Adam's encouragement didn't reach Elliot. Nothing much could, not when soil painted his vision in a musty brown, when the scent of the earth strangled him, and when insects he was glad he couldn't see touched him with viscous appendages.
He wanted to cry. To give up. He felt trapped in a burrow, like a rodent surrounded by predators. Terrified that the tunnel he had dug and crawled into would bury him. All that... and the sting in his chest each time he tried to justify giving up.
Three archmages, one at best. Older. Years of training in tactics, war spells. But he had to deceive them before they caught Desmond...
Each time the sting returned, he squeezed his miniaturised golem against his chest. The small mana drill hastened their digging as well. If Adam said it was possible, then he would do it. He trusted him, while loathing himself.
