A colourless crystalline Compound occurring naturally in Seawater

The first thing one notices when entering the mines is the taste of salt on your tongue, the very same noticeable all across the city, amplified 10-fold. Breathing immediately turns into a task in itself, every breath a small battle.

The burning sensation in my lungs and eyes is something I'll have to get used to in time. Can't let my discomfort show; I need to be strong...

Getting past the entrance area, one can spot a large pile of tools, overseen by one of the guards. If one wishes to return to the surface, one must return them here first, I suppose.

Eleanor and I approach. After giving us a scrutinising look, he simply nods. We take a pickaxe each. It's heavy and way too large for my body, but I'll make do...

Venturing yet further into the abyss, a tear in the earth opens downward. A dark, all-consuming hole that threatens to swallow all leads further below, only broken by small orange dots of light.

A shaky wooden walkway spirals downward.

Following that path down the rabbit hole, I get a pretty good sense of the scale of this operation. When they found this place some 20 years ago, they found the natural entrance to the cave, the very same I used to get down here.

Then they started digging downward, excavating all the salt they could. When ropes and ladders weren't enough anymore, they constructed this spiralling walkway.

Those little orange dots I spotted earlier are all torches bolted into the saline walls. The jagged crystals of salt reflect that torchlight, making this entire place feel like a sauna with terrible ambience.

While that most definitely seems like the most cost-efficient way to get a bit of light down here, it makes me worry. While they might not be aware of the details, they should still know that fire in caves is a bad idea, right?

Their workers dropping from the monoxide poisoning should ring some alarm bells. Maybe they just don't care, though.

"Let's not go all the way down."

"Are you scared, little Isayah? Awwww! Fine, let's find ourselves a spot somewhere in the middle."

While that is no doubt a severe blow to my pride, it is one I'll gladly accept if it keeps us from suffocating for the time being. I get the feeling she's just as scared as me, trying to hide that very fact by projecting it onto me.

I hold her hand even tighter. I should let her play the brave older sister from time to time.

In alcoves along the way, most likely carved by those that came before us, I spot two things:

For one, there are elves currently working on larger chunks of salt. Using both a hammer and a chisel, they split these larger pieces of salt into smaller ones, ones they can fit more neatly into a bag.

Behind them, there are tunnels splitting off deeper into the earth. While I can't look all that far into them based on how they snake around, I most definitely see that they are supported with wooden beams.

The walls around us seem to be all largely made out of salt, a fact verifiable rather easily by dragging my finger across one and just licking it. So I could probably just start mining wherever I please, but I get the feeling the shafts over there were made for a reason.

So I scout around, picking out the tunnel I hear the least sounds of coughing and clinking in, and dub that spot our very own place in this hell.

Now for the hard part: 8 hours of hard, gruelling, unforgiving, bone-crushing, life-draining physical labour. Oh boy.

Would 8 hours even be enough? Most likely not. My time spent accounting with Jesha has given me a clear, if rather bleak, picture of how the miners are paid. Poorly, that is.

Mother spending 12 hours a day at the mines barely covered for her and my infant self. If I remember correctly, Loren still had to help out.

While I continue hacking away at the wall, I run the numbers through my head.

So Eleanor and I have to make enough for three people. Even if I am generous and liken our efficiency to that of Mother, we'd still have to spend close to 16 hours in here if we don't want to eat into our savings.

That's just unrealistic, but with 8 hours a day we could last for a year or so. But that would decimate anything we still have left over. And that's just assuming Zareth doesn't suddenly decide he needs to raise prices even further.

What then? Can I figure out a way to get us out by then?

"Kids? Are you in here?"

Loren seems to be searching for us. Eleanor can take care of it, I'm sure.

"Yeah, we are. Come on over, Loren!"

Atta girl. What would I do without you?

Back to the point. Maybe I should just take the risk and continue stealing from the human slaves? While definitely risky, I am capable enough.

But merely thinking of the option makes Isha shake her head at me in disagreement.

"So you managed to get in here. Did the guards let you in after all?"

"Isayah talked to one of the overseers, and they just let us in after that. Isn't he amazing?"

I feel Loren's gaze on my back as I continue digging into the wall.

