Chapter 172: A Decision

Astrid had learned that silence came in several varieties.

There was the sharpened quiet before an attack, when even breathing felt like an invitation. There was the hollow quiet left behind by death, full of words no one would ever get to say, then there was the silence that settled over a room when everyone already knew the answer but wanted somebody else to take responsibility for speaking it aloud.

The village tavern had been trapped in the third kind for nearly five minutes.

Astrid sat at one of the smaller tables with Caius and Hiiro. None of them had touched the alcohol being passed around. A cup of warm berry tea sat in front of Astrid, Caiust had settled for plain water, and Hiiro had somehow managed to find a mug of sweetened fruit juice.

No one had invited the three of them to the meeting. No one had asked them to leave either, so they had occupied a bench against the rear wall and made themselves difficult to notice. Astrid preferred it that way.

Adults said more when they forgot younger people were listening. They said even more when they remembered but decided those younger people were not important enough to censor themselves around. Both mistakes were useful.

The tavern had been built to hold so many people. Wooden tables filled most of the room, their surfaces crowded with bowls of stew, torn loaves of bread, half-finished plates, and mugs of ale or something stronger.

Refugees occupied nearly every seat.

Astrid recognized some from Exodus. They wore the same hollow cheeks, patched armor, and bruises she remembered from the road. Even here, in a place with walls and warm food, many kept glancing toward the doors whenever they opened too quickly or someone raised their voice.

Others were unfamiliar.

They had been other survivors from Exodus than those who traveled with Dorian. Some escaped before the Settlement fell completely. A few had already lived in the village through an earlier cycle quest and now spoke about Vellcrows and Morrowbats with the resigned irritation normally reserved for bad weather.

Astrid had not asked for the exact number. It would only become another figure she was expected to remember while everyone else continued pretending sixteen was old enough to bleed for them but too young to participate in serious decisions.

Across from her, Hiiro leaned backward, tipping the bench onto its rear legs until it balanced precariously beneath him. He had been doing it gradually, apparently believing slow movement rendered stupidity invisible.

She looked at him.

Hiiro caught her stare, paused, then lowered the bench without a sound. When four legs touched the floor again, he leaned toward her.

"Sorry..."

The discussion at the front resumed before Astrid could open her mouth.

"We don’t want to go to the next floor."

The speaker stood beside one of the long tables near the hearth. Todd looked somewhere past forty. He had carried an injured woman on his back for nearly half the Procession and now stood with both hands planted against the table, his weight pitched forward as if he expected resistance.

"We’ve talked about it," he continued. "Most of us have."

A low murmur moved through the crowd. It was not unanimous, but enough voices joined to give his claim weight.

Dorian stood across from him with his arms folded. The torn sleeve he had worn in the Bell House had been replaced, though the new coat did nothing to erase Astrid’s memory of Misha clutching the old one.

Chief Otis sat near the hearth, an older man with heavy gray eyebrows and hands broadened by decades of labor. He was not a Raider. None of the permanent villagers appeared to be. They had survived by learning the habits of local monsters, reinforcing weak walls, and accepting losses as part of the season.

Beside him sat Gloria, who led the Exodus refugees who reached the village before Dorian’s group. No one had formally given her the position. People simply fell silent when she spoke and looked toward her when plans began to fall.

Gloria was lean and sun-darkened, perhaps in her late thirties, with a narrow scar crossing one eyebrow. She had contributed little to the meeting so far. Instead, she listened while the others exhausted their anger and excuses.

Dorian regarded Todd for a moment. "I hear what you’re saying. I want to know whether everyone understands what staying means."

Todd’s jaw tightened. "We understand enough."

"Do you?" Dorian’s voice remained controlled. He never raised it when irritation first took hold, forcing everyone else to stop and listen.

"We have a better chance here," the other man said. "There is clean water, good soil, and enough supplies to feed more than the village currently holds. None of the animals are rotting or trying to eat us, which is already an improvement."

A few people laughed, the sound brief and brittle. It was not particularly funny. They simply preferred the joke to remembering places where the dog had screamed with human voices and corpses waiting for them.

Todd continued once the laughter faded. "The quest has already been cleared, so we know what happens when the linked floor resets. The Vellcrows are back to their nests, the Morrowbats are in their western cave, and the village goes back to the way it was."

Gloria finally leaned forward. "Yes, he’s right about the pattern."

Every head near the hearth turned toward her. She rested one elbow on the table and finally addressed the matter.

"We’ve survived two resets since reaching this village. Near sundown, the Vellcrows appeared over the northern fields. Then, before midnight, the linked quest resets too. The Morrowbats returned to the western ridge, and the old cave seals failed in the exact same places as before.

When Dorian’s group first arrived, we were able to clear the linked quest quickly because we had enough people to monitor the cave and deal with everything at once before the infection could spread too far."

"We know which roofs attract the nests. The northern granary has been reinforced, and the watch platforms are being rebuilt," the man beside Gloria added.

Todd turned toward the other refugees, encouraged by the chief’s support. "See? This place isn’t Exodus."

The name changed the room. Several shoulders drew tight, and one woman near the wall pulled her shawl closer despite the warmth from the hearth. No one liked hearing the Settlement name anymore.

"We aren’t sleeping behind barricades while corpses claw through the streets," Todd continued. "We aren’t rationing moldy grain, or eating bland porrige and hard bread too."

Astrid lowered her gaze to the film cooling across her drink. She had not lived in Exodus long enough to understand every scar it left behind. Some memories needed no explanation.

She had grown up on Floor Eighty-Two in a village her father built along with others. He had chosen a dangerous place, learned the land, and refused to let the Tower decide where his family was allowed to feel at home. Perhaps that was why she understood these refugees better than she wanted to.

Tracing another groove in the wooden cup, she waited for the feeling to pass.

Hiiro noticed anyway. Without looking at her, he nudged his knee lightly against hers beneath the table and kept his attention on the meeting.

Astrid glanced at him, a small smile tugged at the corner of her mouth. "I’m fine."

"Here, we know where the danger comes from." Todd’s voice was heard.

Dorian released a slow breath. "Until something changes."

Todd frowned. "What do you mean?"

"This place doesn’t come with guarantees. We all thought that Settlement Floors were safe, and now, that had changed. What if the Tower decides to change something here too?"

"Even if that’s true, how can you expect us to keep climbing?"

"I expect everyone here to understand that staying here doesn’t make those Floors disappear."

"Perhaps surviving somewhere for now is enough," Gloria said. "I don’t need this place to last forever. I need it to last longer than I would out there."

No one mocked her. Even Dorian’s sternness eased as he looked at the sling against her chest. He went quiet for a while, then he gave a slow nod.

"Very well," he said. "Blackthorn will continue climbing. Anyone who wishes to come with us is free to do so. But if you choose to stay here, then understand what that means. No one will force you either way."

A low murmur spread through the tavern. Some nodded immediately, while others exchanged uneasy looks with the people beside them. No one argued with Dorian’s decision, but neither did most of them look ready to follow him.

Astrid pushed back from the table and stood. "I’m going to check on Misha and Carl."

Caius rose a moment later. "I’ll come with you."

Then both of them looked at Hiiro.

He blinked at them, then leaned back. "Nah. I’m going to look around for a bit. You two go ahead."