The sun warmed the veranda as Aurora sat nestled into the shade, infant Vera bundled against her chest. The baby girl stirred softly, her breath warm and even, lashes fluttering over pale cheeks. Her hair was golden silk, her eyes bright blue-
Alejandro's eyes, Aurora thought with a smile, brushing a gentle kiss against her daughter's downy crown.
In the yard, four-year-old Esperanza was conjuring sparks with her fingertips, delighting in the pop pop pop of corn kernels bursting from their shells. She passed the freshly-popped treats to Phineus, now fourteen months and toddling about with curious glee. His laughter was bright, infectious, a faint purring hum rumbling from his chest like a baby lion.
Aurora giggled and accepted the handful of popcorn Esperanza offered her with a flourish.
"Gracias, mi amor," she said, voice lilting.
Phineus clapped, trying to mimic the word. Esperanza leaned over and kissed his cheek, her curls bouncing.
From inside, Alejandro stepped out, stretching his arms with a groan and sitting down beside his wife. His jacket hung open, papers under his arm from the latest council meeting.
"Still alive," he muttered with a grin, "though those damn nobles are trying their best to bore me to death."
Aurora snorted, resting her head on his shoulder. "You could've stayed retired."
"Retired?" He scoffed. "Not with a baby, a niece who can literally conjure thunderstorms if they don't like their lunch, and lion cub of a nephew."
They laughed together, soft and easy. His arm slipped around her waist as she shifted Vera into the crook of his elbow. He kissed her temple.
"It's good to be home," Aurora whispered, letting the quiet joy settle in her bones.
Elsewhere in the sanctuary, in the command chamber's stone heart, Elena and Niegal stood over a table scattered with maps, sealed scrolls, and half-read correspondence.
Their hands were intertwined beneath the table. Their expressions were unreadable.
Veracchia was healing, slowly, but not without scars. Since their departure from the capital, a power vacuum had fractured the old order. Some nobles clung desperately to their fading wealth and legacy. Some rallied under new banners, waving the sigils of the Matteos or the Children of the Storm. Civil war hovered on the edge of possibility.
Others whispered still:
"The gods walk among us.
And they have chosen no throne."
Neighboring nations sent diplomatic envoys, eager to anoint the divine couple as rulers, as symbols, as spiritual leaders. Some begged them to lead the Coabey Cemi Coalition into a new era.
An age of prosperity under the banner of the Storm and Lion.
Others burned their effigies and cursed their names.
There were even whispers of rising cults, dark sects invoking Elena and Niegal's names to justify blood rites and war cries.
Neither of them knew what path to take. The right thing wasn't always the clearest.
When the council finally adjourned, Elena stayed behind, leaning back against Niegal's chest. They stood at the grand window of the chamber, overlooking the city of Marisiana.
Once a hidden bayou trade town, it now bustled with gondolas and merchant boats weaving through the waterways. Boardwalks wound like rivers in the air above the marshes, carrying goods and voices and dreams. The markets bloomed with color. The towers of sanctuary homes rose like carved tree trunks into the sky.
Some even whispered Marisiana was becoming the new capital of the United Territories of Yidali.
The wind carried the scent of salt and citrus. Niegal held Elena closer, nuzzling her hair, the lion in him purring with contentment. She tilted her head back, smiling with a soft hiss as her serpent stirred with lazy pleasure.
"Whatever comes next," she whispered, brushing her lips against his, "we'll face it together."
He growled low in agreement, voice full of devotion. "Always."
She smiled. "Come," she said. "Let's go get the children."
Niegal's grin was all joy and pride and triumph.
"Gods, yes."
They walked out into the golden afternoon light.
Hand in hand.
Wife and husband.
Serpent and Lion.
Gods in mortal flesh.
Made divine and terrible.
And still… so beautifully human.