THE UNBROKEN

Snap.

Snap.

Snap.

Niegal did not cry out.

He breathed through it. Slow, controlled, eyes half-lidded, muscles clenched tight across his broad back. The skin had long since split open. Ribbons of blood painted his spine, flowing in thick, syrupy lines down to his waist. The scent of copper clung to the cold air of the Inquisition's hall.

The whip cracked again.

Snap.

He flinched, but still, no sound.

The mana cuffs glowed at his wrists, holding his arms stretched high above his head. His shoulders ached from the dislocation. Hemp twine, soaked in holy oil, dug deep into his skin, coiling around his biceps like thorns.

A priest-militant approached, murmuring scripture as he adjusted the chain. Another inquisitor whispered, "He doesn't feel it anymore."

But Niegal felt everything.

Every lash was a memory.

Every cut, a name.

Elena.

Esperanza.

Gone.

He had failed them.

That was the only truth left.

He welcomed the whip.

They tried words first.

"The rebel forces in Veracchia- how large are they?"

"Where are the hidden Children of the Storm and Lion caches?"

"Give us the names of the traitors in Parliament."

He said nothing.

His jaw stayed clenched, silver eyes vacant.

One inquisitor struck him across the face. Another backhanded him with a silver-plated Bible. His nose broke. His lip split. He still said nothing.

Then they brought the holy water.

It hissed as it touched his open wounds. The scent of burning flesh filled the chamber. His head snapped back-

And this time, he screamed.

It tore out of him like a beast reborn: raw and cracked and wrong. It echoed through the chamber, not as a lion's roar, but something less.

A man in pain.

A man utterly alone.

He screamed again when they doused him a second time. A third. Until his screams gave way to hoarse sobs. Until his body sagged like wet cloth. Until the only thing holding him upright were the mana cuffs and the ropes, gleaming red with blood.

Still, he spoke no names.

In the corner, Siobhan watched.

Unbothered. Unimpressed. Her gloved hands folded neatly across her lap. She remained seated on a marble bench, untouched by ash or agony.

At last, she sighed.

"Oh, for heaven's sake," she said, waving a hand. "He's useless like this."

The priests hesitated.

"I said drop him."

Mana flickered. The cuffs released.

Niegal fell like a stone. His knees struck the ground. He crumpled fully to the cold slab floor.

"Back to the dungeon," she muttered, standing and brushing imaginary dust from her cloak. "Let the legend of El Léon Negro rot like a dog."

They dragged him through the stone halls by the arms. His bare feet scraped against the floor, leaving smears of blood in his wake. The guards jeered, kicking at him, mocking his silence.

"Not roaring now, are you, beast?"

"Thought you'd eat us all, eh?"

"Look at him. Just a man. Nothing special."

They threw him into a cell.

Iron bars clanged shut.

He lay there, unmoving, face against the stone. The wound in his gut- Siobhan's knife- had reopened. Blood pooled slowly beneath him. His eyes fluttered, half-lidded. His breaths were shallow, ragged, and laced with a slow, dull death.

But none of that compared to what he couldn't feel.

The bond was gone.

No spark.

No warmth.

No silver thread between soul and soul.

Elena was gone.

He had felt it snap in the moment of the blast. Like a string pulled too tight, then violently cut. One moment, her presence had filled the air; salt and sage, the comfort of storms.

Then nothing.

The silence was louder than any scream.

He no longer felt the child, either.

Esperanza… her laughter, her light, her little breath in the world.

Gone.

The lion inside him had gone silent, too. No more growls. No more fire. No more fury.

Only… absence.

In the dark of the cell, time stopped.

He lay there. Day and night held no meaning. The pain was something distant now. Almost nostalgic.

He thought of her lips.

Her laugh.

The way she used to press her forehead to his chest, saying she liked the sound of his heartbeat.

And now-

There was no heartbeat that mattered.

He closed his eyes.

Let the cold take him.

Let the gods judge him.

Let her- wherever she was- forgive him.