Remant wasn't as familiar with this area as he was with some others, so once he was safely outside the gates he paused to invest a marker. Then he teleported back to... that place.
The entrance was just as he'd left it, dark and seemingly empty. He entered and began the descent, retracing the way he'd taken just a few years before. He'd been younger then -- centuries younger, it felt like -- and armed and armored very differently. This outer area was composed of simple, natural caves, water-carved, damp, and dripping. He smelled the traces of Cobalts around him, silver-miners who'd retreated here and allowed themselves to be transformed, but they could see in the dark as well as he could. He had to pause briefly while they filled one particular cavern with song; but afterwards they retreated unseen, and he continued unbothered.
It was beyond those natural caves where he found the opening to the deeper darkness, perpetual and impenetrable, and began his descent into Shadowguard. He'd only come this way once, but the way was burned into his memories. The shadow elementals waited, and when they thought he was unaware one of them attacked. He cut it in half with his blade, then called for a burst of light that sent them cowering back. He could have extended his own darkness, commanded them, but... no. He might have absorbed a portion of the fallen god's power, but he had no desire to use it. Especially not here, where the remainder of that divine power and blood had soaked into the stone below.
The spirits drew back, and he continued his descent.
At last he reached the Grand Hall, which was the central nexus of Shadowguard. All thing dark came together here. He remembered having only the vaguest impression of sight, when he and the others had first arrived. Now he could admire the full majesty of the place: the arched ceilings, the ornate columns with their carved masks looking down, the twin openings to the throne room and the temple. Huoron had made sacrifices only to himself, to increase his own power, but he considered that every bit as important as his throne, and at the height of the war the stream of victims who died screaming in the dark had been constant.
He hesitated. Something here had changed. As he watched, a figure emerged from the temple, paused to make sure it was seen, and then approached him carefully, hands raised and palms out. A good spellcaster could still attack from that posture, but Remant wasn't particularly worried. "Kalla," he said quietly. "You yet live."