Anguish

[Talia's POV]

We stepped inside, the heavy thud of our boots against the worn wooden floor echoing in the silence. The house was empty—eerily so. No quiet murmurs, no clatter of movement. Just stillness. Everyone must've been downstairs.

Rowan led the way to the back, where a rickety ladder disappeared into the basement below. One by one, we climbed down, the air thickening as we went.

The basement smelled of sweat, damp wood, and the faint traces of smoke from burned-out candles. As we reached the bottom, all eyes were already on us.

The room was dimly lit, scattered with old couches and makeshift bedding. Familiar faces greeted us—some with wary nods, others with the kind of exhaustion that words couldn't cover.

My gaze landed on Tobias first. The tension between him and Rowan was impossible to ignore these days. Once, they had been like brothers—inseparable, built from the same fire. Now, whatever they had left felt like a thin wire stretched between them, ready to snap.

His usual grin was absent, replaced by something heavier, something that made the lines on his face seem deeper. Even he wasn't immune to the weight of war. None of us were.

Next, my eyes flickered to Finn. He sat stiffly, fingers tapping against his knee, his jaw tight. His fight with Rowan felt like a lifetime ago, but its echoes still lingered. He could've walked out, but he had chosen this, chosen to stand with us.

But Cade's death had changed something in him. Maybe it had changed all of us. Revenge, his only reason to keep moving. A reason to fight.

Then there was Alicia, sitting with her arms wrapped around herself, her gaze flitting from face to face. She was pale—too pale, like she hadn't seen sunlight in days. The worry in her eyes was unmistakable, and though she didn't speak, the tension in her body made it clear enough.

She wasn't built for this, not the way the rest of us were, but she had stayed. Whether out of loyalty, fear, or something else, I didn't know.

Elias was the last one I noticed, though it was impossible to miss him—his gaze was locked onto mine, unwavering, sharp. He wasn't just looking at me; he was walking towards me.

When he finally reached me, his voice was calm, too calm for someone his age. "Talia, can we talk upstairs?"

I blinked at him, thrown off by the sudden request. "Of course… but why?"

"I'll tell you upstairs," he said, offering nothing more. His tone was steady, measured, like he'd rehearsed this moment in his head a dozen times before actually speaking. I saw Rowan glancing at us from the side, not saying anything.

A flicker of unease ran through me as we climbed the ladder, our footsteps heavy in the silence. The air up here felt different, thinner, as if we had stepped out of the underground shelter and into something more fragile, more exposed.

I turned to face him. "Alright, Elias. What's on your mind?"

He hesitated, his fingers tightening around his wrist like he was trying to hold himself together. Elias was always like this—timid, unsure, the kind of person who second-guessed every word before saying it. Even now, he looked like he wanted to shrink under my gaze, like he was bracing for an answer he wasn't sure he wanted to hear.

"Where did you go?" he asked finally, his voice softer than before, but with something behind it—something raw.

I felt my shoulders tense instinctively. "Why do you want to know?" I countered, my voice carrying a sharper edge than I intended. "Don't you trust us? Even your own brother?"

His breath hitched, just for a second, and when he met my eyes again, I saw it—real, undeniable emotion. Not just curiosity. Not just worry. Fear.

"Talia, it's not that… I just—" He exhaled, shaking his head as if frustrated by his own words. "I just want to know what's really happening."

His voice wavered, the cracks forming beneath the surface. "Rowan barely speaks to me anymore. The others… they won't even look at me. It's like I'm just—just some piece of luggage they have to carry."

His hands curled into fists, his jaw tightening as he swallowed back whatever else he wanted to say. I had never seen him like this before. He had always been the quiet one, the hesitant one, the one who clung to the idea of peace even when the rest of us knew better.

It wasn't because he was rational—he was just a kid, desperate to believe there was still a way out of this that didn't end in blood.

