Mother didn't come back for me the next day. I spent the night in rueful insomnia only to be greeted by the harsh consequences of my actions. I thought that she would come for me. It wasn't a belief driven by hope but by how I saw my mother. No matter how much we disagreed or fought she always came back, her love was a constant in my life. I knew that I had gone too far but even then I didn't think that I was irredeemable, that I had said something that truly severed our bond.

My bedroom was one of the abandoned rooms towards the back of the cave-like house. An empty dresser, a vanity desk and a chest of drawers. Besides the rugs on the floor and the headache-inducing blue glow of the crystals, the room was bare, well looked after but empty. I was woken up at what I'm told was the crack of dawn to stir the stew after my exercises. Last night I was shown how to prepare the root vegetables, barley, meat, herbs and seasonings. Out of curiosity, I asked what meat we were adding to the stew but he just said 'It's not something you would want to know. It's nutritious and filling, that's all that matters.' The stew was then left to simmer overnight.

Today the old man made it clear that I would start my first day of manning the stall, he would stand by to offer help until I was confident enough to manage it on my own. The first step was getting an outfit though he spared the time to take me to the forge in the underground city but the forge boss hadn't seen her since two days ago.

"Sorry little missy, I could spare some coppers to send you home for today and we could pick all this up later."

The old man said while patting my shoulder.

"It's alright."

I spoke softly,

"I don't even know what I'd say when I saw her again."

"Well, you've got time. Plenty of it, you'll figure it out sometime soon. C'mon then, you'll need something to wear to keep up with the other ladies, I know a nice and cheap place up top."

His kindness and attempt to distract me from my problems were appreciated, meeting him was truly a good grace from the gods. We walked side by side as we traversed the dim, blue city. I was told that this section was known as the dwelling or the dwell to the inhabitants. I was shocked to learn that all of the major cities had a dwelling, of all the books that I'd read none had information about these places. Was it something not worth writing about? Or was it so common knowledge that there was no point talking about it? I thought back to the tainted book trove back home and couldn't help but wonder if I'd missed important knowledge because of my feelings.

The dwell was a dangerous place, with dark alleys everywhere and suspicious and shady characters seemed to appear and disappear with ease. It felt like a few men and women watched me as I passed but when I turned to look at them they were just idly looking around. This place was making me jump at shadows, though the old man guaranteed my safety I couldn't help but feel on edge. It wasn't long before we reached the stairs to the surface once more, as the old man beckoned me to head up first he said.

"Oh, and try not to ruin the sleeves when we get your dress. Find a way to keep your hands busy, I can't afford replacements."

The stress had me unconsciously gnawing on my sleeves more than ever many ragged holes dotted the once pristine white fabric.

The stairs back to the city proper were killer, especially since I had finished my morning exercise not too long ago but I managed with a couple of short breaks.

I got my uniform from a nice little shop, a short-sleeved white dress with long gloves and socks. I didn't feel comfortable using the same ribbon tactic as the other women, that's also the reason why the old man suggested white for the main body of my outfit, because of its usage during the rite the colour white gave off a feeling of immaturity. Finally, I wore a red apron over the top to catch people's attention, if I wanted to increase sales I couldn't have someone's eye passing over me without stopping for at least a moment. The logic behind the old man's thinking was strange at first but as he explained it in-depth I was convinced of it in theory.

Standing for almost a full day wasn't pleasant unfortunately it was another of the old man's tactics, someone who's standing looks more eager and ready to serve than someone who sits. Even when I was dealing with the customers on my own the old man stood up straight next to the pot refusing to set a bad example just because he wasn't doing anything.

On my first day had eight customers. I couldn't help but keep a mental note of the other stands and like I thought our number of sales was low. On average the other stalls attracted twenty sales each. It didn't matter what the others did though, the old man was ecstatic at the result I'd achieved, according to him there weren't that many people around today and I still managed to match one of his good days.

I asked him how I could improve, mentioning the numbers I'd seen and he just said,

"This sort of stew is more of a survival food, it's cheap and filling but most people don't want to eat their fill at a stall."

I had another look around and saw that the stalls either sold something large that you could easily take home or something small enough to eat while walking. The old man's customers usually consisted of the slightly more well off labourers on the way back to the dwelling.

"I don't run this stall for profit, you know. Can you guess why I do it?"

I thought for a moment but I wasn't sure why he ran a stall that barely paid for its upkeep. To my surprise, I was looking at it backwards.

"It's not that the stall ekes out a profit, it's the fact that the stew pays for itself. Remember whatever doesn't get sold isn't wasted, it's given to those that can't afford it. As long as this stall runs it produces food for the dwellers for free."

The old man was willing to push his ageing body just so that others didn't need to starve, one man's stall can't feed the whole dwelling but it can keep those on death's door around for another day.

"Maybe I could help you hand out the leftovers today?"

After hearing his story I couldn't help but get fired up but he rejected my offer.

"You're still young little missy, I don't want to expose you to all of the nasty stuff."

I thought I wasn't naive, that I wasn't blind to the darkness of the world, I'd lost my best friend to it, of course, I was aware.

"I want to help out, I can handle it."

"There's no easy way to say this."

He looked ready to drop the issue but he steeled himself,

"You're too young, too emotional. You've had a rough go of it and I sympathise, I do. But you've not endured the type of hardship where a single bite of food is the difference between life and death. It's a different kind of suffering, being exposed to it changes you."

