THE UNBROKEN

The wind rolled softly across the swamp, stirring the dark water like breath against a sleeping lover's skin.

Above the floodplains, the stilted stronghold murmured in the night, wood groaning beneath the weight of memory, of time, of secrets whispered too long in silence. Beyond the lantern glow of the campfires, past the platforms where families dozed and soldiers sharpened blades in the dark, Elena knelt in ritual.

She had chosen the western edge of the marsh for its solitude; where fireflies blinked between the low-hanging moss, and the scent of salt and water clung thick in the air. A place once used for fishing and burial rites. A place where the veil had always been thin.

Tonight, it would serve as a temple.

A circle of salt ringed her knees, gleaming like crushed bone beneath the moonlight. Before her, two candles burned low:

One black, carved with the name Seamus.

One white, marked with her own.

A single red cord looped around both. Bound in wax and memory. Tight with will.

Elena took a long drag from her cigarillo, her personal blend: earthy, bitter, laced with blue lotus and sacred chamomile. The smoke curled in her lungs, familiar, grounding, before she exhaled across the candlewicks. The flames danced in greeting, flickering brighter, as if recognizing her breath.

Her eyes shimmered- not only from magic, but from the strain of the goodbye she was about to utter.

She held the old letter in her hand; folded and unfolded too many times to count. Seamus's handwriting.

Love. Regret. Dreams of a life they almost had.

She didn't need to read it again. She already knew every line.

Still, when she lit the corner with the candle flame, she could've sworn she heard the wind whisper her name.

It brushed her ear like a final kiss.

A single tear fell.

The letter curled into ash.

She let it crumble in her palm and scattered the dust into the wind.

Then came the chant, spoken softly, between clenched teeth:

"By ash and salt, by flame and thread,

Unbind the cords of the living and dead.

What was tied by love, I now release—

Let sorrow burn, and grant me peace."

The words hung in the air, ancient and deep. Glyphs bloomed from the smoke. Red,

glowing, singing quietly in a language only the stars remembered. They hovered above the candles like firebrands, then faded one by one into the breathless stillness.

Elena leaned back, sweat collecting at her brow, her breathing shallow. She watched the flames burn the candles lower. The red cord hissed as the wax reached it-

then snapped.

The sound echoed. Final. A breaking of old ties.

And then… she felt it.

A tearing. Not of flesh, but something older. Deeper.

A part of her heart, long-bruised and clinging, ripped free.

She gasped softly, hand pressing to her chest.

Not pain.

Not exactly.

But it was real.

It left her lighter.

Hollow in one place.

Fuller in another.

A gust of wind kicked up from the east-unnatural. Strong.

The flames did not extinguish. Instead, they arched backward, as if bowing toward her. The fire crackled with a note that sang. The air shimmered. The storm goddess was watching.

Guabancex approved.

A shimmer in the water's reflection drew her eyes skyward, yet there was nothing above.

No, it was within.

She closed her eyes and saw it.

A vision rose behind her lids. Vived, molten, divine.

A vast field, scorched and blooming. Lightning dancing across clouds like veins of violet. And at the crest of a distant hill:

A great lion.

Black-maned. Golden-furred. Silver-eyed. His mane moved with the wind like a banner of war and resurrection. He did not growl. He did not charge. He simply watched her, patient and regal.

Her breath caught.

The lion bowed his head. Not in submission, but in recognition.

In that instant, she knew.

Seamus was not the end of her story.

He was a chapter. A flame.

But Niegal was the forge.

Her Léon Negro. Not just a title, but a soul-deep truth.

The lion faded slowly, burning into the blackness like a comet.

When Elena opened her eyes again, the air felt thinner. Clearer. As if something immense had passed through and left the world cleaner in its wake.

She raised her fingers to her lips, kissed them, and sent the gesture skyward.

A farewell.

A blessing.

A release.

"Goodbye, Seamus," she whispered.

"You were my love.

But I am alive. And it is time to live."

Her spiral scars shimmered faintly beneath the moonlight, green and gold threading softly beneath her skin like veins of light. The last curl of smoke twisted upward and vanished.

Then, the wind stopped.

No more whispers.

Only peace.

She rose to her feet slowly, boots soft against the creaking wood. The platforms swayed gently above the marsh, like trees in a windless forest. Each building raised above the waters like ancient sentries.

In the near distance, her home waited.

A quiet bungalow, built with care and love and the blessing of a grateful people.

Through the slats in the wooden walls, a soft amber glow flickered. Home firelight.

Elena opened the door gently.

And there they were.

Niegal lay sprawled across the bed, one strong arm curled around their sleeping daughter. Esperanza slept with her mouth open slightly, her dark curls a halo against his chest. Niegal's face was calm. Peaceful. The tightness around his mouth gone, the shadows beneath his eyes softened.

For once, there was no burden in him.

Just a man.

A father.

A partner.

Built by war. Softened by love.

Elena stepped closer, her heart aching with a gratitude that felt like prayer.

This is what it means to stay.

She slipped quietly into bed beside them. Niegal stirred, barely awake, and instinctively wrapped both arms around her. He pressed a soft kiss to her hair without opening his eyes.

Elena smiled and kissed his bicep, curling into the warm space between his body and their child.

This was her favorite place in the world.

Here, in the crook of his arm, beneath the weight of love and the rhythm of their child's breath.

She exhaled.

And let the ghosts rest.

Let the past be ash.

Let the future be flame.

The first threads of dawn slipped through the slats in the window, painting gold across the wall.

And this time…

she was ready.