Sofia's POV
The fire had dwindled to a bed of glowing embers, casting long, dancing shadows on the cave walls. Refugia was finally asleep, her tiny form a peaceful bundle in her makeshift cradle. The quiet of the night was a heavy blanket, broken only by the soft crackle of the dying fire. I watched Eric, his face a mask of contemplation, and I knew what he was thinking. My words—"we can't afford to be alone forever"—had hit their mark. But I needed him to understand why. I needed him to see the whole picture.
I shifted, pulling my knees to my chest and staring into the dying light. "You know, Eric," I began, my voice a soft, pensive murmur. "I used to hate the dark. Not the kind of dark we're in now—the kind where you can still feel the warmth of the fire, where you know someone is right there beside you. I mean the kind of dark that feels cold and empty, the kind that swallows you whole."
He glanced at me, his curiosity piqued. "What do you mean?"
I took a deep breath, my gaze still fixed on the embers. "My father was the rock of our family. He was a great man, a fantastic dad. He had a good job, and he provided for us. Everything was perfect. Then he lost his job, and everything changed." My voice dropped to a near whisper. "He became a different person. He started drinking, and the house that was once full of laughter became a place of shadows and dread. The dark nights were the worst because that's when he would come home, his anger a cold, suffocating presence."
I paused, my fingers tracing an invisible pattern on the dusty ground. "My mother, she was a force of nature. She started a small market stall, selling whatever she could to keep us afloat. I had to stop school for a while to help her, so my little sister could continue her education. It was tough, but we managed. My mom was so tired of my father's behavior that she was about to file for a divorce. She believed we all deserved a better life. She had just gotten the papers when... it happened."
My voice cracked on the last two words, and I finally looked at him, my eyes glistening with unshed tears. "The invasion. The creatures... they took them. All of them. My father, my mother, my sister..." I stopped, a ragged breath catching in my throat. I had never told anyone this part. "I was asleep in my bed, and their screams woke me up. I crept out of my room, and I saw it all. My father, my mother, my sister... they didn't stand a chance. I watched them, paralyzed, until I forced myself to run. I ran and ran until I collapsed in the street, hiding behind a pile of rubble, and I didn't stop running until I found the cave."
The silence that followed was different from before. It wasn't thick with unspoken fear; it was heavy with shared grief, a new kind of bond between us. The fire in her eyes wasn't just a spark of defiance anymore—it was the flicker of a profound and enduring hope, a refusal to let the shadows win. She had looked into the abyss and hadn't flinched. And I, for the first time since this nightmare began, didn't feel so alone.
"That's why I can't afford to be alone forever, Eric," I said, my voice barely a whisper. "I saw what happens when hope dies. We have Refugia now. She's our chance to do more than just survive. She's our chance to live again."
Eric's face was a study in stillness, a mixture of shock and a deep, simmering empathy I hadn't expected. The embers of the fire cast a faint, orange glow on his features, making the lines of his face seem more pronounced. He didn't say anything for a long time, just stared into the heart of the fire, the silence between us heavy with the weight of my confession. It was a new kind of silence, one born of understanding, not fear.
When he finally spoke, his voice was so low it was almost a part of the crackling fire. "I'm so sorry, Sofia."
I just nodded, unable to speak. His apology felt inadequate, but it was all he could offer. He couldn't bring them back, couldn't erase the images that haunted my sleep. But in that moment, it was enough. He reached out and, for the first time since we'd met, he put his hand on mine, a gentle, solid pressure. His touch was a lifeline, a silent promise that I wasn't alone anymore.
"My family, they're gone, too," he said, his voice rough with emotion. "It was... different. But the outcome was the same. I've been running from that memory ever since."
His admission, though brief, was a chink in the armor he wore so well. I squeezed his hand in return, a silent acknowledgment of our shared pain. We were two broken people, clinging to each other and to the fragile hope that was Refugia.
"We won't just survive," he said, his eyes finally meeting mine. There was a new light in them, a fierce determination that mirrored my own. "We'll do more. We'll find a place for her, for us. We'll build something better."
The fire was almost out, but a new warmth had ignited between us. It wasn't the heat of the fire or the safety of the cave; it was the warmth of a shared purpose. We were no longer two lone survivors; we were a family, bound by loss and united by a defiant hope for the future. The fear was still there, a cold knot in my stomach, but it was no longer the only thing I felt. With Eric's hand in mine, and Refugia's soft snuffles in the background, a new feeling bloomed—a cautious, fragile, but powerful hope. And in this dark, broken world, that was everything.