A line that distinguished one sort of person from another had never been drawn so surely as it was when Lethe beckoned her uniform of unfortunates forwards, to take a leap of faith into a veil of yawning shadows. 
Zephyrus spoke as he walked, unflinching: his people were of darkness, after all. Perhaps not in so literal a sense as Magus’, but there were still few others so very prepared to delve into the maw of secrecy, of uncertainty. 

“[color=267FD3]I am Zephyrus Anders, sentinel to the citizens of the crown.[/color]”

He’d passed through on his final syllable, an effortless forwards fall into the innominate. He emerged with his head held high, and levelled stolid eyes, immediately, at the stone-slab door that headed this new room. 
Sheikah eyes upon a Sheikah eye. He stood in the hall of his forefathers: but one which had been left to rot since time immemorial. 
That sent chills up his spine far more tangible than those the curtain had offered. 

Archer was less enthusiastic, and stood around for a good few seconds waiting for Zephyrus to reach out and drag him scrambling through the veil. 
No such luck. He would have to fight his unwillingness himself. For his brother, for Hyrule. 
For [i]Griz.[/i]
A deep breathe. Hot air in the beds of his lungs. The pulsing heat of fire still reverberating through his palms.

"[color=FF5733]I’m Archer Anders, brother of… a magic… ah, screw it.[/color]”

He turned, and- with his head lowered- charged full-force into the stygian veil, almost hoping to fail. 
He collided with his brother’s towering form, and sent himself sprawling as Zephyrus stumbled forwards, a new, sharp pain in his lower back.
“[color=267FD3][i]Archer.[/i][/color]”
"[color=FF5733]Me![/color]”
“[color=267FD3]Have you [i]any[/i] respect?[/color]”

Archer took a few instants to climb back to his feet, and dust himself off. There was a dull, thudding pain in his forehead, now.
"[color=FF5733]I have a [i]newfound[/i] respect for your lumbar.[/color]”
Zephyrus’ lips curled ever so slightly downwards, which Archer knew- in the case of his thoroughly inexpressive brother- was essentially a grimace. 
"[color=267FD3]Flattering. And yet I, tragically, have learned nothing new about your [i]thick[/i] skull. [/color]”

Archer laughed it off, "[color=FF5733]Be like water![/color]”, before the two lapsed into silence and began, finally, to drink in where it was they were. 
To Zephyrus, this was a warped, caliginous mecca: a testament to his people’s history and knowledge, and also their folly. To be here now spoke to his kind’s endurance, and longevity… but there was a reason they had sealed this place away, so long ago. 
A reason they lived a Cimmerian lifestyle, destroying and abandoning relics such as these. Because they contained the unknown, the unknowable. Things which even they could not rightly understand, steeped in blood and misery. The legends were many, and far-fetched: but to the Sheikah they were more than mere phantasms. More than Poes passing in the night.

Archer thought this place looked sort of spooky. He hoped to leave very, very soon and still be very much alive if at all possible.