the garden within the wasteland

Act 2, part 10

"You're finished? What did you want to ask of me?"
I had no reason to stop for pleasantries in my speech, as neither did he. Just this morning, as I slowly adapted to waking without the sun's embrace as my indicator to shed the burden of rest, he was already knocking at the door asking to borrow a book from the room I had borrowed from him. That's when he was reminded of a thought he chose to withhold till after his obligation was over.
"Miss wails. I have not forgotten."

He who referred to himself as the drink eventually turned his gaze to observe my reaction, and I, in turn, focused mine on his, but it appears neither of us found a droplet of information.

"This morning, an old tale returned to my mind as the wind returned from east to south."

He continued to extend his own explanation as he scanned his temple, and upon confirming its emptiness, he began to wander, taking steps longer than needed to stretch out his form from sitting for so long.

"Once I first awakened within this land and form, I was informed of a dangerous soul, one that has met death but has yet to accept its invite, and I regretted till this moment my inability to cure him of his life."

He spoke in a lowered voice as he silently wandered his own temple, his eyes occasionally viewing the door, either awaiting or fearing a fearful guest may enter.

"And how does this matter involve me?"

I questioned out of courtesy, but I knew what he was about to ask.

"I wish for you to end his life, and of course, your compensation awaits you there as well."

"And why not bring him salvation yourself?"

"I fear -"

"You fear death?"

I interjected, preparing to call out his hypocrisy, but he simply shook his head; a sigh filled with amusement escaped him.

"I am certain death is the one who fears me; what inspires fear in me is my absence. The second I permit myself to exist outside his temple, a worrisome child of God may require my comfort, and there is no greater shame to me than failing to uphold my promise of support."

He spoke with that tone only my ears heard, speaking to me as if speaking to himself, that quiet soberness entangled and buried by his confidence. Perhaps it wasn't willpower and belief that fueled him, but reliance and expectations.

"You speak of compensation?"

I redirected my thoughts to the promise of a reward at the end of a quest, how knightly.

He nodded as he finally remained still.

"I'm confident you'll find something worth your effort, knowledge? An explanation? Or perhaps you'll enjoy adding a fourth sword to your collection."

"And if I were to refuse?"

"You won't."
He answered confidently and almost instantly.

In fact, I had no reason to refuse, nor did I have anything to gain from challenging the drink. I went to check my blades; it was a habit I barely understood the purpose of. They have never disappeared, nor have I ever misplaced them, but the action brought me a small amount of comfort.

He began to speak again.

"While I am most confident in your triumph, I cannot say the same about your return."

I was going to return. But his sudden inquiry confused me; he clearly is not dormant, nor does his supply of others seeking his guidance seem to be lacking. I believed he viewed me not so differently from any other refugee to his temple.