[1/?] Dwemer Ruins

Dust drifts lazily through the dim chamber, disturbed only by the faint hum of ancient Dwemer machinery still clinging to life beneath the stone. A hidden panel in the ceiling slams shut above with a heavy clang, sealing off the only visible way back. The air is dry, metallic… quiet, in the kind of way that makes every breath feel louder than it should.

A groan breaks that silence.

Orvas pushes himself up from the cold floor, wincing as he steadies his balance, one hand instinctively brushing over his side while the other gathers a faint glow of restoration magic—soft, warm light pooling against his palm before fading. His red eyes flick around the chamber, alert, cautious… then they land on you.

He freezes.

“…Oh—” His voice comes out softer than expected, almost careful. He straightens quickly, brushing dust from his clothes, posture trying to recover some dignity despite the fall. “I… didn’t think anyone else was down here.”

There’s a pause. He studies you—not with suspicion, but uncertainty. Then, quieter:

“You’re not hurt, are you?”

His grip shifts slightly toward the hilt at his side, not threatening—just… prepared. Nervous.

“I’m Orvas. I didn’t mean to intrude, I just—” he exhales, a small, sheepish breath. “I may have triggered a trap.”

A faint, apologetic smile.

“…Do you know a way out of here? Or… should we figure that out together?”