I felt my irritation spike as he spoke,

"So what! Are you saying that I'm just being childish because other people have suffered more? That what I've had to go through means nothing! Does Alessia's disappearance not matter then?"

"I don't think she wanted to become your excuse."

I needed to keep yelling, I just couldn't find the words. But he could,

"Suffering isn't a race. You don't win by being the most miserable. Everyone hurts and the world is a cruel place, usually, the ones with the biggest hearts get stomped on the most. Your pain should guide you, not define you. Maybe… Maybe you should come with me to the slums. See why it is that I work so hard."

The trip back to the dwelling was silent, I spent the whole time trying to think of a retort, something that would make him take back his words or apologise. Just like last time he refused to let me walk where he couldn't see me. I continued to fester in my anger as we walked a new route. When we arrived at our destination I couldn't make sense of what I was seeing. There were no houses, not even the shacks that I knew, just soiled blankets and planks of wood set into the ground as primitive dividers for privacy.

I thought I wasn't naive. I knew about starvation, disease, and war. But knowing something and seeing it first-hand was very different. The men, women and children of the slums were more skeleton than flesh. In the worst cases, I could count each bone in their body. When the old man approached I saw the faintest glimmer of life return to their sunken eyes. Without hesitation, most adults ushered the children forwards first. How could this happen? How could people know about this and do nothing? It took a moment for me to truly understand what was happening.

"Are these people all bladeless?"

"They're the unlucky ones, yes."

Within arms reach were children so weak that the bowl of stew was too heavy to hold, they ate like feral wolves from bowls placed on the floor. I wanted to close my eyes but I couldn't as a horrid thought nagged at the back of my mind. The thought that they were better off dead. Is that why no one helps them, because the problem takes care of itself when they die?

Something within me stirred. I wanted to reach out and hold one of them, to feed them so that they could have the dignity of a person. There were so many of them though, I couldn't help them all. The old man does nothing but help these people every day and still, this is the outcome. There were too many to count, not just children, adults too. I watched as the pot of stew drained quickly, far too quickly. It became devastatingly obvious that there wasn't enough to go around.

Every day the old man put himself through this pain, even knowing that his best efforts weren't enough. Why? Was I missing something? At the back of the crowd a fight had broken out, they too noticed that the food wouldn't last but unlike the fights between kids or the epic battles between Animus-blades that I had imagined many times before this was brutal.

After a tussle a man managed a decisive strike, he hit the person's jaw and they went down instantly. The fight should have ended there but without mercy the downed man had his neck stomped over and over until it finally snapped like a dry branch. "Let me through now!" the victor growled. The crowd parted for the man as he made his way forwards. The pleading eyes of the dead man stared into my soul, I'd watched his life be snuffed out with the same ease as blowing out a candle. My mind was blank as I gazed at the crooked necked corpse, no one moved to bury him, and no one seemed to care. It was mundane.

The old man nudged me until I snapped out of it enough to look at him. He offered me the ladle and a bowl. Did he want me to feed that murderer? Why? The old man could've easily stopped the killing. The murderer was so weak that even I could have stopped him… That was it right? A piece of the puzzle neatly slotted in place. Even I could have stopped him, but I didn't. I was waiting for someone else to step up.

The man approached us and held out his hands. I could refuse to serve him. As weak as he is I don't think he could threaten me, if I stood my ground right now I could ensure that his cruelty wasn't rewarded. But what then? He's already proven his determination to kill for this meal. If I refuse him I won't be punishing him, I'll just be forcing his fury onto the next person I feed. Would I need to protect everyone else who receives food? What about after I leave? And what will I have achieved? I will have made sure that he starves to death, I would have killed him myself. Could I do that? I finally looked down at my hands, they were shaking so much, I tried but I couldn't stop the tremors.

A fight to the death was something that was glorified in my mind. Battles for honour, heroic wars for land, brave adventurers in distant lands. But this. My eyes flicked back to the corpse, the only one brave enough to stand his ground lay dead in the dirt. This was the reality of such life or death fights. Alessia would have stood up to him. She wouldn't have stood by and let this happen. Would I have been too afraid to help her? The old man was right,

"The ones with the biggest hearts get stomped on the most."

I muttered under my breath while shakily filling the bowl with stew. Is this the fate that awaited me if I failed to make a living tending? I saw my own withered and twisted body reflected in the dead man's face. I gave the murderer his meal and he bowed and left without eating a bite.

My eyes followed his every step until he reached his destination. He carefully fed an elderly woman, one of the few who managed to survive until old age. He fed her just the liquid from the stew and a couple of the softened vegetables.

"Is that his mother?"

I still couldn't quite believe that this was real. My daze was the only thing stopping me from sinking into depression.

"You could say that. She raised a lot of the adults here today."

Finally, my mind caught up and the magnitude of what I witnessed set in. Existential dread blew away the haze that clouded my mind leaving only despair.

"Am I supposed to accept what he did just because it was for someone he cared about? Couldn't you justify anything like that?"

"There's no one person you can blame for all of this. Like I said little missy, everyone suffers. No answer you come to will be perfect, no matter what, you're going to need to sacrifice something. I can't tell you your answer but I can tell you mine:

Acceptance. Don't hate the person, hate the action. Don't hate the consequence, hate the circumstance. What he did was wrong there's no doubt about it but I can honestly say that I would've done the same in his situation."

Was my resolve so fragile? Why was I even carrying her knife? What did I think I was accomplishing? The small blade on my thigh suddenly felt like a lead weight.