Davit and Sophia made their way back toward the house, their arms laden with fruit. The orchard’s scent of ripened apples clung to them, mingling with the damp, earthen aroma of the garden. Sophia cast a sidelong glance at Davit and remarked, “These apples are sweet, but we won’t last long on fruit alone.”

  Davit halted mid-step, his gaze drifting toward the cellar door beneath the stairs. The memory of the trampled grass flashed in his mind-a disturbance that suggested someone, or something, had been here not long ago.

  Sophia studied his silence. “What is it?”

  “There might be something useful in the cellar,” Davit murmured, his voice edged with curiosity.

  Sophia folded her arms. “I’m not going in there.”

  Davit chuckled, the sound low and amused. “I’m more dangerous than anything lurking down there.”

  Sophia smirked and strode past him, her confidence unwavering. “Maybe, but at least you’re not as disgusting as whatever’s rotting in that cellar.”

  Davit hesitated for a moment, caught off guard by her quick wit. Then, a grin broke across his face as he watched her disappear onto the balcony. Sophia sank into one of the old chairs, pulling an apple from the pile and polishing it against her sleeve. She placed it on the table, picked up another, and took a bite, savoring it.

  Meanwhile, Davit picked up the oil lamp, the flame casting elongated shadows along the cracked stone pathway. He approached the cellar door and ran his fingers over the lock. “This looks new,” he murmured, suspicion curling in his chest.

  He crouched, grabbed a jagged stone from the ground, and struck the lock. The metal groaned under the force, splintering on the third blow. The lock fell away with a dull clang. He exhaled, steadied his grip on the lamp, and stepped inside.

  The air in the cellar was thick with the scent of aged wood, damp earth, and something faintly metallic. Unlike the rest of the abandoned house, this space was not entirely forgotten-there were traces of movement, a lingering sense of recent occupation. Shelves lined the walls, laden with dusty glass jars, their once-preserved contents long since surrendered to decay.

  Davit’s sharp eyes landed on a peculiar sight. In the farthest corner, where the shelves met the wall, the usual veil of cobwebs was absent. Something had disturbed this space. Intrigued, he stepped forward and pried his fingers into the gap. His hand met a leather bag, stiff with age but unmistakably out of place.

  He let the bag remain for now. Instead, he turned his attention back to the shelves, brushing aside layers of dust and brittle webs. Most of the jars held nothing but air and remnants of time-rotting preserves overtaken by mold, their glass prisons clouded with filth. He was about to abandon his search when his fingers brushed against something different.

  A single jar, larger than the rest. The lamplight caught its contents, and liquid gold gleamed through the murky glass.

  Honey.

  With careful precision, Davit moved the jar of honey toward the cellar entrance, selecting a few others to accompany it. Yet, his curiosity remained unsated. He turned back into the dimly lit cellar, his gaze sweeping over the opposite wall, where three small barrels sat in a neat row. They resembled miniature cognac casks, their once-polished wood now darkened and permeated with the heady aroma of aged liquor.

  "Honey and cognac," Davit mused, running his fingers along the barrels. "If nothing else, they might sustain us for a while." He hoisted one onto his shoulder, its weight promising both indulgence and necessity.

  Meanwhile, in the kitchen, Sophia rifled through the worn shelves, searching for something sharp enough to slice the fruit. Her fingers trailed over empty spaces, dust clinging to her skin-nothing. Frustration mounted as she exhaled sharply.

  Davit entered just as she turned. “What are you looking for?”

  “I need a knife,” she said.

  Without a word, Davit reached into his pocket and produced an old but sturdy knife, placing it on the table between them. A knowing smile flickered across his face. “You never know when you might need one,” he said.

  This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

  Sophia hesitated before taking it, her gaze briefly meeting his. There was something oddly reassuring about Davit-his readiness, his calmness amid the unknown.

  They sliced the apples, dipping them into the golden honey, savoring the unexpected luxury. The rich sweetness melted on their tongues, momentarily distracting them from the gravity of their predicament. But as their hunger waned, a new concern took its place-thirst. The honey, though a gift, only deepened their need for water.

