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This is not the first time you and Bran have cracked open one of the mystic stone gates that separate the domain spaces of a dungeon from the texture of reality. The path of even the most half-hearted adventurer passes by the monolithic structures quite frequently. An entrance to a dungeon will always stand wide open, t'is sure, but such structures can also be found inside of dungeons. When they are open, they represent a well understood path for those who hunt monsters, and when they are closed they conceal hidden treasures and unknown dangers.
That makes it hard for any adventurer to resist. Especially one that has poked its way through the surface of the world like a rock peaking through the surf. A tempting treasure for all the things that gather there, adrift in the cold and uncaring sea. A stark reminder of the dangers below, and why the gods crafted Bhardas for humanity's sake.
Bran understands them on a practical level. You understand them academically.
The monoliths form the boundaries between what academics call domain spaces, which adventurers call "Floors" or "Rooms" depending upon their size. Each of them represents a partition of the astral waters collected into its own container, creating the three dimensions humanity understands as "space" and the illusion called "time" that humans invented to better understand the sequences of motion and the flow of the astral waters. Each of them functioning separately in terms of "cause" and "effect" save for where those points of intersection that manifest as the stone gates allow for the flow of matter, information, and mana.
They are a near perfect black box, from which no information can ordinarily escape. An enigma and a terror and a sanctuary from all outside disturbance. If spending too long within a domain space did not drive a human mad, you would certainly conjure yourself a bath of the Abyssal Waters that fill your jug, and build yourself an atelier that no one could inadvertently disturb.
Sanity is the price to pay for stepping into a dungeon. Like sunlight poisons the skin in high doses, the manifestations of astral waters will poison minds left too long within them. A week, a fortnight won't do any harm, and a month might only leave you with a strange craving or other harmless quirk until you spend enough time away. Much beyond that, however, and you risk becoming a gibbering fool. Even shorter trips, if taken too often, can leave their mark upon your psyche over long periods of time.
You have never spent more than three days within a dungeon.
You are prepared to spend up to a week clearing this dungeon out, if need be.
But all of this is just your idle thoughts as Bran retrieves his tools from the dinghy. He comes back with his rucksack over his shoulder, his sword at his side, and the most faithful companions an adventurer could ever hope for in his hands: his ever reliable set of masterwork lockpicks for the arcane and the mundane.
