THE UNBROKEN

The morning broke quietly.

Elena and Niegal walked side by side down the winding path, their fingers grazing now and then—but never quite lacing. Never holding. Not yet.

They hadn't spoken much since rising with the first light of dawn. But when Elena asked, in a soft and almost broken voice, for Niegal's help to strap her armor… he obliged with gentle hands.

Neither of them said much.

But the gesture, brief, warm, necessary, said enough.

They had a destination.

They were determined to reach the ruined estate before nightfall.

But between each step, Elena thought long and hard about what came next.

There was something different now.

Something the bite had awakened.

She wasn't ready to speak it aloud, not yet. But deep in her bones, in the hush of her blood and the quiet hum of her scar, she knew:

She was bonded.

Not just to Niegal, but to the beast within him.

She still carried bruises and the ache of memory.

But in her soul, she felt it clearly. Something had shifted. And she didn't fear him.

Not really.

She feared losing control. She feared the way he made her want to surrender.

They marched for hours in near silence, only the wind rustling through the jungle trees and the distant rumble of thunder far, far behind them.

As the sun hung high, Niegal paused.

He turned his head, drawn toward a crumbling ruin nestled just off the main road.

What had once been a chapel now lay sunken into the earth, its bones consumed by nature. Vines crawled up its worn stone like ivy tattoos, and trees had sprouted through the broken roof, offering shelter in the sacred hush of decay.

Something in his blood stirred.

A pull.

A whisper not of words, but of instinct.

Go now.

Elena followed.

She, too, could feel it, the thick pulse of old mana, lingering like incense in the air. As they stepped through the threshold, her breath caught.

The ruined church had been consumed by beauty. Wildflowers bloomed where pews once stood. Birds nested in the crevices of what remained of stained glass. Light filtered through the vines like colored flame.

For the first time that day, she smiled. Just a spark. Just enough to remind Niegal of who she truly was.

But then he saw it.

A glint. Silver, hidden beneath a dense curtain of vines near the altar.

"Elena," he said softly, pointing.

She snapped her fingers without hesitation.

The vines withered into ash.

There it was.

Half-buried in moss and dust, resting in a cradle of stone: a long machete in an ornate sheath, its hilt carved from quartz and bone. The blade, silver, cloudy, roiling with the illusion of trapped mist, hummed with magic.

Niegal stepped forward, breath shallow. As he lifted the weapon, a breeze stirred through the ruin.

And in that moment, they both saw it.

A vision.

Niegal's ancestor, Sotomatteo, stood tall amidst a battlefield, wielding the blade now in his hands. With every strike, it called forth winds that bent trees and sent enemies flying.

Beside him stood Yidali, her own obsidian blade, the Blade of Boinayel, cleaving through the chaos like lightning through rain.

Together, they fought as one.

Together, they did not stop until the battle was won.

And when the last body fell, they turned to each other and embraced.

Niegal blinked and nearly dropped the weapon.

The vision faded. The wind died down.

Elena, breath caught, stared at him. "It makes sense now…"

Her blade, the Blade of Boinayel, hummed softly at her side, as if recognizing its twin.

"That blade," she whispered, voice filled with reverence, "It's a gift for you. From the gods."

Niegal nodded slowly, unsheathing it to admire the silver storm within.

He didn't speak, not at first. Then:

"Marohu," Elena breathed. "It's the Blade of Marohu. I remember now, the Behike told me about it when I earned Boinayel's blade."

"Marohu," Niegal repeated, testing the name like it belonged to him. "God of Wind and Father Sky…"

He didn't smile. He simply strapped it to his back, reverent and silent.

"We should keep moving," he said at last. "We're still half a day out."

Elena nodded.

And together, they walked out of the ruin.

They remained side by side.

Still close.

But the distance between them was quietly unbearable.

Niegal felt the beast inside him stir. Not with desire, but with grief. It knew what it had almost cost him.

Elena walked on, jaw set, her blade heavy at her side.

And though the day was sunny, the air still smelled of rain.

Behind them, the sky rumbled.

Far, far in the distance… thunder.