The dawn broke slow and heavy, clouds hanging low like judgment over the city.
In the new council chamber, its marble pillars still polished, the stained-glass windows glittering with the rising sun, the air was thick with unrest.
Elena stood at the head of the chamber, hand tightly clasped in Niegal's, both of them flanked by roaring mana. Their presence was radiant. Devastating.
She had dressed in black again. Not for mourning, but for war.
Niegal's silver eyes swept the room as voices rose around them, each argument like a slap to the face. The banners of the United Territories swayed faintly from the high beams above, as if unsure where their loyalties should land.
"They ask us to send ships?" a merchant barked.
"After what their daughter did? After the destruction of the bayou market?!"
"Their daughter is a child," a scholar countered.
"A child burdened with the wrath of the gods! You would cast her out for losing control? We all know what divine magic does to mortals."
"And what will happen when she loses control again?" another snapped.
"Who will be hurt next time? Your children? Mine?"
The chamber erupted. Shouting. Accusations. Cries of betrayal.
Elena's hands trembled at her sides, not with fear, but with restrained fury. Niegal held fast, his grip grounding her, but his own jaw clenched as the lion within snarled behind his ribs. He could feel her unraveling. He could feel Guabancex, restless and watching.
Then, a voice, calm, cold, cut through the room.
"I say exile them all."
Heads turned. It was one of the high judges of the coalition council.
"Elena. Niegal. The child. They are gods, yes. But gods bring ruin as easily as they bring blessing. This city was built by their grace. Perhaps it is time we learned to live without it."
For a moment, silence.
And then-
"ENOUGH."
The voice that spoke was not Elena's.
Her body rose from the floor, slowly, unnaturally, as if pulled upward by some great unseen force. Her toes left the marble tile. Her hands unfurled, and from them spilled violent coils of wind, slicing through the chamber like a tempest unbound.
Her eyes snapped open. No longer garnet, but vivid, venomous violet, reptilian slits gleaming with cold, divine rage.
Her scars ignited. Her spiral brand pulsed like a beacon on her forearm. Mana seethed from her in crackling waves. The storm had come to the room, and it wore Elena Matteo's face.
"MY VESSEL ASKS FOR AID," the goddess hissed through Elena's lips, her voice a thousand voices layered into one. "AND YOU BICKER LIKE CHILDREN, FORGETTING WHO BLESSED THESE VERY LANDS. WHO CARVED THIS REFUGE FROM THE WRECKAGE OF CHURCH AND CRUSADE."
The hall began to shake. The banners snapped in the sudden wind.
"YOU FORGET YOUR PLACE. YOU CURSE THE HAND THAT FED YOU. YOU DARE DENOUNCE THE STORM- AND EXPECT TO BE SPARED HER WRATH?"
The stained glass rattled. Hail slammed against the windows. Lightning cracked through the canopy above the bayou, its echo splitting the sky. The floor beneath their feet vibrated, hair rising on necks and arms.
"IF YOU WILL NOT STAND WITH US, THEN THE GODS DENOUNCE YOU. MAY YOUR BARREN PRAYERS BE LOST TO THE VOID YOU CHOOSE."
A final howl of wind burst through the room, flinging scrolls and sashes from tables. One of the older councilmen dropped to his knees in fear. Others stumbled back, covering their faces.
Niegal never moved.
He stood beside her, for her, the lion silent but smoldering beneath his skin. His eyes locked on the frightened faces of the men and women who had once begged them to lead. To save. To build.
Now, they only shrank.
As Elena's feet returned to the marble floor, her body slackened. The storm goddess withdrew, simmering, her fury sated. For now. Her eyes dimmed back to garnet. Her breathing was shallow, her face pale.
Niegal caught her before her knees gave.
He wrapped his arms around her, whispering something soft in her ear. She nodded slowly.
Together, they turned… and removed the ceremonial sashes from their shoulders.
They let them fall, heavy with betrayal, onto the polished floor.
Niegal's voice, when he finally spoke, was low and final.
"The gods have spoken. And now, Marisiana will face what it sowed. Alone."
They walked out in silence.
No one dared stop them.