THE UNBROKEN

At last, they slept.

Not the fevered, trembling half-sleep of the last few days.

Not the collapse between frenzies.

Not the fragile stillness that came after pleading the gods for silence.

This was different.

This was deep.

This was the body surrendering. The soul falling. The gods within curling into themselves and slipping, finally, into dreams older than blood and fire.

Niegal lay curled protectively behind her, one arm banded around Elena's waist, the other tucked beneath her head. Her skin was slick with salt and tears, glowing softly at the tattoo, the scars, and now- faint golden bruising that formed a ring around her hips. She didn't stir.

He didn't either.

Their chests rose and fell together, a rhythm that was finally, finally human.

Outside the cottage, the world changed.

The sanctuary, once loud with drills, weeping, prayers, and laughter, grew still. Silent.

The ritual had not gone unnoticed. The ground had shaken. A distant boom like a volcanic heart had sounded from deep in the land's belly when the final glyph was sealed. Every child had woken screaming. Every dog had howled. Every flame had flickered blue.

So now the people came.

Some with bare feet. Some armored.

All silent.

They came bearing tributes.

Wives came first. Wives who had known the agony of losing their partners. Wives who had once buried husbands, then prayed for the strength to mother alone. They came with candles, salt, and little pouches of red hibiscus petals. Some left locks of hair. Others just knelt outside the cottage, resting their heads against the earth. Mothers came to pray,

"Let La Doña's peace fall over our houses," they whispered. "Let her storm pass over our children."

Then came the soldiers.

Tired. Covered in soot and sweat. They said nothing. Simply walked to the cottage wall and laid down their weapons- daggers, axes, swords. Not in surrender. But in tribute. A show of reverence. Their jaws clenched, eyes burning with unshed tears. Some knelt. Some saluted.

One whispered, so low no one heard him but the wind:

"She bled for us. They bled for us. May the gods not take them from us again."

Then came the graffiti.

Scrawled in chalk on the outer walls of homes, carved into stone, painted on shields:

A serpent coiled around a lion.

It spread quickly. Across the sanctuary, down the road into the foothills, to the riverside camps. Some said the image had begun appearing on its own. Drawn by children who didn't know why they did it. Inked into the edges of spellbooks. Etched into the frost on the windows at dawn.

It became a sigil.

And inside the cottage, Elena stirred.

She gasped, sitting up too fast, heart racing, clutching her throat as if something were still in it. Her hand flew to her chest. Her neck.

Then her stomach.

She whimpered. Shook.

The dream still fresh:

The same one as before.

The serpent crawling up her throat. Slithering from her mouth onto the shore. Transforming into her.

The lion waiting for it.

Changing into Niegal.

And then…

Her own body, separate from her, making love to that lion.

She had watched. One hand on her stomach. Terrified.

Now, awake and sweating, her fingers brushed lower… her belly was warm. Slightly taut.

She glanced to Niegal, who lay fast asleep beside her, brow furrowed even in rest.

Tears spilled down her cheeks.

"Elena?" his voice rasped, dry and hoarse.

She turned to him. "I had another vision…"

His face darkened, fear twisting his expression. "Was it- ?"

She shook her head, cutting him off with a trembling kiss. "I think I might be… we might be…"

His hand covered hers on her stomach. He didn't speak. Didn't breathe.

They didn't know. Not yet. But the gods inside them did.

And they would not rest.

Not until the lion was sated.

Not until the serpent gets her heir.

Elena collapsed against him, sobbing quietly. He held her tight, forehead pressed to hers.

"I'm scared," she admitted.

"So am I," he whispered. "But I'm with you. No matter what."

And outside their walls, the tributes continued.

The vigil grew.

And the gods… began to dream again.