Rain tapped against the windows like impatient fingers as Elena tied her last satchel closed. She glanced toward Niegal, who was adjusting the straps on Phineus's traveling cloak, and exhaled slowly. Her palm pressed briefly against the hilt of Boinyanel, the blade humming faintly with thunder. The moment was tense, sharpened by grief and divine silence.
They were nearly out the door, bound for the docks to meet Aurora, Alejandro, and Vera, when there came a knock.
Three slow raps. Then silence.
All three froze.
Elena's machete was unsheathed in a single whisper of steel. Phineus's eyes glowed with magic as he took a low stance beside her, teeth gritted in a mimic of his father's battle readiness. Niegal, closest to the door, approached with caution, the lion stirring beneath his ribs.
"Ready, both of you," he murmured.
The old hinges creaked as he eased the door open.
Rain and wind greeted them- and standing in it, cloak soaked and head bowed, was General Caela.
Her uniform was stained by travel, the edges of her coat heavy with mud. She looked older than she had just the day before. Her shoulders bowed not by age, but by something far heavier. Grief. Guilt. Revelation. Her eyes were red-rimmed, whether from weather or shame, it wasn't clear. But she saluted without hesitation, her hand trembling slightly.
Elena blinked.
"General…?"
She sheathed Boinyanel slowly. Phineus's glow dimmed. Niegal stood aside and opened the door fully.
Without speaking, General Caela stepped inside, removed her soaked cloak, and dropped to one knee on the wooden floor.
"Mi Doña. El Léon. Leóncito," she began, voice low and rough. "I owe you an apology… and a gift."
Elena exchanged a look with Niegal, surprised by the shift in the once-proud general's tone.
"After the council yesterday," Caela continued, her head still bowed, "I remembered what it felt like to believe. What it felt like when you led us out of the Church's shadow. When you bled for us. When you buried your dead with us."
She paused, struggling with the words. Her hands clenched at her thighs, knuckles pale.
"I was afraid," she whispered. "I wanted control. And I couldn't accept that we'd already been saved in ways I didn't understand."
She looked up then, her eyes glistening.
"But yesterday… when the goddess spoke through you, I remembered who I was. Why I followed you from Arenavida, to Veracchia, to here."
Her hand hovered over her abdomen, the gesture almost unconscious.
Elena saw it instantly, and her heart clenched.
That subtle press. That mournful pause. That knowledge.
She knew that loss. The phantom ache of a child not held. The cold silence that followed a divine rupture.
"I lost someone during that final siege," Caela said, confirming what Elena already felt in her bones. "The Inquisition tore her from me. I never forgave the world for that."
She swallowed hard, then reached into her coat and unwrapped a cloth bundle with reverence.
Inside were a pair of naval Captain's epaulettes, brushed gold and stitched with storm-spiral insignias.
She extended them to Niegal.
He blinked, confused, but took them gently.
"La Sirena," Caela said. "She's at the western docks. A merchant-raider corvette, powered by both wind and mana. Fast. Loyal. Temperamental, but gifted."
She smiled faintly, a glint of dry humor piercing the grief.
"She listened to me once. She'll listen to you now."
Niegal stared at the insignia. Though he was no naval officer, the gesture struck true. It was a mark of command, of faith, of trust handed back after being shattered.
"This is… generous," he murmured.
Caela's voice cracked.
"I have no more family. But you do. And I pray to every god still watching that you find your daughter."
She stepped back, saluted again, this time not out of protocol, but devotion, and turned to go.
Before she disappeared into the fog, she glanced back once, eyes lingering on Elena.
"You taught me to survive the storm by becoming it. I forgot. I won't forget again."
Then she was gone.
The silence that followed was sacred.
Niegal stared down at the epaulettes in his palm. His breath trembled.
Phineus, watching quietly, stepped forward and touched the edges of the insignia.
"Are you a captain now, Papa?"
Niegal looked to his son, this brave little warrior with shadows behind his silver eyes, and nodded once.
"I suppose I am."
Elena stepped forward, her voice quiet.
"Do you think she'll make it across the sea?"
"If she's anything like her namesake…" Niegal replied, "she'll carve her own path. But we're going after her. That much is certain."
She placed her hand over his.
"Then let's go."
Boinyanel's blade glowed faintly, eager. The serpent coiled around her spine in anticipation.
They turned to finish packing their satchels. Phineus moved to the door, determined.
"She's out there," he said, voice small but strong. "And I'll help bring her home."
Elena gave a single, fierce nod. Her eyes gleamed. Not with divine fury, but maternal steel.
"We all will."
And as they stepped outside, the rain lightened to mist.
The storm, for now, had granted them its blessing.