I edge out onto the narrow sill, arms extended, trying to embrace the column's slight curvature. Grit between my teeth, kicked up by my breath. The rasp of leather against dusty stone.
There's the same platform on this side. No railings though. I snap another lightstick and the crack echoes off into the darkness.
The walkway ends in a smooth, fitted wall. On my stomach I reach over the edge of the platform and illuminate thick wooden beams, splintered and charred.
From the base of the debris, even holding the lightstick over my head, I can no longer see the walkway above.
The floor in the smaller chambers is packed dirt, but the walls are still stone. I make my through burned out rooms and low passageways clogged with fallen supports and smashed furniture, breached barricades. The last hallway ends in a rough earthen tunnel.
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