THE UNBROKEN

The lightning had long since passed. The air no longer smelled of fire, ozone, or sanctity. Only scorched skin, burning herbs, and grief.

Elena's body lay still.

Glowing faintly, spasming no more. Her breathing, shallow and irregular, gave the illusion of life. But there was nothing behind her eyes. No storm. No song. No spark. Just silence.

Again.

La Señora Behike sat at her side, hands trembling as she worked feverishly with her healers, whispering prayers older than the known gods. Her voice cracked, old as the hills and thick with the knowing of death. Again, Elena's body was caught between worlds. Just like Arenavida. But this time, there had been no premonition. No signs. No time.

This time, Elena had chosen the sacrifice. With her own blood. For him.

And Niegal-

He screamed.

A guttural, broken, inhuman scream that tore from his throat, rattling the tent's wooden frame. He tore at his chest, ripping the fresh bandages free. Blood poured down his torso, too infected to clot. The pain didn't matter.

"NO!" he roared. "NO, NOT AGAIN!"

La Señora tried to calm him. Aurora tried to hold him. He shoved them both away, crawling to Elena's side, half out of his mind and bleeding fast. His body shouldn't have moved, and yet it did, sheer will dragging him across the cot to collapse against her.

She didn't stir.

"Elena, mi amor, please- " His hands found hers. Clutched them tightly, kissed her fingertips. "You promised me. You promised me you'd find me. Don't leave me now. Don't… " He let out a sob that cracked in his throat, hoarse and disbelieving.

When the generals entered to calm him, they found a scene of pure devastation: Niegal clinging to her hand, tears spilling down his hollow face, mouth trembling from silent pleading. The lion who once terrified Parliament now shivered like a broken child.

"I'll take it," he begged. "Please, gods, TAKE ME INSTEAD! She's the heart, she's the soul, not me- "

A healer tried to approach him. He snarled.

A real, animalistic growl rose from his chest.

The room fell still.

It was Aurora who finally nodded at the apothecary. "Do it. Before he kills himself."

They sedated him, barely. It took three full doses to force his body to sleep. His fever spiked immediately. Infection had settled deep in his bones, angry and dark. They feared he wouldn't last the night.

Still, he clutched her hand in his sleep. A grip even death wouldn't break.

The news spread faster than fire.

Elena Matteo, La Doña Guabancex, had fallen saving her love.

The camp went quiet in mourning. Across the Veracchian coast, vigils were held, each one sparked by rumors of the lightning, the screams, the unnatural silence. In the United Territories of Yidali, soldiers laid their weapons at shrines in her honor. The grief of the people was not loud, it was devotional.

But in Port Clairy, silence turned into panic.

More defectors left the Inquisition in the dark of night. Even holy men. Even commanders. Because if the storm goddess herself could fall, again, for love, then maybe they had it all wrong.

Back in the healer's tent, Aurora sat outside, arms wrapped around Esperanza's small frame as she wailed, inconsolable. The child had felt her mother disappear. Even with her magic gone, she knew.

Inside, Niegal slept in fragments.

Every time he stirred, he reached for Elena. Every time he touched her skin and felt the heat, but no grip in return, he wept harder than before. They didn't try to sedate him as often after that. They realized the heartbreak might kill him faster than infection.

He refused food.

He whispered constantly:

"Come back to me…"

"You promised…"

"Please, take me instead…"

Not even the Church had broken him. Not the whips. Not the brands. Not the holy water that ate through his skin.

But this…

This shattered him.

He loved her too much to survive this again. And yet still, he would wait.

If she was gone, then let him be the first to greet her in the next life.

And if she returned, by gods or ghosts, he would be waiting… hand in hers.