"How ironic," Alarion thought, staring at the Crown lying in the dirt.
"The very thing I spent so long running from... and now I'm angry because it won't save her."
He scoffed under his breath, bitter and hollow.
"Pathetic."
Alarion dropped to his knees, his eyes locked on the Crown lying cold in the dirt.
Why won't it just work?
Just a spark... a glow... anything.
He picked it up, hands trembling. It felt useless in his grasp..dead weight.
"Come on…" he muttered. "At least give me something. Just one sign."
He stared harder.
Nothing.
"AHHHHHH!! JUST WORK ALREADY!!"
His scream tore through the forest like a blade. Birds burst from the trees. Nearby creatures scattered into the shadows.
He gasped, realizing his anger was boiling over. He closed his eyes, trying to breathe, trying to calm the storm inside..but ,it wasn't working.
Every second he looked at the Crown, that storm only grew.
He tried to put it back into the crate, but as he reached down, his body froze.
Am I really just going to quit like this?
She gave everything to protect me… the least I can do is try harder.
Alarion slowly stood, his body still sore. He didn't know how he was even alive, how his wounds had vanished ,but there was no time to question it.
He brushed the dust off his clothes and raised the Crown to his head.
The cold metal touched his scalp,
Then slipped.
CRANG!
The Crown fell to the ground with a heavy thud.
He stood still.
Then something snapped.
"SKAHR IT ALL"
Author note: "another word of f**k"
He kicked the Crown hard, sending it flying into the forest.
Pain and rage burst out like wildfire.
"What's wrong with this cursed thing?!"
He turned and kicked a nearby tree out of frustration.
THUNK!
A fruit dropped from above and smacked him right on the head.
"Argh—are you serious?!"
He grabbed his forehead as a red mark formed.
He stood there in silence, breathing hard.
Then..
He laughed. Just once. Low and bitter.
The sun hung low in the sky now, casting long shadows between the trees.
Alarion sat motionless beside the makeshift shelter he'd built for her. The tent was crude woven from long, leafy branches and stitched together with vines and bark but it was the best he could manage. It shielded her from the sun, from the rainclouds that had started to form overhead, and from the wandering eyes of whatever creatures stirred in the forest.
Elaria's body lay in the center of it all, wrapped carefully in her cloak, her hair combed smooth by Alarion's trembling fingers. He'd even tucked a few wildflowers beside her,white and gold, the ones she liked, the ones she had once named while showing off her elven pride.
She looked asleep.
Too asleep.
And Alarion… was losing himself.
He sat just outside the shelter, the crate beside him, open, the Crown resting within. That cold, lifeless thing. The very object that had promised miracles,now refusing to answer.
"Come on…" he whispered, voice hoarse.
He reached into the crate and grabbed the Crown again. Pressed it to his chest. To his forehead. To the soil beneath him. To her hands.
Nothing.
He gritted his teeth. Pressed it harder. Then bit it...hard...until his jaw ached.
Still nothing.
He scratched at the engravings with a jagged stone, hoping to unlock something hidden. Nothing. He punched it. Slammed it against a tree trunk.
Still. Nothing.
He screamed, dragging the Crown through the dirt, through the roots, across the bark of nearby trees. "JUST WORK!!"
Birds scattered into the sky. A fox nearby darted into the bushes. The forest recoiled from him...unnerved. Even the wind seemed to slow, as if unwilling to touch the grief pouring from his lungs.
He dropped to his knees, panting, dirt on his cheeks, blood on his knuckles.
He looked back at her. Then down at the Crown.
With trembling hands, he lowered it into the stream nearby, letting it soak in the cold current. Maybe water would cleanse whatever sealed it. He waited. Ten seconds. Twenty.
Then yanked it out.
Still dead. Still cold.
He threw it again ,this time farther, harder..watched it bounce off a tree root and roll to a stop in the mud.
He didn't move. He just stared at it.
"…Why won't you work…" he whispered, the words cracking.
Overhead, the clouds rumbled. A light drizzle began to fall. Soft drops pelted the forest canopy, and the leaves above his shelter caught the rain like drums.
Alarion slowly rose and picked up the Crown again. Wiped it. Carried it back to the crate. And set it down like a broken relic.
Later that night, he lit a small fire near the shelter—low, soft, quiet. Enough for warmth, but not enough to scare away the animals entirely.
The forest didn't sing tonight. No owls. No crickets. Just wind.
And somewhere in the distance, a wolf howled.
Alarion looked up from the fire. Then back at the shelter.
He got up, stepped inside, and knelt beside her.
Carefully, gently, he brushed a damp leaf from her hair.
"Still no luck," he said softly. "Still nothing."
His hand lingered near hers, but he didn't dare hold it. She felt fragile now. Untouchable. Like a thread stretched thin between life and something else.
He sat beside her through the night.
The fire outside dimmed.
And in the darkness, only the rain kept speaking.