For the first time in over a month, Seamus Matteo stepped back into the bedchamber he once shared with Elena.
The scent of dried herbs and old ink clung to the walls like smoke. The room was dim, lit only by the blue flicker of a mana lantern tucked in the far corner. Scrolls and spellbooks were piled high on every surface—tables, chairs, even the floor. Loose pages crinkled under his boots as he moved.
It was overwhelming.
Yet at the center of the chaos, she lay sleeping.
Elena, curled up on the bed, still clutching a worn page mid-turn, her cheek resting against a folded blanket instead of a pillow. Beside her, a tray of untouched supper and a cold cup of steeped tea sat forgotten. Her brows were furrowed in sleep, strands of dark hair clinging to her temples.
His mother had warned him she'd been throwing herself into offensive and defensive spellcraft, but this—this was devotion beyond logic. The desperation of someone needing to never feel powerless again.
Seamus sat down beside her gently, careful not to wake her. His face was drawn, sleepless. Eyes rimmed red. His weight barely shifted the mattress.
He just watched her for a moment.
Then, the door creaked open.
Kenneth stepped in with silent purpose, his expression grim. He didn't speak, only nodded once.
It was time.
Seamus exhaled through his nose and turned back to her. He brushed a strand of hair from her cheek and pressed a kiss to her skin—soft and fleeting.
Then he stood and left.
The moment the door clicked shut, Elena's eyes flew open.
She stared at the empty doorway for several seconds, heart thudding in her chest.
Her fingers drifted up to her cheek, touching the spot where his lips had been.
What's happening? Where is he going after finally—finally—coming home?
With a soft grunt, she stretched, wincing as pain rippled across her healing back. The bruises had faded to sickly yellow, the deeper gashes kept reopening as she practiced her magic. More stitches.
And her bones remembered the incident. Not just her back, her most intimate places, too. An empty, aching feeling.
She wrapped her arms around her knees, the spellbook slipping off the bed with a quiet thump.
In the heart of Puerto Cuidad, night cloaked the streets like a velvet shroud. Storm clouds loomed overhead, heavy with unspent thunder.
Seamus stood beneath a stone platform in the city square, his hood now lowered, face bared to the flickering torches around him. A crowd had gathered—merchants, laborers, farmers, widows, even children who should have been asleep.
The air was thick with anticipation. Whispers of rebellion crackled like sparks.
Seamus stepped forward, voice ringing out against the night.
"For too long, we—the people of Puerto Cuidad—have lived under the tyranny of the Church of the Saintess."
His voice was firm, raw, controlled rage beneath noble eloquence.
"I will not comply with an institution that justifies abductions, that lets its secret police steal our people off the streets, from our homes, from their places of work."
A wave of murmurs rose in agreement.
"We gave them power! We trusted them! And now we suffer for it!"
His gloved fist rose high into the air.
"Will you stand by while they kill your children—like they killed mine—or will you stand and fight for their future?!"
A roar tore through the crowd.
They shouted. They raised fists. They believed.
Kenneth, standing at Seamus's flank, swept the crowd with practiced vigilance. He sensed no immediate threat—but the wind shifted. The city pulsed with a new kind of energy. A storm was building.
"I am no mere nobleman!" Seamus cried. "My roots—my sympathies—lie with the common folk. Death to the Church!"
"¡Viva Puerto Cuidad!"
Cheers erupted, wild and feverish.
Kenneth placed a firm hand on Seamus's shoulder.
The shadows were stirring. Dark figures in cloaks had begun to edge toward the square. The Inquisition wouldn't remain passive for long.
Seamus gave one final nod to the crowd. Bowed. Slipped on his hood.
And vanished into the night.
"¡Viva Puerto Cuidad!"
"Death to the Church!"
"¡Viva Puerto Cuidad!"
The chant rose behind him like a tidal wave.
This was only the beginning.