Crown of Thorns and Roses

The forest stretched endlessly before Elena, a maze of towering trees and tangled undergrowth. The sunlight struggled to pierce the canopy, leaving the path ahead cloaked in shadow. Her footsteps were steady but quiet, her small band of survivors moving like ghosts through the wilderness.

Cassian walked a few paces ahead, his silver eyes sharp, scanning the trail for signs of danger. Behind them, the survivors followed in tense silence, their weapons clutched tightly—simple tools that had been turned into instruments of survival.

"Keep your eyes open," Cassian said softly, his voice carrying just enough for Elena to hear. "We're not alone out here."

Elena didn't need the warning. She could feel it too—the sensation of being watched, as though the forest itself were holding its breath.

"Are you expecting trouble?" she asked, matching her pace to his.

Cassian didn't look back. "I always expect trouble."

Hours passed before they reached the first village. Or what remained of it.

Elena stopped at the edge of the clearing, her breath catching in her throat. The village had been reduced to little more than rubble—charred beams, crumbled stone walls, and ashes scattered like dust across the ground. The silence here was deafening, broken only by the faint whistle of the wind through empty windows.

"Lucian's soldiers," Cassian murmured, his gaze sweeping over the ruins. "They've already been here."

Elena stepped forward, her boots crunching against scorched earth. This had been a place of life once. She could see it in the remnants—a child's toy lying forgotten in the ash, a broken wheelbarrow half-buried near a collapsed barn.

"Are there survivors?" she asked, her voice tight.

Cassian's eyes narrowed. "If there are, they'll be hiding."

Elena turned to the others. "Spread out. Look for anyone who might still be here. And be careful."

The survivors fanned out, moving cautiously through the ruins. Elena walked toward what had once been the village square, her chest aching as she took in the devastation.

This is what Lucian does, she thought bitterly. He burns. He destroys. He leaves nothing behind.

Her hand tightened around the hilt of her dagger.

"Over here!" a voice called suddenly.

Elena turned sharply and ran toward the sound, Cassian close behind.

They found a small cellar door, half-buried beneath the rubble of a house. One of the survivors, a young woman named Maren, was already pulling away the debris.

"There's someone inside," Maren said, grunting as she heaved a heavy stone aside.

Cassian crouched down, pressing his ear to the wooden door. "They're alive," he confirmed, before raising his voice. "We're not here to hurt you. Come out."

For a moment, there was silence. Then, slowly, the door creaked open.

A man emerged first, his face gaunt, his clothes torn and stained with soot. He looked at Elena with wide, fearful eyes, as though he couldn't believe what he was seeing.

"We thought… we thought everyone was gone," he said, his voice hoarse.

"Not everyone," Elena replied softly. "We're here to help."

Behind the man, a small group of villagers emerged—women clutching children, old men leaning on makeshift canes. Their faces were hollow, their eyes haunted.

"Lucian's soldiers came through two days ago," the man said, his voice shaking. "They killed the ones who fought back. Burned everything else."

Elena clenched her jaw. "We're building a rebellion," she told him. "We can't undo what's been done, but we can fight back. You don't have to hide anymore."

The man looked at her, his expression unreadable. "And if we fight, what then? More death? More ashes?"

Elena took a step forward, her voice steady. "Maybe. But hiding hasn't saved us, either. If we stand together, we have a chance."

The man stared at her for a long moment. Then he nodded slowly. "What do you need us to do?"

By nightfall, the survivors had grown. The villagers joined Elena's group, their resolve tempered by loss but strengthened by the promise of a fight. Weapons were gathered—broken tools and scraps of metal—and plans were made.

Elena sat by the fire, watching the villagers as they ate and rested. There were children here, their faces smudged with ash, their eyes too old for their years.

"This isn't what I wanted for them," she said quietly.

Cassian sat beside her, his silver eyes reflecting the firelight. "None of us want this. But it's what we have."

Elena turned to look at him, frustration bubbling to the surface. "How do you live with it? With the choices, the sacrifices?"

Cassian's gaze softened, though his voice remained steady. "You don't. You carry it with you. You let it remind you why you keep going."

Elena looked back at the fire, her fingers brushing the dagger at her side. She thought of the crown, of the trials she had endured. The weight of what she had given up was still there, an ache that never fully went away.

But now there were faces to match the sacrifice—people who depended on her.

"I won't let Lucian win," she murmured, more to herself than to Cassian.

Cassian nodded. "Good."

Later that night, as the camp settled into uneasy sleep, Elena stood watch at the edge of the clearing. The forest was quiet, but her instincts told her it wouldn't stay that way for long.

She turned when she heard footsteps behind her. Cassian approached, his presence a shadow in the dark.

"You should rest," he said softly.

"I can't," Elena replied, staring into the trees. "Not yet."

Cassian studied her for a moment. "You're afraid."

She didn't deny it. "I'm afraid that no matter how many people we find, no matter how hard we fight, it won't be enough."

Cassian stepped closer, his voice calm. "It's not about being enough, Elena. It's about refusing to give up. Lucian doesn't win unless you stop fighting."

Elena turned to face him, her expression hard. "Then we don't stop."

Cassian's lips curved into a faint smile. "Good."

Elena looked back at the forest, the darkness stretching endlessly ahead. Somewhere out there, Lucian's forces were preparing to hunt them. To burn them.

But for the first time, Elena felt ready.

She placed a hand over her chest, where her heart had once been. It still ached, but now it was something more—a promise.

"Let them come," she whispered into the night.

And this time, the darkness didn't seem so endless after all.