"So how are you adjusting to working down here? It's hellish, isn't it?"

"We are fine, right, Isayah?"

Need to think here, Eleanor! Isha's right; if they ever catch me, they will skin me alive. And when that happens, Eleanor and Mother will be both distraught and doomed.

I can't help anyone if I'm dead, so minimising the risk of my death must remain my highest priority. But what is working down here, if not a slow but assured death?

"Maybe we should all take a break together? You kids shouldn't overexert yourselves. I even brought a bit of water."

Break? Why should I take a break now? I can still keep going! If I can't think of anything else, this is all I can do!

I have to keep pushing so they don't have to.

"I can still keep going. Feel free to rest for a bit without me, though."

Thankfully I can continue thinking while doing this mundane work. Maybe I can search the depths of my mind for some knowledge of the old world.

Knowledge to expedite the process of extracting salt down here. Or how we can escape from down here.

A drill, maybe? No, even one powered by hand is something I can't really craft myself. I'd need a smith of some kind to do it for me.

Solution mining? I think if you use the correct chemical solution on certain ores, they separate neatly. But both my knowledge of chemistry and my resources are too limited for that. Drat.

"Isayah, I really think we should listen to Loren and take a break. It doesn't even have to be a long one..."

A hot air balloon might take us across the wall. But while I haven't seen anyone brandishing either a bow or crossbow yet, if they figured out gunpowder in this world, it would be insane if they didn't have the more primitive ranged options.

If they shoot us down, the fall might prove deadly. And even if we make it out, what's out there? Nothing but desert in all directions as far as I know.

"Stop, Isayah!"

Eleanor stops me from taking another swing.

"Eleanor, why are you stopping me?"

"Your hands are already bloody all over. You are clearly pushing yourself too hard."

I look at my hands. Sure enough, the blood from them runs down the shaft of my pickaxe and drops to the ground.

I just assumed a few minor scrapes of mine started hurting due to the salty air. Like when you get salt in an open wound.

"I understand your fervour, kid, but wearing yourself out to get more done will only kill you quicker."

Well, he's right. This is a marathon, not a sprint. I need to act accordingly. I sit down next to Loren.

Eleanor takes hold of my hands to inspect them further.

"This looks nasty."

I'm sure it does. She spits on my open wound. While I am fully aware that spit acts as a basic way to disinfect, I think you are only supposed to spit on your own wounds.

I appreciate her intent all the same.

She rips away a bit of her clothing, cleans it with as little water as possible and applies makeshift bandages to my palms.

"Thank you, Eleanor. I wouldn't know what I'd do without you."

She smiles at me, her smile so radiant it could light up this entire mineshaft.

I take a small sip from the water as well. Balsam for the soul. Or at the very least, my throat.

"Well, at least you are motivated..."

Loren, once again, seems unsure how to hold a proper conversation with me.

"Of course I am. I need to make sure Mother makes it through all this."

"Don't you think it'd hurt a mother's heart to see her children hurting themselves for her sake?"

"It would. Don't you think it'd hurt a child's heart to see their mother willingly choose death for their sake? Even if it hurts her, I will get her out of here."

He looks at me with an expression of interest.

"Out of here?"

There are no guards around here. So this might be the moment I make my declaration. I think if there's a single soul in these walls I can trust with my resolve, it's him.

And thus I spoke, in my finest Elvish:

"I will take my family, my sister and my mother, out of this godforsaken, accursed city. Or I will die trying. There is no other purpose to my existence in this world."

Eleanor just cocks her head to the side; she doesn't understand the tongue of the elves after all.

Loren, however, seems to have understood what drives me now. He places a hand on my shoulder, looks me straight in the eyes and laughs heartily. Or rather as heartily as his strained throat allows.

"I see your resolve, and I acknowledge it, young Isayah. I think I've got something to show you that might interest you very much."

His answer in Elvish only confuses Eleanor even further. Poor girl, maybe I should teach her Elvish as well?

Isha, however, radiates a true sense of pride, seeing the elf speak his tongue with pride in his heart.

"Don't work yourselves to death; next week or so I'll come get you after work."

With these words, now spoken in the human tongue, he leaves us. He even left us his water. How nice of him.