The shell of the chrysalis was buried among the bones of the fortress for weeks now, growing, pulsing with energy as the gemling within took form. Those that lived with the frigid room would not have noticed this for anything special - it was just another spec of shine among the rubble, a shard lodged in the dirt. As the egg-shape took form it caught a skull in its wake, some femurs, a scattering of vertebrae - some of these took on the sheen of the citrine, others were crushed.

All was well. These additions were soon transformed in to segments of the outer shell. Then, when it was time, the surface strobed one last time with magicka - and as it snuffed out, the rock cleaved in half with a roar.