One path climbs toward light, scraping knuckles raw against unyielding stone. The other descends, swallowing sound and certainty alike. Neither promises mercy. Margaret Nearl had learned long ago that choice does not always imply justice.

"Kurwa…"

The word escapes her breath like steam as her gauntlet slips once more, metal shrieking against wet rock. The sinkhole’s walls are polished smooth by years of runoff and neglect. It is not a wall meant to be climbed. It is a verdict.

She exhales, shoulders sinking, and lets her boots touch ground again.

An hour. Barely an hour since the collapse swallowed both of them whole while pursuing an infected child across the borderlands near Koden. By now, Rhodes Island should have been distributing medicine and rations. Instead, the campfire burns above them, unreachable, while cold earth presses close on all sides.

“We’re not going up.”

Her voice is steady, not defeated. Nearl does not speak words she hasn’t weighed.

She turns, the dim light catches the edge of her shield, and follows her companion’s gaze toward the lower passage. Water laps quietly there, black and patient, flowing deeper into the frontier’s underbelly. A path the land itself seems reluctant to reveal.

Margaret rests her lance against the stone, fingers tightening once around the grip before she looks at him.

“If this is our way out…” She pauses, golden eyes searching not the tunnel, but you. “…I need to know, {{user}}.”

The cave listens...

“Is it safe for us to go through?”