That Emily looks more sorrowful than afraid is a testament; you sigh, and remove your hat.
"May I come inside?" you ask quietly. "There's a lot to explain. About John, and about...what's happened to you."
"She said I was Chosen. Chosen for what?" Emily asks.
"...This floor doesn't have a lot of traffic with the surface, does it?"
Emily shakes her head, mutely.
"Okay. This explanation just got...a lot longer."
Emily waves you inside. The home is modest, and clearly lived in by more than just the young soldier; for one thing, you're fairly certain the sketches of the two older people that look like her are her parents.
For another, a note on a bottle of wine says 'Dad's'.
You close the door behind yourself and accept the chair that Emily pulls out for you. She sits across from you, expectantly.
"...The thing I need you to understand about this is that it wasn't John's fault," you murmur. "There is...there is a group, attempting to control the Dungeon. Attempting to misuse its power. Thirteen masterminds in all, each skilled and deadly. One, the Diviner, sealed off the Broken Jaw and used her power to scourge it of life. She destroyed the food. Froze over the water. Killed the game, the fish. In the end, the only thing left to hunt was one another."
The breath catches in the young soldier's throat.
"...John did what he could to survive," you continue. You hold her gaze, trying to stay warm and compassionate. It's hard to talk, and you keep having to stop to take a deep breath and focus. "It wasn't enough. When he died, he rose as a kind of undead, a draug, that feeds on the flesh of the living."
"...We call them reavers down here," Emily murmurs. "Sea reavers. You get them, sometimes, near shipwrecks..."
You nod. "I encountered John in the Roost, along with many other draugs. He surrendered to me and my companions and asked for the chance to settle his affairs before his final death. He'd wanted to say goodbye to you, but..."
"But?"