I got closer, inch by inch, careful with each step so as not to make too much noise. There was not even the faintest glow cast into the corner of the dry well. So I looked around and ran to grab a piece of timber still flaming at one end before going back to the lip of the well.
I leaned forward holding the torch, peering down, my breath shallow, my senses sharpened. What I saw was a couple of children huddled together, the two small figures curled together, clinging to one another with desperate trembling, soft sobs echoing faintly in the cavernous shaft.
The sound tugged at something deep within me.
They may have been sent down there during the chaos, perhaps tossed in with rough, panicked hands, or maybe gently lowered by someone who had loved them enough to hope the well would be their salvation. Either way, it was clear: while the rest of their town had likely been caught in a firestorm of destruction, someone had thought ahead, had wanted these two little souls to live, even if it meant hiding them away in the cold dark belly of a well.
"Hey there."
My voice rang out softly, carrying down into the depths. There was no hesitation. No faltering. Instinct demanded reassurance, and I gave it freely.
Two eyes snapped up toward me, catching and reflecting what little light there was. Bright eyes, glistening like wet gems, but hard with suspicion. One pair of arms shifted protectively, shielding the small head that tried to rise to look up as well.
That gaze pierced straight through me. There was nothing timid about it. Wariness, mistrust, judgment, those were the emotions swirling within. They were the eyes of someone who had learned, far too young, that the world was cruel and mercy was rare.
"Do you need help to get up here?" I asked gently, keeping my tone light.
The truth was, I would have pulled them up whether they wanted me to or not. But asking gave them a choice. Trust, after all, couldn't be built on force. It had to be offered, even if only in the form of a question.
For a long moment, silence lingered. Then came the tiniest nod, hesitant but real.
"Alright. Just wait a minute while I figure this out."
I raised my head, scanning the well. A winch stood nearby, its wooden frame cracked but still usable. Once, when the well wasn't bone dry, it must have hauled up buckets of fresh water for the town. The rope bucket was gone, and my eyes caught it lying haphazardly at the bottom, as if it had been thrown down along with the children.
My heart clenched. Whoever had placed them there had been desperate.
I searched the surroundings, finally spotting a coil of rope looped onto a rusted hook. Relief washed over me. I hurried over, tugging it loose. The coarse hemp was scratchy on my palms, but it was sturdy enough. Quickly, I fashioned a slip knot, tugging it wide, then swung the free end over the wooden bar of the winch. The rope snaked down into the darkness, curling slightly when it touched the stone floor.
"Here," I called down. "Can you put your arms and chest through the opening so that it's around you?"
The eyes below flicked to the rope, then back at me, and finally down to the other child. Conflict warred there. Mistrust. Caution. Fear.
I exhaled slowly, thinking fast. "I'll bring you both up together," I offered. "Can you loop it around both of you?"
That seemed to tip the scales. The child, still tense, released the other one and crawled over to the rope. Small fingers grasped it, tugging it closer. They widened the loop carefully, testing, cautious, before guiding the other child to slip inside first. Tiny arms slid through, then a small head. The first child followed, shifting until both were secured chest-to-chest in the single loop.
Then came a sharp tug on the rope. A signal. Ready.
"Good. Hold on tight. I'll start pulling now."
I wrapped the rope's other end around the winch and began to turn the lever. The wooden gears creaked in protest, but they held. Tension pulled at the rope, dragging it taut, and my muscles strained almost immediately. The children's small weight wasn't much, but exhaustion had long since soaked into my limbs from everything that came before this night. My arms burned as I turned the crank, each rotation slower than the last. Sweat trickled down my temple, stinging my eyes, but I refused to stop.
Minute by minute, inch by inch, the rope shortened. And then, there. I saw the faint crowns of their heads, dark and silky in the flickering firelight. My chest surged with determination. Just a little more.
Finally, they rose to my level. I braced the winch with one hand, the other stretching forward. "Grab my hand!"
For an instant, hesitation flickered again. Then a tiny, trembling hand reached up, brushing against my palm. I seized it firmly, anchoring it with strength, and pulled hard. At the same time, I let the lever slip free. The sudden momentum shifted both children in a swing, tossing them into my arms.
"Got you. I got you." My voice cracked with relief as I held them tight, feeling the thunder of their hearts beating against me like frantic drums.
They were shaking, their bodies thin but sturdy, smelling faintly of smoke and soot. I patted their narrow shoulders, trying to calm their tremors, murmuring soft reassurances even though I knew that words alone could not stitch their broken world back together.
When I finally drew back, I studied them under the pale light. A boy and a girl, perhaps eight or nine years old. Their clothes were simple, cotton shirts and trousers, dyed grey and brown, streaked with soot and torn at the seams. The girl's face was sharp with lines of caution, the boy's softer, though streaked with tears. Both had dirt smudged across their cheeks.
I carefully unwrapped the rope from their thin chests, laying it aside. My hands lingered, though, unwilling to fully let go.
The sight of them hit me hard. Two children, torn from whatever family they once had, are thrust into survival with nothing left but each other. The world had taken so much from them already. Their parents, perhaps their home, their entire town. Fortunately, someone had given them this chance. Someone had hidden them in that well and prayed they'd live.
I felt it then, as sure as there was breath in my lungs: I could not abandon them.
These two fragile lives, trembling but alive, were mine to protect now.
For as long as I had strength, for as long as breath remained in my body, I would guard them.
Even if it costs me everything.