The crowd was a living storm, a mass of desperate souls tangled in a frenzy of fear, anger, and confusion. Queen Helena's heart hammered wildly against her ribs as rough hands yanked her through the shattered square. Her legs struggled beneath her, muscles trembling from exhaustion and terror. The once-beautiful marketplace of Vertox, where laughter and life had flourished, was now a grim stage for chaos and betrayal.
Helena's fingers curled tightly around the brooch she still clutched, a fragile anchor to the world she had lost. The faces around her were a blur—angry, hungry, wild—but in her mind, she was back in the palace gardens, under the gentle shade of ancient oaks, listening to the soft murmur of water from the fountains. That memory, fragile and fleeting, was the only warmth she could hold onto.
