Large chunks of rock began to fall from the ceiling, and they all tensed waiting for the end to come.
Then they stood in the desert, unstable on suddenly upright legs as the monument, Air’s Rock, was swallowed into the sands, never to be seen again. Their weapons, which had lain in a pile around where they’d fallen in the monument, were returned to their rightful places on their persons. A hot wind bore down on the group as they stood on the same dune they had crested when they entered the cube.
“What happened?” Vestare leaned forward and emptied her stomach onto the sand in front of her. Dank followed shortly after as the rest held their tongues, forcing their stomachs to settle. Orlogg still gripped Dantes hand in his and began to look about, covering his eyes with his free hand. A wave of vertigo hit the half-Orc and he plopped to the ground, almost bringing Dante with him.
“I didn’t do that.” He muttered to his friend. Dante patted his head, “I know Orli.”
Armand stood straight, flexing his hand, “I feel weaker. Like I’ve lost something. My arms burn and my shoulders ache.”
“Yes, that bastard took a lot from us; from the way he spoke, I imagine it was years off our lives.” Dank spit the last of the bile from his mouth but still stood in a hunched position, one hand resting on Vestare’s back as she continued to heave.