Crown of Thorns and Roses

The castle loomed on the horizon, its crumbling spires casting jagged shadows across the earth. Elena stood at the edge of the overgrown courtyard, her boots sinking into the damp, untended grass. What had once been a seat of power and majesty was now little more than a ruin—a graveyard for a kingdom that had forgotten its name.

Cassian walked beside her, his gaze sweeping the desolate structure. "Your kingdom," he said softly, though there was no judgment in his voice. Only fact.

"Not yet," Elena replied, her voice empty. She took a step forward, the wind tugging at her cloak like unseen hands. The air here smelled of soot and dust, of things lost and never found.

The gates had long since fallen, their heavy iron frames rusted and broken. Inside, the castle walls were cracked, their stones blackened with scorch marks. Vines crept through the cracks like veins, choking the remains of what had once been beautiful.

This is what I've come back to, Elena thought bitterly. A throne that no longer existed. A kingdom that had burned itself to ash.

Inside the great hall, the ceiling had collapsed in places, allowing faint rays of light to pour through. Elena moved slowly across the shattered floor, her footsteps echoing in the emptiness. She could almost see it as it had been—golden banners hanging high, torches blazing, nobles gathered to kneel before the throne.

And now, there was nothing.

At the end of the hall, the throne sat broken. The once-gleaming seat of her family's power was cracked in half, its edges crumbled, its grandeur erased. Elena stopped before it, staring at the remnants of the throne that had been the center of so many hopes and promises.

"This is where it ends," she murmured.

Cassian's voice came from behind her. "No. This is where it begins."

She turned sharply, frustration flaring in her hollow chest. "How can it begin when there's nothing left? I don't even know what I'm fighting for anymore."

Cassian stepped closer, his silver eyes steady. "You fight for what comes next, not for what has already been lost."

"Easy for you to say," she snapped. "You didn't give up everything. You didn't lose—"

"I did," he cut her off, his voice sharper than she had ever heard it.

Elena froze.

Cassian's expression softened, though his eyes still held a storm behind them. "You're not the only one who has given up something for this place. For this kingdom."

Elena stared at him, waiting for him to say more, but he turned his gaze to the broken throne. The silence stretched between them like a chasm.

"What was your sacrifice?" she asked finally, her voice soft.

Cassian didn't answer right away. He moved to stand beside her, his gaze distant, as though he were seeing something—or someone—that wasn't there.

"Everything I had," he said quietly. "And everyone I loved."

Elena's throat tightened. "Why?"

He looked at her, his silver eyes meeting hers with an intensity that made her breath catch. "Because someone had to."

Elena sat on the steps leading up to the broken throne, exhaustion pressing on her like a physical weight. The emptiness within her was quieter now, though it remained—a void she didn't know how to fill.

She pulled her knees to her chest, staring at the floor. "I don't know if I can do this, Cassian."

He crouched beside her, his voice soft but firm. "You can."

"What if I fail?"

"Then you'll get back up," he said simply. "That's what survivors do."

She looked at him, studying his face. There was no pity in his expression, no false hope—only the calm certainty of someone who had been here before. Someone who knew what it was to stand on the edge of ruin and choose to keep going.

"Why do you care so much?" Elena asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

Cassian was silent for a long moment, his gaze fixed on hers. Finally, he said, "Because you remind me of who I once was."

Elena blinked, startled. "And who was that?"

Cassian gave her a faint, bitter smile. "Someone who thought they could carry the world alone."

She looked away, his words sinking deep. "And did you?"

"No," he said softly. "I broke."

Elena turned back to him, her brow furrowed. "Then how are you still here?"

Cassian held her gaze. "Because someone helped me stand up again."

The sun had risen higher by the time they stepped back outside. From the castle's balcony, Elena could see the land stretching out before her—fields covered in frost, villages reduced to rubble, rivers winding like silver threads through the wasteland.

It was broken.

But it wasn't dead.

"Do you see it?" Cassian asked, his voice low.

Elena nodded slowly. "It's still here."

"Waiting," he said.

"For what?" she whispered.

"For someone to fight for it," he replied.

Elena looked at the horizon, the weight of her choice settling in her chest. She had no heart. She had no crown. But she still had this land, and the people who had survived its ruin.

She thought of the trials, of the shadows she had faced and the sacrifices she had made. And then she thought of the throne—the real throne—one that could be rebuilt, not from power or magic, but from hope.

"I'll fight for it," she said, her voice steady.

Cassian looked at her, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his lips. "Good. That's where it starts."

As they descended from the castle, Elena felt the wind pick up around her. It carried the faintest scent of roses—wild and untamed, growing through the cracks of ruin.

It was a reminder.

Of what had been lost.

And what could be built again.

Elena lifted her chin, the broken kingdom sprawling before her like a challenge.

The trials were over.

But the real battle had only just begun.