Seeing him like this felt like a fist tightening around my ribs, squeezing something raw and unspoken out of me. It was too familiar—too much like looking into a reflection of something I'd buried long ago. But Elias wasn't me. He was fragile in a way I refused to be. He wasn't built for this world, for the weight of blood and vengeance pressing down on his small shoulders. And yet, here he was, drowning in it anyway.

His breath hitched, and then the words tumbled out in a shaking mess, his voice barely holding together. "I—I'm scared. Terrified, actually. Of all of this. The fights, the blood, people dying. But mostly..." He choked on the last part, his eyes shimmering with unshed tears. "Mostly, I'm scared of losing him."

Rowan. He didn't say his name, but he didn't have to. It was written in every strained syllable, every crack in his voice. He was looking at me like I had the answer, like I could tell him something that would make it all hurt less. But I wasn't sure what to say.

Because deep down, I understood. More than I wanted to admit.

I had once been like him—small, afraid, clinging to hope in a world that had no use for it. And then, piece by piece, I had torn that part of myself away, left it behind in the dirt where it belonged. Weakness had no place here. And yet, staring at Elias now, I couldn't shake the feeling that maybe I had lost something important along the way.

I took a slow step closer, watching the way Elias tensed, his breath coming in uneven bursts, his fingers twitching like he wanted to reach for something—maybe for reassurance, maybe just to hold himself together. His eyes were wide, glassy with unshed tears, his lip caught between his teeth as if biting down would stop the trembling.

I exhaled, steadying myself before speaking. "Elias..." My voice was quieter than I expected, almost careful. He flinched at the sound, but he didn't look away.

"You aren't a burden. Or some piece of luggage we're dragging along." I waited, letting the words settle between us, watching the way his throat bobbed as he swallowed. His shoulders curled inward, but there was something in his gaze now—something desperate, like he wanted to believe me but didn't quite know how.

I took another step, close enough now that I could see the way his hands had clenched into his sleeves, gripping the fabric like it was the only thing keeping him standing. "You're one of us, Elias. Whether you realize it or not."

His breath hitched. I could feel the weight of his emotions pressing between us, thick and suffocating.

"This war..." I let out a slow sigh, shaking my head. "It's tearing all of us apart, even if we don't want to admit it." My chest ached at my own words, at the truth in them. "But Elias... you're stronger than you think."

His brow furrowed, a shaky exhale slipping past his lips, but he didn't speak. I could see the doubt, the fear, the way his body swayed like he was on the verge of collapsing under the weight of it all.

I reached out—not to grab him, just to anchor him, to let him know I was here. "Sometimes," I said softly, "you just have to keep fighting. Even when it feels like there's nothing left."

Elias blinked rapidly, his breath still uneven, and for a moment, I thought he might try to pull himself together, to force back the emotions that were spilling over. But instead, he moved—sudden and desperate—throwing his arms around me, gripping me like I was the only solid thing in a world that kept crumbling beneath his feet.

I stiffened at first, caught off guard by the sheer force of it, by how tightly he held on. But then I felt it—the way his small frame trembled, the way his fingers dug into my back as if letting go meant falling apart completely. My arms wrapped around him instinctively, pulling him closer.

And then he broke.

Choked sobs wracked his body, shaking him to the core, years of fear and grief and loneliness pouring out all at once. It was raw, unfiltered, the kind of crying that didn't care who heard. I swallowed hard, my throat tightening as I realized just how much he had been holding in.

Fuck.

I had been so caught up in everything—the war, the bloodshed, the endless fight to survive—that I had forgotten. Forgotten that Elias was just a kid. Just a twelve-year-old boy who had been thrust into a world that had no mercy for people like him. He wasn't built for this. He shouldn't have to be.

The war had taken so much from all of us, and here he was, desperately searching for something—anything—to hold onto.

His grip on me tightened, like he was afraid I might disappear too.

"T-thank you," he whispered, the words barely audible through the ragged breaths and quiet hiccups.

I held him tighter. No words, no reassurances—just this. A moment of stillness in a storm that had already taken too much from us.

My own thoughts twisted, dark and suffocating.

Was any of this shit really worth it?