THE UNBROKEN

(For this chapter, I highly recommend playing "Flor Pálida" by Marc Anthony as you read)

That night, the Matteo forces celebrated their victory with fire and music; triumph carved out of blood, sacrifice, and sheer will.

A bonfire roared at the heart of camp, its flames licking the stars, its heat carrying with it the sound of celebration. People drank. Smoked. Laughed and cried in equal measure. Veterans of the last few days recounted their battlefield feats, their voices rising over clinking bottles and the soft strum of a guitar.

Elena sat on a flat stone just outside the ring of firelight, her eyes tired but sharp, her swirling scars gleaming faintly in the low amber glow.

She took a long drag of her lit cigarillo, the taste grounding her, the smoke a slow exhale of pain and memory.

She didn't realize how tightly she was holding the weight in her chest until a warm hand closed over hers.

Niegal.

"You shouldn't be sitting out here by yourself, cara mia," he said, crouching before her, voice gentle but firm. "Let's go join the ranks. You need a distraction, love."

She tried to protest. She wasn't in the mood, not entirely. But Niegal didn't wait.

He pulled her gently to her feet.

They approached the fire hand in hand. The crowd parted for them, the music slowing as if sensing the presence of its leaders. The guitar hummed. A trumpet joined in. A violin wept softly beneath it all.

Niegal took her waist with one hand, lifted her other with the other.

They danced.

Not like nobles. Not like rebels.

But like survivors.

Like lovers who had watched the world burn and found something sacred in its ashes.

They moved in rhythm, the way they did in battle. Seamlessly, wordlessly, as one. Their eyes never left each others, silver and garnet.

Niegal's lined sigil peeked through the collar of his loose shirt, glowing red-gold with slow, molten light. He smelled of smoke, and rain, and home.

Elena closed her eyes briefly, resting her head near his cheek, letting the moment seep into her bones as he stopped a moment to kiss up her arm.

The crowd around them murmured, then cheered blessings, whispered and shouted, to their Doña and her Lion. A few even wept. Some knelt in reverence.

But Elena and Niegal saw none of it.

Their eyes never left each other.

"I don't think we even got a chance to dance at our wedding," she said, breathless with a laugh, grinning as he twirled her mid-step and dipped her low.

"Then let's dance in peace together," Niegal whispered against her ear.

For a moment, the world melted away.

He spun her, again and again.

Her laughter echoed.

His eyes sparkled.

Her scars caught the firelight like sacred ink.

When the music stopped, they stopped, chests heaving with breath and memory, pressed against each other like it was as natural as the earth and sky.

And then they ran.

Back at their tent, they were already pulling at each other's armor. Kissing, moaning, gasping between buckles and straps.

They didn't even make it to the bedroll.

Niegal took her standing, pressing her against a tent post, one arm lifting her leg as he entered her in a single, slow, powerful thrust. She melted into him, moaning into his mouth, clutching his shirt with trembling hands.

Each thrust was a vow.

I'm here.

We're here.

We won.

Her back arched. He grunted her name like a prayer.

Then she flipped him, shoved him down onto the mat with a strength that stunned them both.

He gazed up at her as if it was the first time all over again.

Elena straddled him, her spiral scars glowing like ancient sigils across her thighs and shoulders. She leaned down, kissed him slow.

"My tempest," he whispered against her neck.

"My love."

She rode him. Slow, deep, reverent.

"Thank you for loving me, mi León," she breathed, lips brushing his.

His hands cupped her face, eyes soft even through pleasure. "I've been yours since the day I first saw you, mi Doña."

They made love until the candle burned out.

Until the bonfire outside dimmed.

Until the stars began to fade into morning.

Together.

Scarred.

Exhausted.

Alive.