Seamus
He had read the Church dossier three times.
It was still spread across the table in his study when Kenneth knocked — pages splayed like open wounds, filled with cold descriptions of hot suffering.
"Subject: Elena Rosaria."
"Magical interference suspected from birth."
"Uncooperative. Non-responsive to penitential ritual."
"Danger to others if left unsupervised."
"Potential vessel."
He felt sick.
Not because of what was written.
But because no one had stopped them.
He'd known the Church was cruel. But this was rot. Sanctioned torture. And Lee Rosaria — that venom-veiled aristocrat — had signed every decree.
Seamus stood by the manor door, jaw clenched, heart pounding.
And when she arrived?
She looked nothing like the girl from the tavern. Gone was the defiant, flame-eyed woman who punched a man for touching her skirt and kissed him like it meant survival.
She looked small.
Hollow.
A survivor again.
"Miss Rosaria," he said, voice lower than intended. "Welcome to WindSwept."
Elena nodded but said nothing.
Their eyes met.
And something unspoken passed between them — not safety. Not trust.
Just recognition.
You're not what I expected.
Niegal:
The Behike sat cross-legged near the salt pit, grinding coral into powder with a polished bone pestle.
Two healers sat with her — one young, one blind. Both with soft hands and knives hidden in their belts.
Niegal watched, arms folded.
"Elena Rosaria," he said slowly. "What else do we know?"
The blind healer spoke first. "The Church claimed her early. Her mother brokered the deal in blood. We were never allowed near her."
"Suppressed mana?"
"Crushed. Smothered. But not erased."
Niegal's eyes darkened. "I felt her name in the wind two nights ago. Like a curse lifting."
The Behike poured salt into the fire. It flared green-blue.
"Seamus Matteo has her now," she said. "But that boy plays with fate like a drunk with a dagger. He feels too deeply. He fights like a man who lost everything and only just realized it."
Niegal didn't answer.
The wind shifted.
He turned toward the coast — toward the cliffs where WindSwept Manor waited. A storm was rolling in.
And something told him this storm would change everything.