Esperanza ran until her lungs burned.
She didn't know where she was going, only that she had to getaway. Away from the wreckage. From the frightened stares. From her mother's eyes, watching her vanish into fog without a word.
The deeper into the city she ran, the quieter it became. The warm, lively chatter of the markets was gone now, replaced by silence and the distant slap of waves against the dock piers.
When she finally stopped, it was at the edge of the city. An old, forgotten wharf at the far eastern port, long since abandoned. The air smelled of damp wood and salt. A broken ladder descended into the tide, slick with seaweed. The storm clouds gathered above, but for once, they held their rain.
Her curls had fallen from their braid, swirling chaotically in the wind like a crown unspooled. She gripped her knees and sat on the top rung of the ladder, swaying slightly as the sea pulled in and out, in and out.
She wasn't crying anymore.
She just stared.
What good is all this power… if all I do is ruin everything I touch?
Lightning had always come easy to her. Magic wrapped itself around her bones like silk. But it wasn't gentle, or warm. It was destructive. Unforgiving.
She had tried to help, tried. But now all she could see was the woman clutching her injured child, the others pulling away from her hands, from her, like she was poison.
A gust of wind rattled the planks behind her.
Footsteps, quiet, almost cautious, approached. Esperanza turned, emerald and violet light already crackling at her fingertips, ready to defend herself.
It was him.
The boy from the promenade.
He walked as if approaching a wild animal, slow, steady. Not afraid, but not arrogant either. He sat beside her on the dock without a word, keeping enough distance to let her breathe. Then, from his pocket, he pulled a handkerchief and offered it to her.
It was clean. Soft. Simple white linen with golden thread at the corner.
She blinked and took it with a shaky hand, wiping her face.
"…That was incredible," he said quietly. His voice, smooth, velvet-soft, felt strange in a place so forgotten. "What you did back there."
She scoffed bitterly. "Hardly." Her fingers clutched the handkerchief, and then paused. The embroidery.
Swirls of wind in gold thread.
The mark of Guabancex.
Her breath caught. She turned to look at him fully now, studying the sharp line of his jaw, the way his black hair swayed in the breeze. He stared out at the water, not pressing her.
"I'm sorry," she said finally. "I didn't mean to snap. I just…" She sighed. "I don't know who I am right now."
He turned to her, dark eyes twinkling. "Esperanza Matteo," he said, smiling softly. "Daughter of the storm and the lion."
She huffed, brushing her hair back, flustered. "Everyone knows who I am. No one knows me."
He nodded, leaning back on his elbows. "That must be exhausting."
His words disarmed her more than anything else he could have said. As if he knew the feeling.
"…Yeah," she admitted. "It is."
"You're right to want to run sometimes." He nudged her shoulder gently. "But it won't solve everything."
She side-eyed him, wary. "And you know all about solving things, do you, mister…?"
He grinned. "I'm too young to be a 'mister,' no?" The glint in his eyes teased her without malice. "I'm Juan. Juan Ernesto. And yes… I'm new to Marisiana."
She relaxed slightly, a small smile tugging at her lips. "Alright then, Juan. Why are you here?"
He paused, the wind stirring between them.
"…I'm on a mission," he said simply.
Esperanza raised an eyebrow. "To do what, exactly?"
He leaned closer, his voice barely a whisper against her ear.
"To find the daughter of the vessel who is destined to become our queen."
The words landed like a hammer.
Esperanza's blood turned to ice.
She pulled away, staring at him like he'd struck her. "What… what do you mean? You're looking for-?"
"For you, Esperanza." His tone didn't change. Calm. Steady. But there was weight behind it. Truth.
Her magic began to crackle in warning. Tiny arcs of light sparked between her fingers.
And still, Juan didn't flinch.
"I know this is overwhelming," he said gently. "But I promise, it's not as insane as it sounds. I've seen what's coming. And you-" he looked at her, really looked at her, "you're the only one who can stop it."
He held out his hand.
"Come with me. I'll explain everything."
Esperanza turned to look over her shoulder. The city glimmered behind them, golden and distant. Her home. Her family. Her mistakes.
The guilt clawed at her chest, but beneath it… something stirred. Like a voice inside her saying: Go. Find what this means. Fix what you can.
She turned back to Juan. He hadn't moved.
She reached out slowly and took his hand.
That night, the bungalow was quiet.
Too quiet.
Elena and Niegal stepped through the door, their boots soaked, their clothes bloodstained and smoke-scented from tending to the wounded. They didn't speak at first. Just stood there, eyes locked, the silence pressing in.
Elena sat first, at the table in the center of the sitting room. Niegal followed, resting his hand on hers.
"Esperanza…" she whispered. "She's not here."
He didn't argue. He knew. He had felt her absence like a pulled tooth in his chest.
"She'll come home," he said softly. "When she's ready. We taught her well."
But Elena shook her head, the serpent inside her writhing in warning. "We taught her to face things. Not to run. This… this isn't her."
Niegal closed his eyes, a low growl vibrating through his ribs.
"She's scared," he said. "Something… is pulling at her. Calling her."
Elena gripped his hand tighter. "Something is coming."
He nodded slowly, solemnly. "Something neither of us can foresee."
The storm god and serpent goddess coiled inside their mortal flesh, awake now. Hungry. Restless.
Outside, thunder rolled faintly in the distance.
And far, far away, across dark waters and kingdoms unknown-
A cult lit their torches in anticipation.
Their queen had been found.