No horns sounded.
No heralds cried.
No one announced their return.
And yet, the moment Niegal stepped from the tree line, his body drenched in sacred water glowing faintly with divine light, his arms curled protectively around the lifeless form of Elena, the entire camp fell into silence.
Not a single soldier moved.
Not a child dared speak.
Even the wind stilled, caught mid-breath.
The jungle, thick with storm-washed earth and godlight, watched and waited.
Niegal's boots sank into the mud, the blessed waters of the Wellspring of Coabey dripping from his matted hair, from his shoulders, from her limp fingers. Every drop that touched the earth shimmered briefly, glowing like fallen stars in the dirt. The path behind them lit like the tail of a comet. Brief, burning, and unspeakably sacred.
No one approached. No one dared.
Instead, one by one, they knelt.
First the guards at the outer wall, pressing hands to their hearts as they bowed. Then the healers. The sanctuary sisters. The old warriors. Even the children sensed it- this was not a moment for sound.
This was a funeral.
Or a resurrection.
Even Alejandro, still healing, stood beside Aurora in silence, watching the man once called El León Negro carry his storm-wracked goddess from death itself. They both dropped to one knee without a word.
A soldier whispered, "She's returned…"
Another, breathless: "The storm has slept."
And another, through shaking sobs: "He brought her back… from the depths…"
Niegal heard none of it.
His world had narrowed to the unbearable weight of her in his arms.
To the ragged breath in his chest.
To the faint, unrelenting pulse of life beneath her swollen skin.
A child. A consequence. A blessing. A curse.
A god still forming.
He didn't remember pushing open the cottage door. Only the creak of old wood under his boot.
Only the stillness.
Only her.
He laid her gently on their bed. Every motion reverent. Careful. Terrified. Her skin was ice. Her hair clung to her face. The sacred waters still shimmered on her arms and legs, steaming slightly in the air.
He wrapped her in blankets. Dried her slowly. His claws shook. His breath stuttered.
She didn't stir.
He tucked soaked curls behind her ear with fingers that had killed for her. Prayed for her. Failed her.
His voice cracked.
"Please," he whispered. "Please open your eyes."
Nothing.
He sank beside her, his knees hitting the floor with a dull thud. His forehead pressed to her hand, which lay cool and limp on the bed.
"I found you," he choked out. "Both of you. I followed you through hell, and I… I'm so sorry. I should've held you. I should've loved you better. Please come back."
And then-
A sound.
Not a gasp. Not a cry.
Just a breath.
A deep, trembling breath, like someone waking from drowning.
She exhaled like the dead letting go.
Her eyes fluttered open, slow and uncertain, pupils like full moons in seas of violet and crimson. She blinked. Once. Twice. The light burned. The colors were wrong.
The ceiling… wasn't the last thing she remembered. Neither was the room. Or the bed. Or the weight in her womb.
Her body ached. Like it had carried the sea itself inside her.
Her limbs trembled. Her fingers curled like they were unfamiliar.
And her belly- oh gods.
She looked down, saw the curve of something impossibly large and pulsing beneath her skin.
She gasped, but no sound escaped.
Her eyes found him.
Niegal.
Blurred by tears and light, his face was streaked with dirt, blood, and devotion. And yet he looked like the storm had broken him.
She flinched. Just slightly.
The lion within him growled. Low. Wounded. Protective.
"I'm sorry," Niegal whispered. "So sorry. I didn't mean it. I should've held you. I should've listened. I was scared. Gods, I was so scared."
He sobbed, and the room felt too small for his pain. His claws scraped against the wood as he bowed lower.
"I broke us. I thought I lost you forever. And now… I don't know what they want from us, what this child is, what we've become."
She lifted a hand. It shook like a leaf in wind. But she touched his cheek.
"Niegal…?" she rasped. Her throat felt flayed raw. Her lips were cracked. Salt still burned her eyes.
She looked around. Her body felt alien. Her mind fractured. Her memory fogged.
"I was just… floating," she whispered. "Then I woke up. And now I'm home… how?"
He didn't answer. Couldn't.
He only pressed his forehead to hers, breathing her in, like scent alone could anchor him.
"I love you," he murmured. "I never stopped. I swear it. Please… forgive me."
Her thumb brushed his jaw. A silent answer.
Then her eyes dropped again to her stomach. Her eyes widened. Trembled.
She said nothing.
Inside her, the serpent stirred, uncoiling slightly in warning.
Speak, vessel.
SAINTS WILL RISE OR FALL ON YOUR WORD.
But Elena did not speak.
Not to the gods. Not to the man she loved.
Not to herself.
Instead, she whispered only inside her soul:
"No, Doña Serpiente. This is my choice now."
And for the first time, the serpent was quiet.
She kept stroking Niegal's cheek as silent tears fell.
Grief. Awe. Resignation. Love.
Outside, the camp still knelt.
No one rose. No one moved.
Because they felt it-
The storm had returned.
But it had not risen.
Not yet.
And gods help them all when she finally did.