The morning sun spilled across the forest, painting the rebel settlement in soft gold. Despite the struggles outside, this hidden sanctuary seemed untouched by the chaos of the empire. Flowers bloomed in vivid colors, crops grew faster than expected, and animals roamed unafraid near the settlement's borders. The rebels, hardened by years of resistance, found themselves bewildered by the unusual abundance.
At the center of it all, a young child crawled on a mat inside a modest tent. The princess, barely old enough to babble, gurgled happily as she reached for a butterfly hovering near her hand. The insect lingered on her tiny fingers before flitting away, leaving a small trail of blooming daisies where her hand had touched the ground.
Cold leaned against the tent frame, her sharp eyes watching the scene. "It's not natural," she muttered to herself before stepping inside where the sage sat, engrossed in an ancient text.
"She's affecting the world around her again," Cold said, her tone uneasy. "Flowers don't just grow like that. Animals don't act this tame."
The sage looked up from his book, his expression calm but thoughtful. "She doesn't have a spirit root, yet life bends to her will. It's as though the land itself recognizes her presence."
Cold scoffed. "That's all well and good until someone else recognizes it too. We may be hidden, but the empire's patrols grow bolder by the day."
---
Outside, the princess crawled toward the tent's entrance, her small hands leaving faint impressions of green shoots sprouting in her wake. A squirrel chattered nearby, scampering toward her as though drawn by an unseen force. She giggled, her babbling a cheerful melody that even the most hardened rebels couldn't ignore.
A few of them watched from a distance, whispering among themselves. "She's just a baby," one said, shaking his head. "How can she bring all this... life?"
"Maybe she's not meant to be like us," another murmured. "Maybe she's something... more."
The sage stepped outside and quickly shooed the onlookers away. "Go back to your tasks," he said firmly, though his gaze lingered on the princess. She was too young to understand her influence, but the effects were undeniable.
That afternoon, the peace was broken by the sudden arrival of a scout, his face pale with urgency. "Patrols from the empire," he said, breathless. "They're moving near the southern ridge."
Cold stood immediately, her hand instinctively going to the hilt of her blade. "How many?"
"Three men, maybe more. They're searching for signs of rebel camps."
The sage furrowed his brow. "We cannot risk confrontation. If they stumble upon us, it won't matter that they're not looking for us specifically."
Before Cold could respond, a soft cooing sound came from behind them. The princess had crawled to the edge of the tent, her wide eyes fixed on the commotion. Then, as if reacting to the tension, the forest seemed to shift. The wind picked up, rustling the trees, and the ground trembled faintly.
"What is—" Cold began, but she stopped as vines crept across the forest floor, tangling themselves in the path where the scouts might come. Birds darted through the trees, their cries sharp and loud, creating a disorienting cacophony.
The rebels watched in stunned silence as the forest seemed to come alive, blocking any possible approach. Minutes later, the noise subsided, and the wind returned to its usual calm.
"The princess..." Cold whispered, looking down at the child who now sat contentedly, playing with a leaf. "She did that, didn't she?"
The sage nodded solemnly. "Even without understanding, she is connected to the land. It reacts to her, protects her."
---
As the sun set, the rebels gathered for a quiet meal. The tension from the near encounter hung in the air, but the unusual vitality of the settlement offered a strange reassurance. They whispered among themselves about the princess, some in awe, others wary.
The evening deepened, and the rebels slowly dispersed from their shared meal. The princess, having tired herself from her explorations, was now sleeping soundly in her cot. The sage and Cold remained seated near the dying embers of the fire, their faces illuminated by its faint glow.
"She's growing fast," Cold said, her voice low so as not to wake the child. "Too fast, if you ask me. Soon, she'll be walking, talking... understanding."
The sage nodded, his fingers tracing the edges of the ancient book in his lap. "And with understanding comes questions. Questions we may not have the answers to."
Cold leaned back, her gaze fixed on the stars. "You've always spoken about her destiny, about her being the key to something greater. But what does that even mean? She has no spirit root. She's just a child."
"A child," the sage said softly, "who can bend nature to her will without even trying. A child who turns soil into bloom and draws animals to her side. Spirit root or not, she is unlike anyone in this world."
Cold scoffed, though there was no malice in it. "All the more reason to worry. The emperor may not know she exists, but his men are everywhere. If they catch wind of her abilities..."
"They won't," the sage interrupted firmly. His usual calm gave way to a rare steeliness. "We've kept her safe this long, and we'll continue to do so. But we must prepare. She's not just a child; she's a symbol. One day, she will be more than we can imagine."
"And what if she doesn't want to be?" Cold asked, her voice quieter now. "What if she grows up and chooses a different path?"
The sage's expression softened. "Then that will be her choice. Our role is not to shape her destiny, but to protect her until she can shape it herself."
The fire crackled softly, filling the silence between them. Cold finally spoke again, her tone hesitant. "Do you think the rebels are ready for what's to come? For her?"
"They'll have to be," the sage replied. "We've spent years fighting, hiding, surviving. But she represents something we've forgotten—hope. And hope has a way of inspiring even the most weary souls."
Cold sighed, running a hand through her hair. "Hope doesn't keep blades away. Or stop the emperor's men from hunting us down."
"No," the sage admitted, his gaze drifting toward the princess's tent. "But it gives people a reason to keep fighting. And that's more powerful than any weapon."
In the tent, Cold watched the sleeping child while the sage lingered by the entrance. "She's just a baby," Cold said quietly, "but the things she can do... It's not normal."
"No," the sage agreed, his gaze distant. "It's far beyond normal. She's not tied to the spirit roots like the rest of them.Her connection is deeper—primal. And that makes her both a miracle and a danger."
the princess that was discussed is clutching a flower in her sleep, the delicate petals glowing faintly in the dim light. Outside, the rebels huddled together, unaware of the destiny quietly growing among them.