The morning mist clung low to the earth, curling like ghostly fingers across the scorched grass and blackened stones that once marked the boundary of the sanctuary.
Niegal knelt to kiss Esperanza's curls, damp with dew. She clung to him for a moment, tiny hands curling into the fabric of his coat, before letting go with a solemn nod too heavy for a child so young.
"I'll bring them back," he promised her. "Tu mami. Tu hermanito. You'll see. We'll be whole again."
She didn't smile. She didn't cry.
She just whispered, "Okay, Papi," and turned into Aurora's arms without another word.
At the wellspring of Coabey, the morning light bathed the grove in golden hush. The healing cart, blessed with embroidered wards and sanctified thread, waited beside the waters like a cradle for a queen. Or a reliquary for a saint.
Elena was already inside it, reclined against silken cushions, her hair damp with fever-sweat, eyes low but lucid. Her face was wan, but her arms strong where they held her son to her breast.
Phineus suckled greedily, cheeks round and flushed, his balled fist pressed just beneath her collarbone. Her body ached- gods, how it ached. Her breasts pulsed with heat, raw and overfull, leaking more than even her ravenous son could consume. The incision still wept from time to time, the fever gripping her like iron shackles.
But she did not flinch. She did not complain. The serpent coiled in her flesh and bone, watching. Guarding. Sustaining. Elena was grateful, and thanked her for the help.
Niegal approached quietly.
"Are you ready, mi amor?"
Elena turned her head with effort. A sheen of sweat clung to her temple, catching the morning light like liquid starlight. She nodded once, her lips barely lifting in a smile. The serpent hissed its contentment at the sight of her lion. The lion purred in return, deep and grounding.
He reached out to brush her cheek, kissing her brow reverently. Then, without fanfare, the cart began to roll.
The Behikes stayed behind, fading into the mist with their chants and sacred bundles. They would catch up by nightfall. They had no need to march in front. This moment belonged to the Storm and the Lion.
When the cart passed through the gates of the sanctuary, the camp fell to silence.
All work stopped. Every tool dropped. Even children stood still.
Then someone knelt.
Then another.
And another.
And then the cheers began. Quiet at first, as if reverence held their tongues captive. But reverence gave way to joy, and joy to celebration.
"¡Gracias a los dioses!"
"She returns!"
"La Doña Storm lives!"
"And the child, look! The babe breathes!"
Some cried. Others whispered blessings. Many simply reached their hands skyward, desperate for even a glance of their storm-wrought goddess, and the divine child in her arms.
Elena said nothing.
Her focus was on Phineus, who nestled against her as if he knew the weight of the moment. His silver eyes blinked slowly as he suckled, and for the briefest flicker… they gleamed garnet.
A low, soft purr escaped from the child's throat.
The crowd fell hushed again. Even the wind stilled.
Niegal walked beside the cart, hand braced gently atop Elena's as they passed the remnants of the sanctuary walls. She saw the charred trees. The broken stones. The crumbled towers.
She saw her daughter's storm, still echoing in the twisted roots and scorched ground.
Her breath hitched.
Niegal gave her hand a squeeze. His smile, soft, sorrowful, proud, was answer enough.
The cart stopped before their cottage.
One of the few structures still standing. Blessedly untouched by storm or siege. Elena tried to rise. Her body protested with fire and shivering. Niegal was there instantly, helping her down, bracing her against his chest as he lowered her into the old wooden chair by the hearth.
She winced. Every inch of her ached.
And then-
"MAMI!"
A streak of wild curls and tiny feet burst through the door.
Elena's heart froze in her chest. She looked up.
Esperanza stood at the threshold, eyes wide, cheeks blotchy with tears already shed. Her little fists balled at her sides. She stared at her mother like she was seeing a ghost. Or a goddess.
Elena opened her arm, the other cradling Phineus close. "Come, mija," she said softly. "I've missed you. Come meet your baby brother."
The toddler ran.
She flung herself at Elena's waist, wrapping small arms around her. Elena gasped at the sharp twinge in her incision, but her hand came down anyway, smoothing her daughter's hair, pulling her in close.
"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry-" Esperanza sobbed into her lap.
"There's nothing to forgive," Elena whispered, kissing her daughter's forehead again and again. "I'm here. We're home."
Phineus stirred and cooed in his sleep, tiny fingers curling. His sister peeked up, eyes wide, then rested her cheek on her mother's thigh to listen to his heartbeat.
Niegal joined them, kneeling beside the hearth, wrapping them both in his arms.
"We will protect the pride," the lion rumbled beneath his skin.
And for once, Niegal did not resist.
"Sí," he whispered. "Always."
The serpent within Elena curled, content.
Later, when the fire had dimmed and Esperanza was asleep in her mother's lap, Niegal sat beside her quietly.
He stared at the fire for a long while.
Then, softly:
"You didn't tell me. About the name."
Elena blinked, heavy-lidded but alert. She reached for his hand, lacing their fingers together.
"I know. I didn't know how to say it." A pause. "I wasn't sure if I was going to survive the birth. Or the blade. Or the gods."
Niegal didn't speak, but he didn't pull away.
"I named him Phineus," she said slowly, "because I wanted the world to remember your brother. I wanted him to live again, through something sacred. Not just as another lost body on the shore. He died trying to bring us home, Niegal. I wanted our son to carry that purpose with him."
Her voice trembled.
"I didn't mean to reopen the wound. I meant to honor it."
He turned toward her, eyes burning with unshed grief.
"You did both."
She nodded. "I know."
A long silence.
Then he leaned forward and kissed her temple, breathing in her warmth.
"Thank you," he murmured. "For remembering him. For giving our son a name born of fire, and not fear."
Phineus cooed softly in his sleep, nestled between them.
And in that moment, even the ache felt holy.
The Behike had warned them: the cursed flesh may not let her bear another child. Elena's womb had barely survived the cutting. Her milk would eventually slow, but her strength would take time to return.
But for now…
They were together. Whole. Alive.
And in the flickering firelight, the first warmth of the new era began to settle over the house of Storm and Lion.