Chapter 57| A Choice Not Yet Ready to Make
They made camp at the basin’s edge that night, exhaustion from the battle settling heavily over the combined expedition despite the quiet, disbelieving joy still lingering in the air. The Leviathan — who offered, through halting mental communication with Allen, a name that translated roughly to something like Ancient Sorrow, Now Ended — settled its massive form nearby, close enough that its steady, rhythmic breathing became an odd, comforting backdrop to the camp’s cautious recovery.
"We should press forward while momentum favors us," Thessaly argued during the hastily assembled war council, gesturing toward the distant, still-pulsing tear visible against the twilight sky. "Every hour we delay gives whatever’s within that wound more time to prepare a response."
"And every hour we press forward exhausted and unprepared increases our chances of repeating the last expedition’s fate," Myria countered, though her tone carried none of the earlier friction that had once colored disagreements between Barbarian and Elf representatives. "We just freed a guardian bound for eighty years. We have no reliable intelligence on what actually waits within the tear itself, only theories built from fragmentary records and Mother Ash’s own uncertain interpretation."
Ashkar spoke through Sera, his weathered expression carrying the particular weight of a man who’d already lost warriors to this exact kind of difficult calculation. "He says his grandfather always taught that the difference between courage and foolishness is knowing which battles can wait for better preparation, and which cannot."
Allen listened to the debate carefully, weighing the urgency of the moment against the very real cost of rushing into a confrontation none of them fully understood yet. It was Ancient Sorrow’s mental voice, unexpectedly, that finally settled the matter.
’The one within the wound has slept through generations of slow feeding,’ the Leviathan offered, ancient and weary despite its newfound freedom. ’It will not act rashly simply because its guardian has been freed. It watches now, yes. But watching is not the same as striking. You have time to prepare properly, even if that time is no longer unlimited.’
"How much time?" Myria asked.
’I cannot say with certainty,’ Ancient Sorrow admitted. ’But my instinct, freed now from its corrupting influence, suggests weeks rather than days. Perhaps longer, if you use that time wisely.’
The war council settled, gradually, into cautious agreement — a temporary retreat to the underground city to properly prepare, rather than pressing forward into a confrontation none of them were genuinely ready for, however much the freed guardian’s continued vigil over the tear provided some measure of ongoing security in the meantime.
"I’ll remain here," Ancient Sorrow offered, settling its massive form more comfortably against the basin’s blackened earth. "Watching, as I have always watched, though now by choice rather than compulsion. If anything changes, I will know, and I will find a way to warn you."
Allen rested a grateful hand against the creature’s hide once more. "Thank you," he said. "For everything."
’Thank you,’ Ancient Sorrow returned, ancient weariness finally giving way to something that might, given enough time, become genuine peace. ’For remembering that even the most fearsome guardians deserve the chance to simply rest.’
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They began the return journey toward the underground city at dawn, the combined expedition considerably more battle-worn than their departure had left them, but carrying a quiet, hard-won confidence that hadn’t existed before the basin crossing.
Allen found himself walking beside Vivian for much of the journey, her hand finding his with the same familiar, steady comfort she always sought during moments of processed, lingering adrenaline.
"You almost died today," she said quietly, not quite an accusation, though the underlying fear remained clearly audible beneath her carefully composed tone.
"I know," Allen admitted honestly. "I’m sorry for the scare."
"Don’t apologize," Vivian said, surprising him. "I understand why you did it. I even understand why it was probably the right call, given the outcome. That doesn’t make watching you climb onto the back of an enraged, corrupted Leviathan any easier to witness, though."
Allen squeezed her hand gently. "I’ll try to give you more warning next time."
"You won’t," Vivian said, a faint, fond smile touching her lips despite the lingering worry in her voice. "Because when the moment actually comes, you’ll do exactly what needs doing, the same way you always have, warning or not." She leaned into his side. "I’ve made my peace with that, mostly. Doesn’t mean I won’t keep reminding you how thoroughly you terrify me every single time."
"Fair trade," Allen said, and pressed a gentle kiss to her temple, the quiet, steady rhythm of their footsteps across the wasteland’s cracked earth carrying them steadily onward, toward whatever preparations still lay ahead before the world’s final, long-delayed reckoning could finally begin.
Behind them, Irene fell into step alongside Everlyn, both trailing a comfortable distance back, watching Allen and Vivian’s quiet exchange with matching, knowing smiles.
"Think we’ll actually pull this off?" Irene asked, some of her usual bravado tempered by the day’s exhausting, emotional weight. "Whatever’s waiting in that tear sounds considerably bigger than anything we’ve faced before. Bigger than Edward. Bigger than the Leviathan, even."
Everlyn considered the question for a long moment before reaching for her notepad. ’We freed a creature that carried eighty years of forced servitude in a single afternoon,’ she wrote. ’I don’t think "impossible" means quite what it used to, with us.’
Irene huffed a tired, genuine laugh, looping her arm through Everlyn’s as they continued walking. "Fair point. Guess we’ll find out soon enough."
Myria and Thessaly walked near the rear of the column, deep in quiet, focused conversation about logistics and preparation timelines, while Ashkar and Sera moved among the gathered warriors, offering quiet words of encouragement and rest to those still recovering from the battle’s toll. The combined expedition moved as a single, unified body now in a way that would have seemed impossible mere weeks earlier — Barbarian and Elf alike, bound together by shared danger and a fragile, hard-won hope that neither people had allowed themselves to fully feel in generations.
By the time the underground city’s crystalline glow finally came into view against the darkening horizon, exhaustion had given way to something steadier, more resolute — the quiet, unshakeable certainty of people who had already proven, against considerable odds, exactly what they were capable of when they chose to face impossible things together.