Azura's wings sliced through the night air, her sleek silver form shimmering with moonlight as she descended on the camp like an omen.
She didn't cry out.
But Alejandro felt her before she landed.
The air turned cold.
The silence stretched taut.
Something had broken.
He was already strapping on his coat when her talons scraped the edge of his watchtower. When their foreheads touched in greeting, he knew- the meeting had happened. The vision had come.
Siobhan had gathered her forces.
They would strike not with fire alone, but with slaughter.
A night raid.
They would butcher every last soul in the sanctuary… unless Elena turned herself in.
Pregnant and all.
Alejandro's blood turned to ice.
By morning, the word spread.
Not through shouting.
Not through bells.
But through a thunderous, suffocating silence.
Mothers clutched their children tighter.
Fathers kissed their sleeping babies as if it might be the last time.
Young warriors gripped their blades until their palms bled.
Even the old healers and errant priests wept openly in the halls.
But it was Elena who felt it deepest.
That night.
She stood in the center of the cottage.
The air was thick with incense, sweat, and dread.
The serpent within her no longer whispered.
It commanded.
"You were not born to rest."
"You carry what they fear. That is your power."
"This is not martyrdom. It is reclamation."
Elena clutched her middle as nausea crashed over her.
The child stirred.
The gods churned.
And something ancient in her womb watched.
Across the room, Esperanza peeked from behind Aurora's cloak.
Her curls clung to her cheeks, cheeks damp with tears.
Her voice barely a whisper.
"That's… not Mami."
Elena froze.
The air collapsed inside her lungs.
That tiny voice, soft and trembling, was a blade driven straight into her ribs.
A thousand curses couldn't have wounded her deeper.
The serpent hissed in frustration.
But Elena… broke.
Later that night, she knelt by her daughter's cot.
The candlelight flickered.
Her hands trembled as she pressed a kiss to Esperanza's soft fingers.
"I'm sorry, mi cielo…"
"You deserve a mother who isn't haunted."
She packed little.
She kissed the tiny handmade dolly Esperanza always clung to at night.
She tucked it beside her pillow.
Elena then went to her bedroom. She placed a note on her pillow beside Niegal, heart lurching, written in ink fine shaky:
Forgive me. I vowed never to be a martyr again.
But I am the storm. And storms do not ask permission.
She didn't wake Niegal.
She couldn't.
Her hand lingered near his chest for a heartbeat too long.
His face, so calm in sleep, nearly unraveled her.
She left anyway.
The fog was thick that night.
Curling around her like fingers.
She stepped barefoot into the wet earth.
Her hair loose, wild.
The serpent on her arm glowing faint violet.
Her eyes like thunder.
She walked toward the sea.
Toward them.
Toward sacrifice.
Morning came.
Thin and cold.
Niegal stirred, half-asleep, his arm reaching across the bed for warmth.
But the blankets were empty.
Still warm, yes.
But no weight.
No scent.
"Elena?"
No answer.
He sat up, slower this time.
His hand touched her pillow.
The note.
Time collapsed.
The roar that came next shattered the mountain.
He burst from the cottage like a beast uncaged, eyes silver, teeth bared.
The Lion had risen.
He tore through the camp like a thunderclap.
He shattered the command tent with one swing of Marohu.
Maps flew.
Chairs cracked.
The ground trembled.
People ran.
Alejandro and Aurora heard him before they saw him.
But one soul did not run.
Esperanza.
She stepped barefoot into the ring of shattered debris.
Hair tangled.
Mana flaring.
The Lion turned toward her.
He snarled.
But she didn't flinch.
She walked straight to him—her tiny hand touching his leg.
The snarl died in his throat.
"Papi… stop."
And he dropped.
Knees to mud.
Claws digging into dirt.
His roar of grief cracked the sky.
Aurora ran forward.
Alejandro caught the note.
Niegal whispered, his voice shredded and bleeding:
"She's gone."
"She's… she's gone."
His chest heaved.
His hands shook.
Alejandro's jaw clenched.
He turned to the stunned commanders standing in the rubble.
"Then we march."
No votes.
No counsel.
No debate.
The army mobilized.
Weapons were anointed.
Banners were kissed.
Farewell letters folded into coat pockets.
The people left behind built pyres- just in case their warriors didn't return.
The sanctuary's storm had vanished.
But the Lion had awakened.
And no man, no god, and no priest of Yidali would stand in his path.