The city council hall, though newly built and gleaming with polished wood and golden trim, already stank of sweat and desperation.
It was a grand structure with curved ceilings mimicking the rise of storm waves, meant to reflect the glory of the United Territories' new age. The age that Elena and Niegal had forged through blood and flame and sacrifice. The age their enemies had died to resist.
But peace, Elena had come to learn, had a scent too- it smelled like rot beneath perfume.
She sat in the central chair of the chamber, Niegal at her right side, listening to appeals that felt more like demands. Their titles were not spoken today. Not goddess. Not lion. Not destroyer of Inquisitors or protector of sanctuaries. Today, she was "Doña Matteo," and she was surrounded by people who wanted her to become something else entirely.
Behike.
The interim. The steward of peace.
Her fingers trembled under the carved table's edge, hidden by the dark folds of her dress. The air was thick and stale with incense, as if someone were trying to appease gods they no longer remembered how to worship.
One by one, nobles and military officers, plantation heads and trade ministers, rose and presented their cases, most with voices as oily as their smiles.
"Doña Elena, the people love you. The goddess chose you. The Behike's death has left a spiritual vacuum- who else could command the Children and the Coalition alike?"
"We beg you," another chimed in, "just until a new apprentice is trained. Months at most. A year. We cannot have instability again, not with the trade routes reopening!"
Elena said nothing. Her gaze remained steady, her jaw tight. Inside her, something vast and ancient began to stir.
"Chaos is not a cradle."
The voice of Guabancex slithered through her bones, more sensation than sound. Her blood throbbed with lightning. Her vision pulsed. The goddess hated this chamber, hated the polished civility of power wielded through whispers and deals. She wanted storms. She wanted truth.
"I am no healer. I am the flood. The wrath. The roar that swallows mountains. Say it, vessel. Remind them."
Elena's eyes darkened to violet. She stood.
The murmurs faltered.
She raised her hand.
"Enough," she said softly, but the chamber fell deathly quiet. Her voice didn't need to rise. It carried with it the weight of divinity.
She scanned the room, meeting the eyes of every man and woman who had spoken.
"Do none of you care what Guabancex herself has told me?"
Silence.
"I am not a priestess. I am not a mother of peace. I am not the Behike." Her voice grew sharp, slicing through the heavy air. "We are beings of chaos. We are the tempest. Our storms do not mend. They cleanse. Our fury does not soothe. It devours."
"And you would ask me to become the hand that binds the people into obedience?"
A Veracchian diplomat rose carefully, his sash marked with silver. Elena tilted her chin toward him, giving permission to speak.
"Mi Doña… precisely because of that is why we ask this of you. Not forever- never that. But you are beloved. Revered. The people fear the storm less when they know the goddess listens."
The room murmured in agreement. Too many heads nodding. Too many cowards clinging to the shadow of safety her name brought.
Another voice cut through, harder, colder.
A military woman, General Caela Meru, battle-scarred, her brow furrowed deeply, stood with arms crossed. Her voice was sharp as cut obsidian.
"Have you all forgotten what she did?" she demanded. "What they did? The storm and lion together leveled cities. Destroyed the Inquisition in two countries. Ripped a path of divine fire through the Church's last stronghold. You saw that as salvation? Fine. But what happens if she loses control now?"
Caela looked directly at Elena. "And what happens when your children grow into what you were?"
That silenced the room more effectively than anything else had.
It went on like that for hours. Circular arguments, desperation masked as diplomacy. Some demanded her installation immediately. Others called for a more extensive search for a true healer-apprentice. Some urged trial, compromise. Others, exile.
Elena sat through it all, barely breathing.
By the time the council was finally dismissed for the day, her temples pulsed with pain, and the serpent coiled violently in her chest. Everyone else had left. Only Niegal remained with her, his presence a steady warmth at her side.
She slumped forward, one hand pressed to her brow, the other clenched tightly in her lap.
"I can't do this," she whispered. "I'll destroy what she built. The Behike… she was born for it. Me? I'm just a- "
"You're not just anything," Niegal said softly, rubbing her back with calloused fingers. "You've always been more."
His voice was low, but not weak. There was no judgment in it. Only exhaustion, love, and a weight he too could no longer bear alone.
He hadn't told her how his nightmares were getting worse. Or how his chest pain was becoming harder to breathe through. Or how the lion had begun screaming in his dreams.
Instead, he gave her comfort, the only thing he had left unbroken.
"I'm afraid," he admitted, "we might not have a choice."
She looked up at him slowly, the pain behind her eyes blurring his handsome face more than her poor vision already did.
"…I think you might be right."
She reached out, fingers brushing his jaw. "Think you could teach me? Just a little of your healing magic?"
Niegal's eyes softened with bittersweet amusement, memories flooding through him. Bloodied knees. Sun on grass. Her young voice, curious and defiant, even then.
He leaned in and kissed her forehead, slow and grounding. The purring started in his chest before he could stop it.
"I think it certainly wouldn't hurt… but only if you promise to be a good student for once, mi Doña."
She laughed, low and tired. "Oh, enough," she murmured, shoving playfully at his chest. The tension broke like brittle glass. "At least I know you'll be with me through it all. I don't know how I could do this without you."
"You won't have to," he said, rising and offering his hand.
She took it, folding her fingers into his. He helped her stand, and they began walking down the candlelit hallway together, shadows stretching long behind them.
"I promised always and forever, didn't I?"
She grinned faintly. "Aye. You did indeed."
And outside, in the growing dusk, lightning whispered quietly along the horizon.