that itching dryness at the back of your throat, until you are interrupted by a rustling sound from the northeast.