The forest gave way to open land by the following afternoon. Wide plains stretched endlessly ahead, dotted with remnants of broken villages and abandoned farmhouses. The wind was colder here, biting at Elena's cheeks as she led the survivors onward.
"We're exposed," Cassian murmured, walking beside her, his silver eyes scanning the horizon. "There's no cover."
"I know," Elena replied quietly, her fingers tightening around the hilt of her sword. "But we can't turn back."
The weight of the previous day's fight with the shadow beast still clung to her like a shroud. Her body ached, but she didn't let it show. The survivors needed her to be strong, even if she felt like she was unraveling from the inside.
"How far to the village?" she asked.
Cassian tilted his head, calculating. "We'll reach it by nightfall. If Lucian's soldiers haven't gotten there first."
Elena's jaw tightened. "Then we'll deal with that when we get there."
They reached the village just as the sun dipped below the horizon, casting the world in hues of deep purple and gold. At first glance, the village looked untouched. Small houses with thatched roofs lined the narrow streets, and smoke curled lazily from chimneys.
But Elena wasn't fooled. The stillness here felt wrong—too perfect, too quiet.
"Stay back," she ordered the survivors, her voice low. "Cassian, come with me."
Cassian nodded, already drawing his sword. Together, they crept into the village, their footsteps muffled by the dirt path. The houses were empty, their windows dark. Doors creaked faintly on rusted hinges, and the faint smell of smoke lingered in the air.
"They were here," Cassian said softly. "Lucian's men."
Elena swallowed hard, her eyes darting across the empty village square. "Where are the people?"
A rustling sound broke the silence, followed by the creak of a door opening. Elena spun, her sword raised, as a figure stepped into view.
It was an older man, his face lined with age, his hair white as snow. He carried no weapon, only a walking stick, and his gaze was sharp as it landed on Elena and Cassian.
"You shouldn't be here," he said, his voice rough with disuse.
"We're not here to hurt you," Elena said quickly, lowering her blade. "We're looking for survivors—people willing to fight against Lucian."
The man let out a bitter laugh. "Fight? You'll find no fighters here."
"Then where are they?" Cassian asked sharply.
The man's expression darkened. "Gone. Taken."
Elena's blood ran cold. "Taken where?"
"To Lucian's camps," the man replied. "Anyone who resisted was dragged off, and those who remained—" He paused, his voice trembling. "We gave up. We had no choice."
Elena stepped closer, her heart hammering. "There's always a choice."
The man's eyes snapped to hers, anger flashing in their depths. "Is there? Tell that to the families torn apart. Tell that to the children we couldn't save."
The words hit her like a blow, the emptiness in her chest twisting painfully. She had no answer—no defense.
"We can't undo what's been done," she said softly, forcing her voice to remain steady. "But we can fight for those who are still here. We can stop Lucian before he does this to anyone else."
The man shook his head, turning away. "Hope doesn't win wars, girl."
Cassian stepped forward then, his voice low and sharp. "Neither does surrender."
The man froze, his shoulders stiffening.
Elena looked at him, her tone softening. "You survived for a reason. Help us. If there's anyone left here willing to fight, bring them to us. If not—" She hesitated. "We'll leave."
For a long moment, the man didn't move. Then, without another word, he turned and disappeared back into the shadows of the nearest house.
Cassian sighed, running a hand through his dark hair. "That went well."
"We can't force them," Elena said, though frustration gnawed at her. "If they won't fight…"
"Some will," Cassian interrupted. "Give it time."
Elena nodded, though her doubts lingered.
The survivors moved into the village cautiously, settling in the abandoned houses for the night. Elena stood watch at the edge of the square, her gaze fixed on the horizon as the wind whispered through the empty streets.
She didn't hear Cassian approach until he spoke.
"You're blaming yourself again."
Elena didn't look at him. "How can I not? Every village we find is worse than the last. More people gone. More lives ruined."
"And you're still here," Cassian replied. "Still fighting for them."
She turned to look at him, her expression hard. "What if it's not enough?"
Cassian met her gaze, his silver eyes steady. "Then we keep fighting anyway."
Elena sighed, turning back to the darkness. "They don't believe in me, Cassian. Why would they? I couldn't even save myself."
"Because you're still standing," he said softly. "And they need someone to follow."
Elena didn't respond. She stared out into the night, her mind racing with thoughts of what lay ahead—of Lucian's forces, of the villages still waiting for help, and of the people she had failed to save.
It's not enough, she thought. But it has to be.
Just before dawn, the sound of footsteps broke the silence. Elena sat up instantly, her hand on the hilt of her sword. Cassian was already awake, his blade drawn.
The old man emerged from the shadows, followed by a handful of villagers—men and women armed with farming tools, rusted swords, and sheer determination.
"We'll fight," the old man said gruffly, meeting Elena's gaze. "For the ones we lost."
Elena rose to her feet, her chest tight. "Thank you."
"Don't thank me yet," he replied. "This isn't over."
Elena looked at the small group of villagers, their faces hard but resolute. It wasn't much—just a few more hands, a few more weapons—but it was something.
Cassian stepped beside her, his voice low. "You're starting to make them believe."
Elena nodded, though the weight of it all still pressed heavy on her shoulders. "Then let's make sure we're ready for what comes next."
The sun began to rise, its light cutting through the darkness, and for the first time in days, Elena felt a flicker of hope.