Crown of Thorns and Roses

The forest was deathly still after the battle, its silence broken only by the faint cries of the wounded and the crackle of fire as the soldiers' camp was stripped bare. Survivors moved like shadows, picking through the weapons and armor of the fallen soldiers, gathering anything that could be of use.

Elena stood at the edge of the clearing, wiping her bloodied dagger on the hem of her cloak. The sun hung low in the sky, its light muted as though mourning the violence that had unfolded.

Cassian approached, his movements soundless, his silver eyes as calm as ever. "We won," he said simply.

Elena didn't look at him. Her gaze was fixed on a soldier who lay sprawled near a tree, his sword still clutched in his lifeless hand. He had been little more than a boy—no older than sixteen.

"At what cost?" she murmured.

Cassian followed her gaze, his jaw tightening. "War doesn't care about cost. You did what you had to."

"I killed him," Elena whispered, her voice raw. "I killed all of them. Is this who I'm supposed to become?"

Cassian's expression softened slightly, though his voice remained steady. "This isn't who you are. It's what the moment required."

She turned to face him, anger and anguish flashing in her eyes. "And when do the moments stop? When do we stop losing pieces of ourselves just to survive?"

Cassian didn't answer, and for a moment, neither of them spoke. Then, he said quietly, "You don't stop. Not until the war is won. Not until your people are safe."

Elena turned away, her fingers curling into fists. The emptiness inside her was growing again, deeper this time. How many more will I have to kill?

By nightfall, the survivors gathered in the center of the camp. Fires flickered like beacons in the dark, casting long shadows on their faces as they sat together, weary but alive.

Elena stood before them, her cloak tattered, her face smudged with dirt and blood. For a moment, no one spoke. They simply watched her, waiting.

Finally, she raised her voice, the firelight dancing in her eyes.

"We won today," she said, her voice carrying over the quiet. "But this isn't the end. Lucian will send more soldiers. He'll burn everything to the ground if he has to. If we're going to survive this, we can't just defend ourselves—we need to fight."

A murmur ran through the crowd, uncertain and uneasy.

A man near the back stepped forward. "We're farmers, not warriors. We don't stand a chance against his army."

Elena's gaze found him. "Then we learn to be warriors. We don't have a choice."

"We're not enough," another voice called out. "Even with training, we can't match Lucian's numbers."

Elena took a steadying breath. "You're right. We can't do this alone. Which is why we won't."

The crowd fell silent.

"There are others," she continued, her voice strong. "Villages still standing. People hiding, waiting for someone to stand up to Lucian. We need to find them. We need to bring them here and make them believe in something again."

"And if they don't believe?"

Elena's jaw tightened. "Then we'll fight for them anyway."

A ripple of quiet agreement passed through the crowd. People began to nod, to stand straighter. For the first time, Elena saw something in their faces she hadn't seen before—determination.

Cassian stepped up beside her, his voice low. "They'll follow you now."

Elena glanced at him, her expression hard. "Then we don't waste time. Tomorrow, we start gathering allies."

That night, sleep didn't come easily. Elena lay beneath the open sky, staring up at the stars. The camp was quiet, but she could feel its energy—hopeful, fragile, like a candle flickering in the dark.

"You're restless," Cassian said softly, appearing at her side. He crouched next to her, his silver eyes gleaming faintly in the moonlight.

"I keep thinking about what comes next," Elena admitted. "What if we can't find anyone willing to fight? What if we fail?"

Cassian tilted his head, studying her. "You're not afraid of failure. You're afraid of losing more people."

She looked away. "I don't know how much more I can lose, Cassian."

His voice was softer now, almost gentle. "You carry the weight of every life you've taken and every life you couldn't save. That's what makes you different from Lucian."

Elena turned back to him, her brow furrowed. "And what about you? Do you carry that weight?"

For the first time, Cassian's expression cracked, just slightly. "Every day."

The words hung between them, heavy and raw. Elena looked at him, seeing the man beneath the armor—the scars he hid behind his steady gaze.

"You're stronger than you think, Elena," he said finally, his voice quiet but firm. "And stronger still for caring."

Elena didn't respond. She turned her gaze back to the stars, her thoughts swirling like a storm.

Dawn came too soon. The survivors gathered at the edge of the camp, packs slung over their shoulders, weapons strapped to their backs. They were tired, worn, but ready.

Elena stood at the front, Cassian at her side. She looked out at the faces before her—faces that had known fear and loss but still chose to stand here with her.

"We're going to find others," Elena said, her voice clear. "We'll bring them back. And when we do, we'll be ready for Lucian. For his armies. For whatever he throws at us."

A murmur of agreement rose from the crowd.

Elena turned to Cassian. "Are you ready for this?"

Cassian smiled faintly, though his silver eyes remained serious. "I've been ready for a long time."

She nodded, turning back to the path ahead. The forest loomed before them, dark and endless, but for the first time, Elena didn't see it as an obstacle.

It was a path forward.

We will find them, she thought. We will fight. And we will win.

With the sun rising behind them, Elena and her small band of survivors stepped into the trees, ready to gather the scattered embers of their kingdom and fan them into a flame that Lucian would never see coming.