THE UNBROKEN

Niegal had long lost the ability to tell time.

He no longer knew if the light in the corridor was morning or mockery, if the cold that crept into his bones was from nightfall or the Church's spite.

It didn't matter.

Not anymore.

He no longer cared to live.

Not since the bond snapped.

Not since she disappeared from his soul.

He took the questioning in silence. Day after day- if they could even be called that. The Inquisition rotated out its priests like clockwork, but to Niegal, they blurred into one face: cruel, self-righteous, and eager.

His eyes stayed cast downward. He didn't resist.

Why would he?

This was what he deserved.

He had failed Elena.

Failed Esperanza.

Failed the people who once called him guardian, guide, brother, beast.

He failed the pride.

And so he endured. The beatings. The shackles. The holy fire. The blades blessed in Saintess Yidali's name.

He endured because he thought maybe, just maybe, this was the divine punishment.

Maybe this was justice.

They shaved his head during one of the longer sessions.

The knife was dull. They did it slowly.

A priest hummed a hymn as they dragged the blade over his scalp. Clumps of blood-matted hair fell to the floor like offerings.

Then they brought out the needles.

They didn't use ink.

They used carving irons- blades dipped in holy acid.

First across his chest:

EL LÉON NEGRO

Then beneath it:

BASTARDO

HERÉTICO

The words hissed as they ate into his flesh. The wounds bubbled. The smell of seared meat and sanctified oil filled the chamber.

He didn't scream.

Not until the holy water came again.

It burned like molten silver.

As they drenched his carved chest, something broke.

Not his body… his mind.

He reeled back, gasping, the pain opening a rift inside him.

And for a moment… he saw-

A beach.

Golden sand. Gentle waves. Warm sun on his skin.

And her.

Elena.

Alive. Smiling.

She stood barefoot, her spiral scars gone. Her hair wild in the wind.

Niegal's lips trembled. His arms shook as he reached for her, the chain on his wrist forgotten.

"Please," he whispered. "Don't leave me. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I miss you—I failed—"

"I'll always find you," she said gently. "Always."

He nearly touched her fingers-

And then-

Pain.

Real. Blinding. Immediate.

Holy water again.

The vision shattered.

He slumped forward, weeping. His hands trembled. His body was wreckage. But his tears were not for his wounds.

They were for her.

They were for the ghost he couldn't hold.

Above the chamber, unseen by the tormentors, a silver hawk watched.

Azura.

She tilted her head. Her keen eyes reflected the flame and blood below.

Then she spread her wings.

Without a sound, she vanished into the sky.

Days later…

A warship cut through the sea like a blade.

Its hull gleamed with ironwork and coabey engravings. Mana-banners whipped high above it- one the green-gold of the United Territories, the other, the blue-black sigil of the Coabey Cemi Coalition. Lastly, the banner of the House Matteo.

At its helm stood Alejandro.

His warcoat was soaked in sea mist. His eyes, once warm with laughter, had hardened into obsidian. He stood like stone, hand extended.

Azura circled once above, then landed.

The hawk perched on his wrist. Their foreheads touched.

A soft, wordless communion.

Beside him stood Aurora, cloaked in mourning. Her gown was dark as ink. Her eyes were red, rimmed with salt. Her hands trembled against the railing.

Not just from the cold.

From grief.

From rage.

Two sons destroyed by the Inquisition. She will have her revenge.

"…What is it?" Her voice cracked, soft as sea glass. "Tell me."

Alejandro turned, his jaw clenched.

"She found him," he said.

Aurora's throat bobbed as she swallowed back another cry. "Alive?"

A pause. Then: "Barely."

She nodded, eyes flashing in the dusk.

Behind them, the generals stood in silence.

"We don't have time," Alejandro said, voice low. "If we wait, he dies. If we hesitate, we lose what's left."

Aurora's lips trembled, but only for a heartbeat. Then steel returned to her gaze.

"So we push ahead," she said. "Scan the waters. Find the traps. We must reach the sanctuary of the Children of the Storm and Lion."

The assembled crew gave no shout. No battle cry.

Only a nod.

Only silence.

Grief had stolen their songs.

But vengeance would sharpen their blades.