At first, it was the familiar void.
Silent. Vast. Star-glittered.
She floated there, as she had so many times before. Weightless, ageless, caught between pulses of time. Peaceful.
But when the snake brand on her arm began to glow-
not warm, but searing brighter than it ever had before…
Elena awoke in chains.
Her arms hoisted high above her head, wrists bloodless and bound.
The floor was stone.
The air was damp.
The scent of blood, incense, and rot choked her lungs.
The Inquisition's questioning chamber.
She was younger.
No glowing scars. No serpent coils beneath her skin.
Just a young woman again.
And then she heard it:
"One hundred lashes. Then she can rot until the demon child is born."
Her stomach clenched. Her muscles tensed.
No.
She thrashed, metal biting into flesh, eyes wide and glowing violet.
No!
CRACK
The whip struck her back with all the hatred of the Church behind it. Her breath caught.
And suddenly-
she remembered.
This was a memory.
And she was no longer helpless inside it.
She drew breath, deep and knowing, and pulled-
The chains snapped from the ceiling with a sound like thunder.
Her eyes shone like twin amethysts struck by lightning.
And from her open mouth, molten rock spilled in a cascade of heatless, glowing lava. The inquisitors screamed. Burned. Died.
She did not scream.
She stood. And she killed them all.
When Seamus, dear gods, Seamus, burst through the doors like a bat out of hell, sword drawn, eyes wild-
She did not run to him.
She did not cry.
She hissed. She sneered.
Blink.
The carriage rolled. Metal crunched. Mana exploded.
The vehicle cartwheeled through the forest, flipped by a hidden mana mine.
Elena braced, a gaping wound in her arm. But this time-
No scream.
She reached for her bleeding flesh and cauterized it with a bolt of summoned lightning.
The moment her feet hit the ground, she vanished into the shadows of Puerto Cuidad's underground.
When Niegal found her and Seamus, both bloodied, barely breathing-
She didn't weep.
She turned toward him. Her eyes violet. Her mouth open.
And lava spilled forth again.
Blink.
She floated in the sky, high above the ruins of Windswept Manor. The air crackled. Her dress tore in the wind. Her eyes burned with divine fury.
Below her, Niegal lay broken on the earth, shrapnel in his side, barely breathing.
She thought he was dead.
And again, lightning poured from her fingertips.
Not for mourning.
But for retribution.
The Inquisition army was crushed beneath the wrath of the storm. She did not scream to the gods.
She was the god that answered.
Blink.
She was splayed out on sacred blankets, body taut, waves of pain breaking over her like oceanic thunder. Labor, days long. Her child fading.
She couldn't go on.
She felt her spirit teetering, slipping.
The Behike barked orders.
Niegal pressed to her side, holding down her arm, whispering:
"You are the strongest woman I've ever known. We'll do this together. Hold on…"
When the blade came-
When the cut began-
There was no gasp.
Only a familiar glow in her eyes.
And then her mouth opened. And lava poured forth, steam rising from her lips.
She did not resist.
She burned.
Because she must.
Blink.
Her hands were aflame with pain, skin blistering, cracked open by overuse of mana.
And still, she carved ward after ward into the dry earth to protect the civilians. The children. Her daughter, crying in Aurora's arms.
Her mouth opened. Lava spilled out, hot and divine. Her body cracked, but still she stood.
This was sacrifice.
This was her duty.
This was power beyond mortal understanding.
More memories, flooding.
The night the Lion claimed her beneath the stars that fateful first night in Port Clairy, and she whispered her trust in a god she could not control.
The mana bomb. The fire. The blackened sea.
Niegal. Esperanza.
And Phineus, sweet Phineus- gone in a flash of light.
Incinerated.
The lightning strike that healed Niegal when she offered her life in exchange.
And finally-
Port Clairy again.
The screams.
Her divine son torn from her.
And the torchlight rising to meet her chains.
Then…
she floated.
Peaceful again, but different. The void gone. She was deep beneath water.
Still. Glowing.
And from the black beneath her rose a giant.
Eyes like lightning. Body endless. The Serpent. Guabancex herself.
Elena did not run.
She bowed.
"I understand now," she whispered, breath steady despite the crushing pressure of divine presence. "You've been there from the start."
The snake hissed. A sound of confirmation.
Elena looked up.
"Well then," she asked gently, "what's the way home, Guabancex?"
The serpent opened her mouth.
And lava poured out.
Elena did not resist.
She let it consume her.
And she burned.
She awoke.
For real, this time.
Floating in the sacred waters of Coabey. Flowers circled her body. Sacred, wild, and bright. An offering. A crown.
She took a breath. A full, shuddering breath.
And her soul returned.
The Behike gasped first, scrambling to her side.
"Elena," she whispered.
She was pulled to shore with desperate hands.
Niegal knelt beside her, baby Phineus asleep on his chest. He looked into her eyes, wide and trembling.
She smiled, wide and tired and full of fire.
The pain still bloomed from her glowing pelvic scar. Her limbs ached. Her body was changed. Remade.
But she was back.
Niegal pressed a kiss to her brow, voice cracking.
"Welcome home."
His whole body shook with joy, tears streaking his face. He didn't ask how. He didn't question the gods. Not now.
She was back.
And that was all that mattered.
For now, at least.
The Lion purred deep inside him.
Elena leaned into his arms. Her snake brand shimmered bright on her arm, pulsing with warmth. Her scars glowed. She felt the serpent within her, awake and alive.
Not a burden. Not a curse.
A home.
Something still felt strange inside her. Not wrong, exactly. But changed.
Like she was more… than she had been.
And though she ached everywhere, one truth sat warm and sure in her bones:
She had returned.
And this time she would never forget who she was.