Ashwood's sunrise light poured out over the slopes, shining off the recently fixed housetops, and creating long shaded areas through the newly cleared fields. However the Hidden One's powers had been driven back, the realm's injuries ran profound, and soon after the fight, everybody — aristocrats and normal society the same — accumulated to reconstruct their home.
Elara was all over. She traveled through the town with sleeves moved up and soil streaked across her face, shoulders hurting from hours spent lifting stones and fixing walls. Ashwood's kin took a gander at her with amazement and appreciation, their sovereign working close by them, evidence of her unfaltering obligation to her realm. She heard the murmurs as she worked, individuals mumbling about her grit, her versatility, the one who had saved them all.
One evening, as she stopped to pause and rest by the metalworker's manufacture, Toren drew nearer. However his arm was as yet enclosed by swathes from the Hidden One's last assault, he wore a wide smile, his means intentional.
"Didn't think I'd see a sovereign canvassed in soil," he prodded, his voice warm as he rested up against the fashion next to her.
Elara grinned, cleaning her temple. "I've discovered that a title doesn't change what your identity is. These hands are similarly as competent as some other's, and in the event that my kin work to revamp Ashwood, so will I."
Toren snickered, the sound a welcome difference to the weighty quietness that had filled the realm after the fight. "I figure they could follow you into fire, Elara. I realize I would."
An agreeable calm settled between them as they watched the residents. Youngsters ran past, their giggling a sharp, euphoric sound against the heaviness of ongoing occasions. Without precedent for days, Elara let herself enjoy this straightforward harmony, the feeling of life getting back to Ashwood.
Inevitably, Toren talked, his voice mellowed by a feeling she couldn't exactly put. "You know, I've been in fights, yet I've felt nothing like what occurred with the Hidden One. I can't shake the inclination that it's transformed me… we all."
Elara took a gander at him, her look consistent. "The obscurity can shape us, yet it doesn't characterize us, Toren. We're more grounded than that. Ashwood is more grounded than that."
He met her eyes, gesturing gradually. "I believe you're correct. We've all seen what lies in obscurity, however you showed us the way through it."
The discussion left her with a reestablished feeling of direction. There was still work to be finished, both in reestablishing Ashwood and in bracing it against any future dangers. She accumulated her chamber routinely, Caelan and Lirael generally close by, as they discussed new protections and coalitions.
One night, as Elara arranged for one more gathering, Lirael thumped at her chamber entryway and entered with a serious articulation. She held a little box, complicatedly cut and fixed with shiny thistles, and gave it to Elara with a delicate grin.
"A gift from the chamber," Lirael made sense of. "To respect everything that you've accomplished for us."
Inside the case lay a silver crown, its plan straightforward however exquisite. Thistles entwined around its band, representing both her solidarity and the penances she had made. Elara grasped the crown, feeling its heaviness, as metal as well as the perfection of her excursion, her battles, and her victories.
Caelan went into the room, his eyes warm as he saw her holding the crown. "The Thorned Crown," he said with veneration. "It's fitting, Elara. You've demonstrated that a genuine ruler doesn't simply use power — they bear the weights that accompany it."
Elara put the crown on her head, feeling a significant feeling of obligation settle over her. She had driven Ashwood through its breaking point, yet she realized her work was nowhere near finished. Her kin required her solidarity now like never before, and not entirely set in stone to fabricate a future where Ashwood could thrive in harmony.
Soon thereafter, as the stars covered the sky, Elara remained solitary on the palace's most noteworthy gallery, glancing out over her realm. The land was scarred, indeed, yet it was recuperating, and in its scars lay a calm wonder. The murkiness had passed, however it had left them generally more grounded, stronger.
Toren joined her, his presence a quiet solace. They stood together, watching the town lights gleam beneath, an evidence that something is going on under the surface and trust.
"You did it, Elara," he said delicately. "You brought us back from the edge."
Elara shook her head, a delicate grin all the rage. "We did it, Toren. We all. Ashwood stands due to each heart that battled for it, each hand that reconstructed it."
They waited there, the quietness between them loaded up with implicit commitments and a mutual perspective. Ashwood's future was splendid, and together, they would lead it into that future, limited by the preliminaries they had persevered and the adoration they had tracked down in one another and in their kin.
As Elara watched out over Ashwood, she felt settled, her soul lined up with the land and her kin. The Thorned Crown sat delicately on her head, an image of her solidarity and her responsibility, an indication of the excursion that had brought her here and the commitment representing things to come that lay ahead.
Ashwood had been tried by fire, and it had arisen more grounded, tough. Furthermore, with her partners and companions close by, Elara realized they would be prepared for anything difficulties could come.