The city is doomed.

That’s the plain and simple of it, laid out for Rose in terms that she can see, even if Chen can’t. Yue definitely doesn’t see the moving pieces here: Yin’s Radiants, shining, glorious, arrayed in their invincible armors, even as their former allies fought desperately to stop them, but it won’t work, First of the Radiants [i]trained[/i] them, he did it too well, all for the conditional love of someone who wanted him to be static for her, a stone to lean against, a statue to display. The Pyre of Meaning, burning, burning, and she could fight Scales of Meaning to a standstill but not every one of her sisters, and when she realized Yue was on the field there would be a confrontation and there’s only two ways that goes, and how’s Hyra supposed to keep her safe from that? And Qiu, arrogant, correct, the thought of her smirk sending terror down Rose’s spine, the pitying glance, the “[i]oh. how cute.[/i]”

Everything is fallen apart and the Way’s withholding itself from her, she can’t feel it flowing through her, she’s too thick and heavy with love and desire and fear, and what is she supposed to do?

[i]They’ll tie her up and show her the coffin and this time it’ll be worse because back then she didn’t care about anyone they were all pawns or fuel or enemies and she struggled for the sake of freedom but they’ll shut her up and she’ll never ever ever see Chen or Yue or Hyra or Cyanis ever ever ever again stuck in the nightmares again for another eternity—[/i]

The Way isn’t here for her. But Chen is. Rosepetal follows because the alternative is falling apart, a helpless little coward on the edge of the battlefield, feeling the walls of the coffin close in all around her. She follows and she turns the fear into a kind of dirty fuel, enough to make her feet strong and her legs powerful for leaps and she doesn’t care how silly she looks being strong while dressed for softness, and her sword is a staff in her hands.

Crack! Crack! Anyone who even tries to come close to the blazing star shooting across the battlefield has something else to think about very quickly, and while she’s not here to put people in the ground she’s only barely holding back. Assault Ribbons are swatted out of the sky, spears held by peasant conscripts are shattered below the heads, and in the center of it Rose moves like the sort of creature she’s trying not to be.

But she has to keep up. She has to be the kind of monster that Chen will value. And so she spins that staff so fast that it hums a warning-song, and every crack is the percussion, every fall a thunderbolt, every rap against the earth enough to shake it.

The Way isn’t here for her. She chose the misery of desire, instead. So all she can do is follow Chen, her heart on a leash, and repay her for every tenderness she offered the Equal Of Crowns.

Stand before her, Pyre! Bar her way, Yin! Try to stop Chen, you hordes! Rose will dance with you instead, buy Chen a sky to fly in, even if it’s a fight that even Rose cannot win. It will be enough to lose slowly enough for her—

And to hope that, maybe this time, when they bury her, Chen won’t stop until she breaks the coffin open with her own dainty, gentle hands. That maybe she’s been good enough that one of her friends won’t let her stay down in the dark to outlive them all. That somebody will care enough for Rosepetal to save her, where they didn’t care to save the HUNTER-Class 猎犬.