  Determined, Davit strode back into the garden, kneeling near the stairs where he had first noticed the dampness in the soil. He began tearing away the overgrown grass, exposing the earth beneath.

  Sophia soon followed “What are you doing?”

  “The soil here is different. It’s too damp. That usually means there’s a water source nearby,” Davit replied, not looking up as he continued to clear the patch of earth.

  Sophia chuckled, crossing her arms. “With the entire city submerged, you’re surprised the ground is wet?”

  Davit smirked but didn’t stop. There was something mesmerizing about her laughter-the way it softened her sharp features, the way it brought light to her otherwise guarded expression.

  “It’s only wet in certain areas,” he explained, shifting aside another clump of grass. “I think there might be a natural current beneath us.”

  Sophia sighed, then crouched beside him. “Fine, let’s see if you’re right.”

  And he was. Beneath the loosened earth, a rusted pipe emerged from the base of a mound, its aged valve still slightly ajar. A slow but steady trickle of crystal-clear water seeped out, pooling onto the dirt.

  Sophia leaned closer, watching the stream with cautious hope. “Do you think it’s safe to drink?”

  Davit cupped his hands beneath the gentle flow, letting the cool liquid gather before bringing it to his lips. He swallowed, pausing as he gauged the taste and any immediate reaction. After a moment, he looked up, his expression satisfied.

  “I guess we’ll find out,” he said with a grin.

  Seeing the ease in Davit’s expression, Sophia cupped her hands beneath the steady trickle of water and took a sip. The cool liquid soothed her parched throat. She exhaled, a mixture of relief and lingering uncertainty.

  “Well, I suppose we’ll know soon enough if we’ve made a terrible mistake,” she quipped.

  Davit grinned. “Let’s hope we live to regret it.”

  They both laughed-an unexpectedly lighthearted moment amid the chaos of their predicament.

  As the hours drifted by, they found themselves seated together on the balcony, immersed in quiet conversation. Despite the bizarre and perilous reality surrounding them, there was a strange sense of contentment, as if the weight of survival had momentarily lifted. The worst had not yet come, but for now, they had food, water, and each other.

  Yet, in the back of Davit’s mind, an unresolved curiosity lingered-the leather bag in the cellar.

  Unable to shake the thought, he rose and retrieved it, carrying the weathered satchel to the balcony. He placed it between them, unfastened its straps, and pulled out a neat stack of meticulously organized documents. Two flash drives nestled at the bottom of the bag, gleaming faintly in the dim light.

  Sophia leaned in. “What is it?”

  Davit skimmed the first few pages before answering. “Let’s find out.”

  He unfolded the top document and began to read:

  “To the Municipal Court of First Instance.

  Plaintiff: Michael Brown.

  Defendant: Gerard White.

  Lawsuit regarding the pollution of a protected natural site.”

  A flicker of intrigue crossed his face as he continued.

  The complaint detailed how Michael Brown had taken legal action against Gerard White after discovering that wastewater from newly established factories was being discharged into Talking Lake. Once the pride of the city, the lake had been a sanctuary-a cherished place where families gathered, children played, and folklore thrived. Its waters, known for their crystalline clarity, had been woven into the very identity of Thalas.

  Now, the lawsuit claimed, the lake was unrecognizable-its surface thick with filth, its shores tainted by chemical waste. Once a symbol of purity and legend, it had become a cautionary tale of greed and recklessness. Brown’s demand had been simple but urgent: shut down the factories before irreversible damage was done.

  Davit’s fingers traced the edges of the aged paper as he reached for another set of documents. Among them were photographs-each meticulously labeled “Talking Lake,” with dates printed in the bottom-right corner. The earlier images depicted an untouched paradise, its waters a mirror of the sky. But as the years progressed, the transformation was stark. The once-glimmering lake had turned into a cesspool, its once-thriving ecosystem suffocating beneath a murky veneer of contamination.

  Sophia, now fully engrossed “These were hidden here for a reason,” she murmured.

  Davit nodded, flipping through the pages with growing urgency. “Someone wanted to keep this buried.”

  Together, they pored over the documents, their minds piecing together the fragments of a story long concealed-one that, somehow, felt disturbingly relevant to the disaster now engulfing Thalas.