In 1863, Three Victorian men, roped together for safety, descent into the crater of a volcano. The leader, tall with a stern expression and piercing blue eyes, his movements deliberate and confident. Beside him, his young nephew, fidgets nervously. His dark hair is tousled, and his eyes dart around, taking in the surreal beauty of their surroundings. He wears a thick woollen coat and sturdy boots, his hands trembling slightly as he clutches the rope. The third man, a guide, his weathered face betraying no emotion. His movements slow and measured, his eyes focused on the path ahead. The volcanic rock beneath their feet is rough and uneven, each step sending small showers of pebbles cascading down the slope. The gallery is magnificent, blistered with crystals of opaque quartz that glow softly in the dim light. The shades of lava around them shifted imperceptibly from reddish- brown to bright yellow, creating a mesmerizing tapestry of colours. A gentle slope leads them deeper into the heart of the volcano