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It was an Ancient hangar.
The ceiling arched high overhead disappearing into shadow. Faint lines of Ancient glyph-light traced the ribs of the vault, glowing a subdued blue-light, like moonlight filtered through water, The illumination was not as functional as much as reverent enough never enough to reveal shape, never enough to banish the dark.
The air was still cold, and stale, though the three could hear the life support pumps kicking in and pumping new oxygen to the hangar, dust lay undisturbed across the floor in smooth, shallow drifts, broken only by a single broad landing apron that sloped gently from the entrance.
At the center of the hangar was an Ancient Ship that none of the members of SG-24 had ever seen before. It was larger than a Puddle Jumper but smaller than an Ancient Aurora Class battleship.
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It did not sit on struts or cradles; it floated —suspended a Meter above the deck by dormant gravitational fields, as though the ship Never quite accepted the idea of being grounded.
The hull was elongated and elegant, with no harsh angles. Its surface resembled polished stone than metal, etched with faint geometric patterns that catch the light when viewed from certain angles, then vanish again. There were no obvious weapon emplacements, no visible seams—only smooth continuity as if the ship was grown not built.
Along the walls of the hangar, Ancient control plinths stood dormant—fall slender Monoliths of pale alloy and crystal, their interfaces dark, but intact, some partially encased in rock, evidence that the cave itself shifted over millennia, slowly reclaiming the space.
This creation was not made on NightCafe.
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Amezing Good