The Thorn Protects the Rose

Elara strode with the practiced grace of a seasoned mage toward her throne, the sounds of adoration and praise a sweet symphony in her ears. She focused on her seat—an imposing block of polished black basalt, cushioned in deep crimson velvet. It filled her with a sense of profound accomplishment. This was her purpose. She marched up the white marble steps of the grand hall, her heels echoing like a heartbeat against the stone. She had earned this. The crowd stilled as she approached, a sea of blurred faces beaming with a collective joy. People of all shapes, sizes, and statures were gathered—the young and the old—all waiting to catch a single word from her powerful lips. Smiling proudly, Elara brushed her fingers over the diamonds of her tiara, the silver slivers of the band shaped like entwined tree branches. She smoothed her dress, a fine green silk that gleamed with intricate silver stitching like captured stars. Then, she noticed movement. A small girl, no more than six, approached the dais alone. She stepped forward nervously, one hand clenching her white dress—patterned with small pink roses—while the other brushed awkwardly through her fine brunette hair. Elara’s smile faltered, her brow creasing with concern. "Do you have a question, my child?" Elara asked, her voice a soothing balm meant to ease the girl’s trembling. The child stopped a few feet away. She was too far to reach, but close enough that Elara could see the bottomless sadness in her brown eyes. The air shifted. Time seemed to thicken, every heartbeat hanging on the girl’s next words. In a small, innocent voice, the girl whispered, "..Why is there fire everywhere?" Elara’s heart hammered against her ribs. "Wha—" She turned to the crowd, but the cheering had stopped. The hall was silent. Every subject was staring behind her, their eyes wide with terror. The smell of hot smoke slammed into her senses. Elara bolted upright, spinning around. The solid walls of her castle were gone. The marble was gone. She stood atop a jagged hill, looking down upon an apocalyptic world. Below her lay the charred bones of a civilization—houses reduced to skeletal remains, forests turned to charcoal. A sea of fire consumed the horizon, spanning further than the eye could see. Her home. Her kingdom. Panic turned her face ash-white. Screams erupted from behind her. She spun back to the crowd, but the shining faces were gone. In their place stood ghosts of despair. Their clothes were scorched rags; their skin was smeared with soot and blood. They swarmed her, falling at her feet, their blackened hands grasping at her pristine green silk. "HELP US! PLEASE SAVE US! MADAME ELARA, DO SOMETHING!" The cacophony of shrieks filled her head until her mind felt like it would shatter. She clapped her hands over her ears, squeezing her eyes shut against the horror. "No!" she screamed, her voice breaking. "I—I didn't know!" The world dissolved into a suffocating black. Then, nothing.