The world smelled of smoke and blood.
Raven pressed herself into the damp shadows of the alley, shivering, every nerve screaming. Her small hands clutched at the soot-streaked stones beneath her. Every scream, every crackle of fire, every thud of a boot pounding on a home she had once loved echoed in her mind.
Her parents… they were gone. Every neighbor she had known, every friendly face, every warmth of her little yard — all gone.
She didn't understand why yet. She didn't even have the words. Only a hollow, roaring ache in her chest that made it hard to breathe.
Uncle Gavran crouched beside her, one arm around her trembling shoulders. His other hand waved at the smoldering streets. "Stay quiet. Don't make a sound. They'll come back. They always come back."
Raven shook her head. "But… they… my parents…"
Gavran's eyes were wet, his voice rough with both anger and fear. "I can't change that. They're gone. Nothing we do now will bring them back. You want to live? Then you follow me."
Her stomach turned. Rage and grief collided, spinning a storm inside her. Rage at the soldiers. Rage at the king. Rage at the world that had stolen everything from her. And grief so sharp it left her breathless.
Gavran stood, swaying slightly, and gripped her small hand. "Come on. You can cry later. You can scream later. Right now… survival comes first."
They moved silently, weaving through streets that were half-destroyed, half-burning, half-empty. Families fled in chaos, carrying what little they could salvage. Some were crying. Some were screaming. Some were already dead.
Raven's throat ached from sobbing. Her body trembled. Her small feet were raw from running through rubble and broken glass. She had no idea where they were going, only that it was away from the horror behind them.
Gavran led her to a hidden canal behind the city, a forgotten path known only to those who had lived in the shadows all their lives. He lowered her into a narrow alcove hidden behind crumbling bricks. "Rest. Only for a moment."
Raven sank to the damp stones. The smell of wet earth, smoke, and ash clung to her. Her mind replayed every flash of steel, every red streak of blood, every scream. Her parents… their hands, their voices, their smiles — ripped away in seconds.
And yet, as the world outside burned, a single thought emerged from the haze of fear: I have to survive. I must survive.
Gavran crouched beside her, muttering curses at the rooftops. "The king… Helvareth… they're cleansing the streets. Anyone from Elarion is a target. Anyone. They don't care if you're innocent. They don't care if you're a child."
Raven's fists clenched. "Why?"
"Fear," Gavran said simply. "Kings fear what they cannot control. They fear what they do not understand. And power… power always demands blood."
Her stomach knotted. Rage and hatred blossomed like a dark flower in her chest. The kind of rage that didn't die. That would follow her forever.
For hours, they crouched in silence. Raven didn't speak. Gavran occasionally muttered to himself, swigging from his bottle, the bitter alcohol matching the bitterness in the world. She stared at her hands, at the dirt, at the falling ashes from a distant building. Her life had ended the moment her parents had fallen.
By evening, Gavran spoke again. "We can't stay here forever. They'll sweep the streets tomorrow. We need food. Shelter. Somewhere safe. But…" His voice faltered. "Safe is a lie now. There's no more safe."
Raven nodded, swallowing the lump in her throat. She didn't know where they would go. She didn't know what would happen. But she knew one thing with burning certainty: she would never forget.
The first night was cold. Gavran found a half-collapsed shed on the outskirts of the city. It was damp, smelled of mold and rot, and the wooden walls groaned under the wind. But it was shelter, and shelter was survival.
Raven lay on the floor, wrapped in an old, tattered cloak Gavran had found. The fire from the city was distant now, but the screams had not fully left her ears. She closed her eyes. Tried to sleep. Failed.
She dreamed of fire. Dreams of her parents' faces, frozen in terror. Dreams of hands reaching for her, then vanishing into red smoke. She woke with a scream, hands clutching her own hair.
Gavran shook her lightly. "Quiet… quiet. Breathe."
"I can't," she whispered. "I can't stop thinking. I can't stop seeing…"
Gavran pressed a hand to her small shoulder. "Good. Remember. Remember everything. Remember the names. Remember the blood. Remember the fear. It will keep you alive."
Raven's eyes went wide. "Alive…?"
"Yes," Gavran said grimly. "Alive. You're the only one left. If they see you dead, the world wins. And we can't let the world win, can we?"
Raven shook her head. She didn't fully understand, but the fire of hatred in her chest burned brighter than ever. The world had taken everything from her, but it hadn't taken her. Not yet.
From that night, she learned what it meant to survive. Every shadow could be a threat. Every stranger, a danger. Every corner of the city might hide soldiers. Every alley could hide death.
And yet, every shadow, every danger, every alley would also teach her something: how to move silently, how to breathe without being seen, how to steal just enough bread to survive. How to become nothing, until she was everything.
Raven didn't yet know her real origin. She didn't know she came from Elarion herself. She only knew the people she loved had died because of it. And she only knew this: hatred would be her first teacher, fear her second, and survival — above all — would become her blood.