Whispers echoed like wind through reeds.
"Elena is gone."
"La Doña vanished."
"They say the Lion roared, and the Storm vanished in grief."
The disappearance of Elena sent a shudder through the sanctuary. The camps fell into a reverent hush. No children laughed, no swords clashed, no prayers were said aloud. Even the fires burned lower, as if mourning.
People went about their business, but more slowly. Every gesture carried the weight of a thousand unsaid fears.
At the hearths, the women spoke softly. Mothers with babes swaddled to their breasts looked toward the jungle and clicked their tongues. "He chased her away," one murmured. "Goddess or no, you don't speak to a pregnant woman like that. Not when she's grown life from ruin."
"She needed tenderness," another agreed, braiding her daughter's hair. "She needed to be held, not scolded."
Some of the soldiers nodded grimly, others remained silent. Niegal had their respect. He bled for them, led them- but this? This was something else.
"It's war," Alejandro said flatly, his injured arm still bound. "He was scared. Doesn't make it right… but fear makes fools of gods and men alike."
Others weren't so forgiving. "He raised his voice to the Serpent, herself. And she wept."
The consensus was clear: the goddess had been driven out. Not by the Inquisition. Not by curse or flame.
But by the one who claimed to love her most.
Niegal had not moved.
The wellspring of Coabey shimmered beneath the moonlight, black as obsidian, edges lit only by the soft green glow of moss and spirit-fire. It was a sacred place. A passage. A pool where the unborn chose to become flesh, where the dead whispered their last wishes to the water.
He sat by its edge, knees drawn to his chest, claws pressed to the cold mud.
The lion within him growled, not in rage- but shame.
You broke her.
She needed your strength and you gave her judgment.
She cried for help and you gave her your back.
His claws dug deeper into the earth, breath shuddering. He didn't cry. He wouldn't. But the agony was written into every line of his body, every tremble of his shoulders.
The goddess was gone.
The woman he loved, her light, her fire, her storm, gone.
No serpent. No storm. No wife.
Just the echo of his failure.
Señora Behike came quietly.
The jungle parted for her, soft leaves rustling like prayers. She made no announcement, no chant. She simply walked barefoot to the wellspring and knelt beside him, folding her hands in her lap.
Niegal didn't look up. His hair was wild, his skin streaked with dirt. His body was still half-transformed, tail curling in the mud behind him.
He was a prince of beasts brought low.
"I should have kept my mouth shut," he muttered. "I should have held her."
Señora Behike placed a wrinkled hand on his shoulder, firm but kind.
"You should have. But gods err too, mi hijo."
The jungle hummed.
"She was crying because her child feared her," he said hoarsely. "Because the power growing in her outpaced her body. I thought… if I reminded her of who she was, she'd find herself again. But I only reminded her of the prison her power's become."
"You forgot that she is not yours to mold," the elder murmured, her voice like gravel wrapped in silk. "She is Guabancex now. And she is still Elena. You must hold both truths, or you hold none at all."
Niegal's breath caught.
"She's more than my wife now," he said. "She's a goddess. And I…"
"You are her lion," Señora Behike said. "You are the only one who can survive the storm. You must go after her, into the storm itself, and prove you still deserve to stand beside her."
He nodded once.
Then, without a word-
He dove.
Not a splash. Not a ripple. Just gone.
The waters swallowed him whole.
Señora Behike bowed her head and began to pray.
She would stay, night and day, until they returned.
If they returned.