Eilor jolted awake, drenched in cold sweat. He clutched his chest tightly and tried to inhale as quietly as possible. He couldn't. The breath came in rough, painful gasps.
"Damn... this is hard," he thought, feeling his jaw clench with frustration.
His trembling fingers gripped at his clothes, desperate for something to hold on to. He managed a second breath—deeper this time. Not completely silent, but enough. Thomas watched him from a few steps away, worried, but said nothing. He simply held out a crude water pouch.
Eilor accepted it with a slight nod. He drank slowly, then wiped his face with his forearm. The purple liquid cooled his throat and cleared his mind. He felt better. Strangely better.
He raised the pouch above his head, almost ritualistically.
"Another day... Thanks for finding your way to us, purple water," he thought, and smiled. A small smile, but genuine. Somewhere between pride and resignation.
He stood. Around him, the group was finishing their preparations. Leaning against a wall were several dozen rolled-up hides.
"Are we really leaving that many behind?" he wondered, squinting.
He looked up. Vin was already watching him. The old man followed his gaze, then gave a slight nod toward the hides. Eilor nodded back. Vin returned the gesture.
They would be leaving those behind. And other things too.
Fungi that had outlived their usefulness. Worthless clothes. Remnants no one would claim.
Eilor bent down and grabbed a sack, tying it tightly to a belt made of scaly leather. Then he took off his boots and shook them upside down, just in case. Nothing. He put them back on.
He did the same with his shirt: stretched it out and checked inside. Then he asked Thomas to check his back.
"Anything?"
"Nothing," the boy said after carefully patting him down.
He repeated the process with his pants, checking his legs, back, and waistband. Once sure, he tightened the belt and put on a cloak-like coat that reached mid-thigh. It covered his back entirely and most of his front. The rest of the group had already done the same. As always, Eilor was the last to finish.
Finally, he took his assigned backpack—a heavy bag reinforced with bone and leather. He slung it over his back and walked toward the others.
Three glowing fungi waited. As he approached, the others turned in silence. Each took one: front, center, and rear. They formed their usual formation.
And started walking.
Half an hour later, the pace was slow but steady. No one spoke. Everyone was tired, but they forced themselves to keep moving. Sweat dripped from their temples. Underground heat was different: heavy, stale.
Vin raised his arm to signal a halt. The group stopped immediately. No one asked why.
With minimal gestures, those carrying fungi moved their coats aside and revealed two skin canteens tied to their belts. They grabbed the larger one. They took turns drinking. A drop fell on one of their faces. Purple.
Just five minutes passed. No more. But the effect was immediate. The water refreshed them. Still, no one moved. Vin hadn't lowered his arm.
When he turned his head, his expression made it clear there was no danger. He was just extending the break.
Everyone understood without a word.
One of the younger ones was about to relax his shoulders when, from the corner of his eye, he saw something.
A shadow.
He turned sharply, like a reflex.
That was a mistake.
Ban turned too fast.
The movement was instinctive, clumsy. His arms shot up, as if to shield himself or push something away. But the moment he did it, he realized his mistake.
He tried to stop the motion with sheer will, as if he could catch his own arms in mid-air. He managed to slow them—but not completely. Momentum won.
Then it flashed.
A burst of bluish light, tinged with sky-blue, erupted from his arms. It lasted less than a second.
But it was enough.
Blood sprayed in every direction. Thomas froze as some of it landed on his face. More splashed his chest, staining his clothes. Elena, his mother, was also hit—hers only on the fabric. Sol, walking beside them, got some too. No one understood what had just happened.
Even those who had their backs turned saw the flash. They spun around immediately.
Eilor saw the blood hit the three of them before he completed his turn. He sped up, locking eyes with Vin, who was already moving toward Ban.
Ban was on his knees, head down. His face twisted in pain. He hadn't screamed yet.
"He can't scream," Eilor thought, jaw clenched. "Not here. Not now."
But he couldn't run either. Something told him that if he did—if he rushed—it would be worse. He didn't know why. He just felt it.
Vin got there first. In one swift motion, he covered Ban's mouth, catching him just as the scream was about to break free. Eilor dropped to his knees, sliding into position. Tamara had also started moving. She was far, but her whole body trembled.
Thomas was still frozen. Elena moved slightly to stand in front of him, as if afraid he might do what Ban had done. Sol took a step forward but didn't come any closer.
Tamara reached Ban and knelt. She wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling him in tightly. She was still trembling.
"It's okay now," she whispered, though Ban couldn't hear her. Or maybe he could.
Eilor quickly examined Ban's hands. They were raised, still not understanding what had happened. His wrists trembled. Tears ran down his cheeks.
Wasting no time, Eilor unfastened his pouch of fungi and then his belt. He used the first as a makeshift tourniquet for Ban's right hand. The second he tied tightly around the left forearm.
He dropped his backpack—a massive hand-stitched hide bag—and yanked it open. From inside, he pulled a roll of white hide, prepared as a bandage, and began wrapping Ban's right hand.
The scene was brutal. The fingers were... ruined. Not cut, but torn. Two of the three joints in each of the four fingers were gone, leaving raw, bleeding flesh. Eilor gritted his teeth as he pressed the bandage down.
But the left hand was worse.
It wasn't bleeding.
It was melting.
It was falling apart as if something inside was cooking it from within.
Eilor removed his coat without hesitation. He looked for the canteens he'd seen earlier. There. He grabbed the smaller one and opened it. Without pause, he poured the water over Ban's left hand.
The boy whimpered. A muffled sound, held back by Vin's hand. But he didn't scream. He squeezed his eyes shut. Tamara held him tighter.
The water sizzled on contact with the flesh.
Eilor poured a bit, paused, then poured more. The deep red began to stabilize. After a few infernal seconds, the glow under the skin faded.
He closed the small canteen and took the larger one. He dampened another bandage, this time more carefully. He wrapped Ban's left hand with firm, controlled pressure.
Ban was barely conscious.
"Shit," Eilor muttered, wiping sweat from his brow with his forearm.
Tamara didn't stop hugging him. She hadn't looked at the wounds. She didn't want to. She just felt every tremor, every groan. The more he suffered, the tighter she held him.
"How is he?" she finally asked, voice shaky.
Eilor didn't answer right away. He looked at Vin, who was still holding Ban—now just a hand on his shoulder. The old man had seen everything. He needed no explanation.
"The right... should be fine if the bleeding stops," Eilor said without looking at her.
Vin cut in.
"Necrosis."
Eilor nodded slowly.
"The left hand won't make it. Not with bandages, not with water. It's too far gone. If we want to stop the infection from spreading... we'll have to cut it off. Before he fully wakes up."
Vin said nothing else. He stood slowly and began searching through his things.
Eilor watched him for a moment. Then looked down at Ban's hands, now wrapped, now still.
Tamara kept holding him. Thomas hadn't moved.
No one said a word. Only the sound of droplets hitting the floor remained.
Not water.
Vin returned with a knife. Not an ordinary one.
A short, heavy blade, made to go in with a single thrust.
It looked like a mix of gray bone and thick hide for the hilt.
Eilor took it. He knelt beside Ban again. He wasn't shaking. Vin was preparing a piece of leather for the boy to bite down on in case he woke up too early.
"There's no other way," Eilor muttered, emotionless.
And raised the knife.