The hills of Saint-Céleste lay shrouded in the soft embrace of evening mist, as if the very land was holding its breath. Beyond the village, the Pyrenees loomed like ancient sentinels, their jagged peaks a reminder of a world unchanged by war, even as the valley below pulsed with its grim reality. The quiet had always been part of the land's charm—a quiet that now felt more like a warning.
In the past, the vineyards of Saint-Céleste had flourished, their rows of twisted vines reaching toward the sky like gnarled fingers. But now, the once-thriving fields lay in ruin, abandoned to the rhythms of occupation. The land, much like its people, bore the scars of the war—silently enduring, yet always whispering its grief. The faintest rustle in the underbrush might be the wind, or it might be the sound of footsteps too careful, too cautious, as the villagers made their way through the back roads, dodging the ever-watchful gaze of the Gestapo.
The resistance was a shadow in these hills, invisible yet ever-present, like the scent of jasmine that clung to the night air, sweet and dangerous. It moved through hidden paths and silent alleys, under the cover of darkness and the weight of loss. Here, amid the ruins, hope was a fragile thing—perhaps even more fragile than love.
Every now and then, a single burst of gunfire shattered the silence, a brutal reminder of the war raging beyond these hills. But for the most part, the danger lingered quietly, in the corners of the village, behind closed doors, in whispered conversations.
Élodie Marchand had lived with this quiet danger for years. But tonight, beneath the silvery glow of a moon fighting its way through the clouds, the very earth seemed to pulse with the tension of lives caught between love and duty, between survival and defiance. She could almost hear the whispers in the ruins, the stories of those who had gone before, the names long forgotten but never truly gone. Mercy outlives war, they said. Hope is a rebellion of its own. The words lingered in the air like an unanswered prayer.