The moment he noticed the light ahead, Green understood why all the descriptions he had received had been so vague.
It could not be described precisely, yet the instant he saw it, it stirred countless memories of scenes that were similar and yet completely different. It was like the pale gray light at the end of a church corridor in a dream, where the Saints Statues bowed their heads, diluted and spread thin across every surface.
The light was so faint that nothing could be made out in it, and it blended with the water vapor. The sound of the falling torrent, closer than ever before, drove the luminous mist out of the Great Hall and into the passageway.
The light source did not waver. Perhaps that was why it was thought to resemble a Celestial Body. But beneath the strata, where not so much as a sliver of light from the sky had reached since its formation, what Celestial Body could shine down here?
As they approached rapidly, the light did not vanish as it had the last time. Instead, it held an unsettling steadiness, like an invitation awaiting its discoverers—or sheer indifference.
[Now?]
Green weighed whether to pursue the light source or first look for the two groups who had failed to return in time, but found no answer.
Their feet moved forward—or the increasingly swift current pushed them forward. Before they reached the passageway's exit, the monks drew their weapons, ready for threats that might lurk in any direction.
The metallic ring of drawn blades did not travel far. In the vast banks of vapor, each person's voice was confined to the space around them or scattered by the deafening roar of the falls, leaving everyone submerged in an atmosphere of detached isolation, much like the light