Elena, cloaked in the invisibility spell she'd finally mastered, pulled her hood tighter around herself as she descended the cold, narrow steps of the hidden alcove. The entrance to Puerto Cuidad's black market always smelled like stone and sea salt, but tonight, it felt colder than she remembered—cold enough to make her bones ache.
Tucked inside her skirt pocket was the letter that had arrived last night, sealed with a symbol she hadn't seen in eight years. Next to it: her most prized possession, the Saintess Yidali medal on a thin gold chain.
She approached a modest stall guarded by a tall man wrapped in dark cloth. Wordlessly, she slid the letter and necklace across the counter.
The cloaked figure picked up both items, inspecting them silently. Then, a deep voice broke through the shadows.
"Follow me."
Elena said nothing. She followed.
They stopped at a familiar large metal door. It clicked open at their approach. The man stepped inside and motioned for her to follow.
She looked back, just once. Would Seamus even notice she was gone from WindSwept Manor?
Probably not.
She sighed and placed a hand on her stomach. She just felt so… achingly empty.
Inside, the door sealed behind them with a hiss of pressurized air. The man dropped his hood and bowed deeply.
Elena gasped.
A hand flew to her mouth as memory crashed into her—the kind knight with silver eyes who once used forbidden magic to heal her legs when she could barely walk. But that's impossible… isn't it?
Long chestnut-black hair, streaked silver at the temples. Those unmistakable silver eyes—the same as Aurora's. As Phineus'. As Seamus'.
"A pleasure to finally meet the Witch of Rosaria," he said, grinning.
Her heart skipped.
"I am Niegal Matteo."
She quickly curtsied. "It's a pleasure to meet the man I've heard so much about."
She scanned him—her mind momentarily light. "You look good for a dead man, Niegal." Her eyebrow arched. "And awfully familiar. Not just because your portrait hangs in the manor's main hall."
She sat stiffly at the table, hands clasped in her lap. Niegal sat opposite of her. Respectful, curious… and internally aching.
"As you can see," he began, "I had to fake my death. It was the only way."
His voice turned serious, eyes shadowed.
"The Church was preparing to seize the estate and the mana mines. If I hadn't disappeared, Seamus would've been forced to register House Matteo with the Church… and their depraved lackeys."
Elena nodded grimly. "I'm all too familiar with the Church taking everything." Her hand slid over her stomach—still protective, even though the life it once carried was already long gone.
Niegal's face softened. "I'm sorry for your loss," he said, voice low.
She only nodded, sensing he was trying to give comfort. There was none to be found.
"You said I was the only one who could help Seamus. Why?"
Wordlessly, Niegal pulled out a parchment torn from the United Territories of Yidali Constitution—one of the only texts with authority over the Church.
"Read paragraph two, section three," he said.
Elena read. Slowly, her expression shifted from tense, to stunned, to… hopeful.
"You mean to tell me—"
Niegal nodded. "Muerte Juju has always been legal. The Church simply banned it in practice. We still have a lawful path forward."
Elena rose, pacing, fingers to her chin.
"Any family with a seat in parliament can call for a ban on cults or religions deemed dangerous to public welfare… no matter how small the sect!"
"Exactly," Niegal said. "The Church used that very clause to wipe out Muerte Juju over generations."
"We can use their own logic—"
"Without spilling a drop of blood," he finished for her.
She grinned—truly grinned—for the first time in months. "Brilliant, Niegal!"
Then her eyes narrowed again. "But why call me here in secret? Why not send this through the Behike or in a letter? You faked your death. You're not supposed to be seen."
Niegal only smiled, stepping forward. He handed her the document, and a folded letter addressed to Aurora.
"Some things must be done in person," he said softly.
Elena suddenly felt reluctant to leave. Being near him… it felt safe.
"Give Aurora my love, I miss her terribly."
Niegal said with a warm smile. Just like I'll miss you.
Elena turned toward the exit—but the door didn't open.
Magic sputtered and failed.
Niegal frowned, flickers of green light forming at his fingertips as he tried to force the door. Nothing.
That's when they heard it; the crashing of water on the other side of the door. Elena took a step back, eyes wide as the door creaked with pressure.
"It's the storm," he muttered. "A hurakan. The tide's rushed in sooner than expected."
They looked at each other, wary.
"We'll be safe in here," Niegal said, rubbing the back of his neck. "But someone may notice you're gone."
"I doubt I'll be missed," Elena replied, voice darkly amused.
She winced as she sat. Her back throbbed—an ache she was growing used to.
Niegal's voice softened. "I practice healing magic. I could try to ease your pain… if you'll allow me."
Elena hesitated, then nodded. "The pain can be rough. I'd appreciate it."
Niegal pulled out supplies: herbs, crystals, a soft quilt embroidered with sigils.
"I need you to uncover your back," he said, modestly turning away.
She giggled. "The modest type, huh?"
Behind him, she stripped off her cloak, coat, and blouse. Left only in her camisole, she lowered it just enough to expose the wounds. She lay face-down on the quilt, blushing slightly.
"I'm ready."
Niegal turned. He paused, visibly shaken.
The lacerations were worse than he imagined. Stitches poorly healed. Fresh blood near the seams.
She peeked back. "Is something wrong?"
"No," he said gently. "Just assessing."
He placed crystals at the four corners of her back, crushed herbs into a paste, and began the incantation.
Green magic pulsed—gentle, pollen-like. So unlike her stormy, electric power.
Elena felt the pain melt away.
"This is what I've been doing," Niegal said after a while.
"Hmm?" she murmured, drifting into relief.
"Traveling. Healing. Helping where I can."
She nodded, voice soft. "I'm sorry for what happened to you, Sir Matteo—"
"Niegal," he whispered, close enough that his breath tickled her ear. "Please."
The name felt like balm on her tongue. "Alright… Niegal."
Now I know the name of that kind knight all those years ago. Niegal.
"Is the pain gone?"
She sat up slowly. Stretched.
Gone. Truly gone.
"Thank you. That felt… incredible."
He handed her a cloth to wipe off the salve, his eyes catching on her scars with quiet reverence.
"I'm glad it helped," he said, turning away again.
Elena dressed quickly, warmth blooming in her chest.
She approached him, a gentle hand on his back.
He turned, and their eyes met—too close.
"Thank you, Niegal," she said. "I haven't felt this good in months."
She could see faint scars on his face now, too. They suited him.
Niegal lifted his hand slowly—then plucked a small herb from her hair.
"It must've gotten there from the poultice," he murmured.
She stepped back quickly, sitting at the table again. Her heart was racing.
I think I might be in trouble.
Niegal sat beside her, trying to keep his hands from shaking.
She's Seamus' woman, he reminded himself. You have no right.
But when she looked at him—garnet eyes full of sorrow and strength—he knew patience was all he had left.
And so they sat, the ocean howling beyond the metal door, time slipping like water between the fingers of fate.