Finn woke up only towards the end of the morning, when the core of the tree was already hovering high on the cave ceiling. The boy looked around and saw his improvised bed on the floor, created by the great tree. He carefully placed the still-warm lamp back on the table and stretched, feeling an unusual lightness in his entire body.
For the first time in a long time, he had slept soundly. Surprisingly, all the wounds and abrasions that had caused him pain just yesterday had now healed, leaving only faint traces. Finn ran his hand over the places where there had been deep cuts before, but he felt no hint of pain.
Once more glancing at his sleeping place, he discovered with surprise that the foliage which had served him as a bed had vanished, and in its place appeared a small table, as if grown from the very root of the tree. On it stood a mug, skillfully carved from wood, filled with clear nectar. Finn drained it to the bottom, feeling the life-giving moisture fill him with new strength.
Just as he was about to open the door, a light knock sounded from outside. Standing on the threshold was a tall woman with pointed ears and delicate features. Her sharp nose and slightly elongated eyes the color of spring green gave her an unusual appearance. Snow-white hair cascaded to her waist, and a dark battle kimono accentuated her statuesque figure. She moved absolutely silently, as if sound itself avoided her presence.
"Who... are you..." Finn asked a simple question.
"Eva. We didn't get to meet yesterday, you were talking to Adam. But now we have an opportunity to talk. Come, we have a lot to do, human d... Finn, we have a lot to do," she corrected herself, and it seemed to Finn that a shadow of her usual mockery flashed in her eyes for a moment, immediately extinguished.
Finn obediently trudged after her, leaving the hut. He was immediately surrounded by an unfamiliar, yet strangely peaceful picture of the underground people's existence.
The air, filled with the sweetish aroma of wood and damp earth, was filled with a rhythmic, clear ringing. Nearby, under a canopy of intertwined roots, a young elf was working in a forge. His face, concentrated and smoothed by inner effort, was turned towards the incandescent metal. The hammer in his hands was an extension of his will—it rose and fell with honed fluidity, and with each blow to the workpiece lying on the anvil, a clear, far-reaching sound rang out. Sparks, like tiny ruby stars, scattered in all directions, illuminating his sweaty, serious face and his flexible, trained hands. It seemed he was not just forging a blade, but pouring a part of his soul into it, and each strike was a step towards the birth of new perfection.
Finn froze, mesmerized by this action, but Eva gently nudged him onward. They passed an open space where a group of elves, men and women, were preparing food on several large stone hearths. The aromas wafting from there made Finn's stomach betray him with a rumble. He caught the scent of baked roots, some unfamiliar but tantalizingly sweet herb, and stewed mushrooms, from which a thick, appetizing aroma filled the air. The elves exchanged quiet remarks, their movements coordinated and precise, like a dance.
In the distance, by the very wall of the cave, he saw an elf digging in the ground, or rather, in a small patch of soil, fenced off by a low wattle fence of flexible twigs. She was carefully adding something to the roots of a low plant with silvery leaves.
"What is she doing?" Finn asked quietly, gesturing with his gaze.
Eva, without turning her head, replied curtly:
"Trying to repeat the feat of the Creator."
They reached the edge of the underground village, and an astonishing sight appeared before them. An open space, resembling a huge hall, was illuminated by thousands of softly glowing berries. They hung from the cave ceiling on thin, almost invisible vines, creating the illusion of a miniature starry sky. The light was dim, a ghostly bluish hue, but it was enough to illuminate everything around. It was a large field covered with short, velvety moss, dotted with neat paths. Around the field, in a semicircle, stood wooden benches, smoothly growing from the floor itself, creating a semblance of a coliseum within the cave. The place was deserted and breathed silence, as if holding the echo of long-gone speeches or songs.
"Here we train, hold meetings, rituals, and celebrations," Eva's voice, even and devoid of emotion, broke the solemn silence of the field as they approached its center. She walked unhurriedly, her gaze sweeping over the empty wooden benches. "You may have questions. You can ask them... Finn."
The boy was silent for a couple of moments, choosing his words. The most burning question burst out first.
"How did you find me so quickly?"
Eva seemed not to react to his question, continuing to walk. She headed towards one side of the field, where massive shelves, entirely carved from the Tree's roots, stood by the cave wall. On them, in perfect order, lay weapons. Many types of melee weapons: elegant elven blades with blades resembling frozen moonlight; heavy battle axes whose handles were entwined with living vines; short daggers with hilts shaped like blooming buds; curved talwars, similar to the one he had lost, but more refined; and long spears with silver-gleaming tips.
Eva, evaluating each weapon with a discerning, experienced gaze, finally chose two katanas in simple but sturdy dark wood scabbards. As her fingers slid over the hilts, checking the balance, she spoke, answering his question as if in passing.
"We didn't find you quickly. We were watching you from the moment you entered the tomb."
"I... don't remember..." Finn said quietly, feeling the familiar emptiness in his memory grip him again.
"Yes, we are already aware that you are devoid of memory," her voice sounded matter-of-fact, without a trace of sympathy. "But that does not negate the fact that you passed his trial and survived in conditions not meant for human... children..." she almost misspoke again, but caught herself. "We were sure you would die. When suddenly, after a few months, one of my brothers rushes in with the news that you survived and got out. And now you are heading to the nearest city."
She turned from the shelf, holding a katana in each hand. Her eyes, cold and clear, fixed on Finn.
"In a day, we gathered all our forces, leaving a minimum for maintaining life within the settlement, and set out after you. A week passed before we managed to catch up with you and, subsequently... free you from the Great House."
Having finished her monologue, Eva walked towards Finn and, holding out one of the katanas with the hilt forward, silently offered it to him. Finn hesitantly took the warm, polished wooden hilt.
"What do you want to do?" Finn asked carefully, feeling the unfamiliar weight of the quality blade.
Eva replied dryly, already taking a position opposite him and slightly drawing her katana from its scabbard.
"Attack."
Finn gripped the katana's hilt, feeling his palm instantly become damp. He raised his gaze to Eva and froze.
The air around the elf seemed to thicken. Her posture was a perfect combination of relaxation and readiness, like a tightly drawn bowstring that hadn't twitched a single muscle. Her legs, firmly planted on the velvety moss, formed a perfect angle. Her torso was turned just enough to minimize her profile, her left hand resting on the scabbard, her right on the katana's hilt, her fingers forming a precise, years-honed lock. Every line of her body, from the tips of her snow-white hair to the tips of her shoes, spoke of deadly efficiency.
But the most frightening thing lay in her gaze. Her spring-green eyes, devoid of all emotion, were fixed directly on him. There was no malice, no challenge, not even simple interest—only pure, ruthless concentration. She wasn't looking at his face, his feet, or his weapon—she was looking *into* him, as if seeing through all his fears, all his uncertainty, every timid impulse that hadn't yet reached his muscles.
Under that gaze, Finn felt naked and defenseless. A lump stuck in his throat, and his eyelids involuntarily trembled. He tried to hold her gaze, trying to discern at least something, a hint of human reaction, but in vain. Those bottomless green lakes were cold and impenetrable.
His nerves gave out first. Finn's gaze, unable to withstand the pressure, faltered and crawled down, to her feet, to the moss beneath them, anywhere but to meet what saw through him. He swallowed, feeling a heat of shame spread across his cheeks. The hand on the katana's hilt suddenly felt alien and disobedient.
"He who averts his eyes has already lost," Eva's voice sounded even, without reproach, as a statement of fact. "Raise your gaze. Look at your opponent. Always. Even if you are afraid."