Phineus was clever.
Not in the sly way children often were, but in the quiet, measured way of those born under a shadow they refused to live in. At seven years old, he carried himself with a solemnity far beyond his years. Stoic, sharp-eyed, observant. A boy carved of silence and steel, though he still slept curled beside his sister's old shawl when the nightmares came.
He had always loved Esperanza.
She was his sun. His fiercest sparring partner. The one who used to braid flowers into his hair and whisper stories in the dark, promising they'd take the world together one day.
So when he saw her, his Esperanza, walking alongside a stranger he'd never seen before, his chest clenched with something cold and certain.
This isn't right.
The boy was older. Taller. His hand brushed hers more than once as they walked side by side. Phineus's mana flared in warning- green and violet, sharp as a blade. He did exactly what Tío Alejandro had taught him.
He vanished into the shadows.
Silent. Hidden. Focused.
He followed.
They weaved through alleyways, far from the main roads, avoiding the usual ferry piers and guards. Phineus kept to the rooftops when he could, ducked between crates when he couldn't. The boy said little, but Esperanza listened to him, her head tilted in that way she did when something fascinated her.
It wasn't until they reached the far eastern docks, where derelict trade ships once sat rotting, that Phineus realized where they were going.
A shrooner sat moored there. Low in the water, long and lean, with black sails that bore no flag. Its hull was silent. No dockhands, no trade sigils. It belonged to no nation.
Phineus crouched low, his breath caught in his throat.
Pirates. Outlaws. Cultists.
He watched as Esperanza hesitated at the base of the plank.
She looked back.
Just once. Her eyes scanned the alley behind her, lingering on the fog. Her fingers trembled… but the boy reached out his hand again, smiling with a softness that seemed rehearsed.
And she took it.
They walked up the ramp together. Onto the ship.
Gone.
Phineus stood frozen. Blood roaring in his ears. His whole body tensed, aching to run after her. To throw himself onto the ship. To scream.
But it was already pulling away.
He turned and ran.
Elena sat at the kitchen table, hands curled around a cup of cold tea, Niegal beside her. They hadn't touched their food. Neither of them had said much since returning home. Their bodies still hummed from the day's magic. The healing, the panic, the grief.
But now it was quiet. Too quiet.
"Phineus should have been back by now," Elena said, voice low but tense.
Niegal nodded, closing his eyes briefly to focus. He could feel their son's mana nearby, flickering like a candle caught in wind.
And then-
Phineus appeared in the center of the room, shadow magic peeling off his shoulders like smoke, eyes wide, chest heaving. His curls were damp with sweat, and he looked utterly, heartbreakingly small.
"Mama… Papa…" he gasped, his voice cracking. "I think Esperanza's making a terrible mistake."
The air dropped.
Niegal was kneeling before him in a blink, hands steady on his son's shoulders. "Show us, mijo," he whispered.
Phineus nodded, lips trembling.
Together, they flew.
The three of them reached the docks where the ship had been.
Nothing remained.
No sails. No ropes. No crates. Not even footprints. Mana twisted in the air like mist left behind by an enchantment. It smelled of copper and salt. Whatever magic had cloaked the ship, it had been precise. Intentional.
They were gone.
Niegal roared.
It tore through the night, beast and man braided together in anguish. His fangs bared, breath heaving. The dock boards shook beneath his boots.
Elena dropped to her knees.
Her hands clawed at the air as if she could catch the magic still swirling above the water. Her spiral scars ignited across her arms and throat, glowing with the fury of the storm. The blade of Boinyanel shimmered to life on her back, humming with divine wrath.
"No," she whispered. "No, no, not again-"
Her voice cracked.
She reached forward helplessly, tears staining her cheeks. "NOT AGAIN!"
A crowd began to form from a distance, too afraid to come close. The goddess of storms radiated devastation. The lion's fury rumbled through the earth.
Phineus stood frozen between them, tears sliding down his face. His little hands were clenched into fists so tight they turned white.
"I should've stayed," he choked. "I should've gone with her… maybe she wouldn't have-"
Elena turned, grabbed him, and pulled him close to her chest.
Niegal wrapped around them both. His arms shielded them. His forehead pressed to hers.
They stood there, man, woman, child, held together by the unbearable grief of almost.
The wharf was silent again.
But within their huddle, a vow was formed. Wordless. Sacred.
We will find her.
We will bring her home.
Come hell or high water.
Come gods, monsters, or war.
They would not lose her.
Not this time.