Anya's question was a sharp, iron spike, pinning Elias to the reality of their agreement. Her logic was a fortress. The deal was done.
Elias looked away from her challenging gaze, towards the small camp. He saw two children using a cup to scoop the glowing water into a larger basin. He saw Elara gently tending to another survivor, whose arm was bandaged with stained, reused rags. He saw hope, but it was the hope of shipwrecked sailors on a desert island, a temporary reprieve from the hungry sea.
"You're right," Elias said, his voice quiet. Anya's posture relaxed fractionally at the concession. "The deal is fulfilled." He paused, then added, "But we're exhausted. Loric's rescue took its toll. Let us rest here for the night, refill our supplies properly. We can leave in the morning, with the benefit of a full night's sleep in a safe place."
Anya's eyes narrowed. She knew he was stalling, deferring the finality of the choice. But his reasoning was sound, and the thought of a full night of uninterrupted sleep, a luxury she hadn't had in years, was a potent lure.
"One night," she conceded, her voice sharp. "We leave at first light."
As evening settled, the moonlight from the cavern's ceiling strengthened, bathing the Sunken Chapel in a silver, ethereal glow. The community shared their meager rations with them—strips of dried meat and roasted fungi that tasted bland but filled the stomach. Elias and Anya learned more through observation than conversation.
They saw the deep lines of fatigue on every adult's face. They saw how the children played silently, their games devoid of the loud shouts of surface-world children. They saw the quiet reverence with which they treated the blessed pool, their only defense. This wasn't a thriving community. It was a group of people slowly being besieged, their sanctuary a beautiful cage.
Later, as Anya was checking her crossbow bolts by the edge of the pool, Elara approached Elias. Her face, etched with the calm strength of a reluctant leader, was heavy with worry.
"Loric told me everything," she began, her voice low. "About the creature in the cavern. He said you faced it without a blade. That you… banished it."
"I helped him find his own strength," Elias corrected gently.
"A strength we are sorely lacking," Elara admitted with a sigh. She gestured to the camp. "This place, this water… it is a miracle. It keeps the horrors of the Verse at bay. But a cage is still a cage. The water doesn't feed us."
She locked her gaze with his, her quiet dignity a plea in itself. "We are starving, Elias. The Gloomwood has grown more violent these past weeks. Our last three scavenging parties were attacked. We lost two people."
"What is it you need?" Elias asked, already knowing the answer.
"There is a grazing patch, less than half a day's journey from here," she explained, her voice dropping to a whisper. "A herd of Glimmer-pelts. Enough meat to feed us for a month, maybe more. But the path to it runs through a series of narrow tunnels, and a nest of Thorn-Backed Skitters has taken root there. Their venom… we have no defense against it." She looked pointedly at Anya, who was still pointedly ignoring them. "Loric said your friend suffered the same poison, and you cured it in an instant."
The request was laid bare. Not for charity, not for them to stay forever. A single, critical task.
When Elara had moved away, Anya immediately strode over to Elias, her face thunderous.
"Don't even think about it," she hissed, her voice a low fury. "I heard every word. This is it. This is exactly the kind of trap I told you about. Not a monster with claws, but a trap of pity. This is not our fight."
"Did you not see them, Anya?" he replied, his own voice quiet but firm. "They are wasting away. They have children here."
"Everyone in the Verse has a sad story!" she shot back, her pragmatism a hardened shield. "Everyone is starving! If we stop to save every desperate soul, we'll become just another set of skeletons in a cave. We have a goal, Elias. Deep-Well. Safety. A real life. Are you willing to throw that away for them?"
"And what is the point of a 'real life' if we abandon everyone who needs our help to get there?" he countered. "What kind of people would we be when we arrived?"
"Alive!" she exclaimed, throwing her hands up. "We'd be alive! That's the point!"
Elias listened, his expression somber. He understood her fear, her anger. Every point she made was logical, rational, and true to the laws of this world. But his own laws were stricter. He couldn't un-see the community's plight. He couldn't pretend he didn't have the power to help. To walk away now would be a conscious choice to let them suffer, an act of passive harm that would corrode his spirit more than any poison from the Verse.
He looked at her, his decision made. "I am going to help them, Anya."
Her face fell. "Don't do this. Don't break our deal."
"I'm not," he said softly but with unshakeable resolve. "Our deal was to bring Loric here safely. We did that. Now I am making a new choice. You are free to go. You owe me nothing more. Our bargain is complete. You can leave for Deep-Well now, as we agreed." He met her stunned gaze. "But I am staying to clear that nest."
He had called her bluff. He had given her an out, an escape hatch that was also an ultimatum.
Anya stared at him, her mind reeling. Leave? Alone? It was what she wanted. It was the smart move, the survivor's move. She could be halfway to the next waystation by midday tomorrow. Free of his impossible principles, his reckless compassion.
But the thought of walking away, of leaving him to face a nest of venomous creatures alone, left a cold, hollow feeling in her gut that felt disturbingly like the despair the Sorrow-Eater fed on.
She looked from Elias's determined face to the small fire of the camp, where a mother was wrapping her child in a thin blanket. Every instinct screamed at her to leave. But the memory of a warm, golden light healing her arm, of a quiet voice banishing a shadow not with steel but with sheer will, held her rooted to the spot.
What was the price of her principles? And what was the cost of his?
She closed her eyes, a silent curse on her lips. The decision was made.