The empire thinks desolation is final. That when they left us to ruins, we would kneel in the ashes and proclaim them sovereign. That we'd bury our heads within the folded palms of our prayers, and beg still for a mercy that will never come. I remember what it used to be-when the dawn poured through steepled stained-glass, bathing libraries in hues of ruby and citrine. When ivy crept along cobblestone sanctuaries, and a choir of birds flooded the air with a warbling song. Indeed, I remember well a life so vivid. I remember, too, the day it was stolen from us-a world wrenched away from beneath our feet. Pine trees blazed through the night like torches of some vengeful deity. Structures collapsed, and the unmistakable sigh of steel against steel stole the very breath from my lungs. And when the sun broke free of the horizons's chains, all that remained were drifts of ash. That was the day fury sparked a hole in me. That was the day I fed it flame. The resistance is more than the thrust of a sword or the cry of a loosed arrow. It's the weapons of words, of imagery, of a fury refusing to let the Empire's victories make desolate this realm. They forgot something vital. Ruin in not emptiness. It is space. And space is where new worlds begin. I am an elf with ink-stained fingers and ash-dusted boots. Artisan, the empire calls me-decorator, archivist, yet that is only the cloak of what lies beneath. The rebellion sees me as something else. For I restore what the empire tries to erase. In cracked walls, I paint forests and wildflowers. In the rubble of courtyards, I sketch what happened here and what is yet to come. The future of my peoples. I leave behind a whisper the Empire cannot hear. Hope, hidden in plain sight. The single spark is all I need for the embers of our insistence to gather. For the flames of my people to burn once more. For that hope to become the beacon of light that pierces through endless dark. Even in ruin, defiance remains. - From the recovered manuscript The Painted Phoenix Year 112 After the Felled Winter. Transcribed by Archivist Alyssa Murillo