A dizzying swarm of faces engulfed Ana, their eyes wide with disbelief, their voices rising in jostling crescendos. “Thank you!” “You saved us!” “A miracle!” The words clung to her like smoke, but Ana could find no air within their stifling gratitude. She stepped back, shaking her head, her hands slick with spilled blood and sweat. The street swirled around her in a whirl of relief and acrid aftermath, and for a moment, she thought she might choke on it all.

Villagers crowded closer, eager in their gratitude. They clapped her on the back, patted her shoulders, enveloping her in a tangle of limbs and breathless excitement. Each jostling touch pushed Ana’s discomfort higher, her instincts screaming at her to retreat from their well-meaning entrapment.

One man's voice cut through the din, as loud and persistent as a bell. "Didn't think we'd make it, not for a second," he said, beaming at Ana like she'd pulled him from the brink of death itself. "A miracle, it was!"

She wanted nothing more than to disappear, to let the smoldering remains of the street consume her along with the memories of the attack.

The village wore its wounds from the attack—charred wood and smoke-stained stone—but the expressions surrounding Ana were filled with something stronger than mere relief. She had recognized that look before, the hope that came before a certain disappointment. Her lips tightened into a thin line as she stared at the ground, scorched cobblestones mirroring the flickering light of dying fires. They believed they were safe now, that she had saved them. But in Ana's reality, she couldn't help but think that if she weren't a useless drunk, perhaps there wouldn't even be dead people. Safety was just an illusion that crumbled under the slightest strain.

The crowd continued to swirl, an overwhelming sea of thanks and fervor. Ana's mind buzzed with the urgency to escape. These people had no idea, no clue what it really meant to be marked, to be a target. Her hands trembled, slick with the blood and sweat of the fight. She shook them at her sides, hoping the gesture would dismiss more than just the viscera. "I didn't do it for you," she wanted to say, but the words never found breath.

“Ana!” Caden’s voice rose over the tumult, and suddenly he was there, earnest eyes cutting through the haze of bodies. The look on his face struck Ana like a physical blow.

Before she could speak, Caden blurted, “Let me learn from you.” His voice was raw, a mix of fear and admiration that tore at Ana’s resolve. “I want to be strong like you.”

Ana recoiled as if from a sudden heat. She hadn't expected his tenacity, not in the wake of such terror. “You almost died, multiple times.,” she retorted, crossing her arms as though to shield herself from the pleading in his eyes.

Caden’s desperation was almost palpable, his youthful face pinched with determination. “I don’t want to be helpless,” he insisted, his voice shaking but unyielding. “Please. I’ll do whatever it takes.”

She fought the urge to turn away, to flee from his sincerity as she had from the village's suffocating gratitude. His words stirred something buried within her—a memory of her own beginnings, of the hope and stubbornness that had driven her through the darkest times. But that hope had cost her everything.

"You saw what it takes," she said, her voice hard, masking the fissure in her resolve. “This isn’t a game, Caden.”

He held her gaze, unwavering. “I know. But I have to try. I can’t be like this anymore.”

Ana’s chest tightened, caught between the urge to protect him and the knowledge that she couldn't. Her life was a path of scars and betrayals, and she had no right to lead him down it. “Don’t be a fool,” she said, though the words felt brittle on her tongue.

Caden didn’t flinch. He stood firm, his persistence cutting through the charged air like a knife. Ana watched him, saw the fire of determination burning even brighter than the fires left smoldering in the village.

She snorted, dismissive, though her resolve had been shaken to its core. “You’re a stubborn kid,” she said, more to herself than to him.

Caden nodded, as if her words were all the encouragement he needed. The villagers' cheers mingled with the crackle of dying flames, an ambient symphony of relief and uncertainty.

Ana backed away, leaving Caden’s pleading stance and the chaotic gratitude of the village behind. Her heart was a war zone of its own, torn between the instinct to protect and the bitter knowledge of what protection truly cost. As she retreated into the night, her hands still trembled—not from fear or exhaustion, but from the growing certainty that she could not escape the path she had set, no matter how many times she tried to walk away.