Far across the Sanctuary, Jaime writhed on a makeshift cot in the healer's hut. Aurora and Señora Behike had lashed him down with enchanted leather bindings, but the ties snapped taut with each violent shudder, the wood of the cot groaning beneath his convulsions. Sweat poured off him, mingling with blood as phantom wounds carved themselves across his skin.
The cloying reek of incense filled his lungs. He gagged, choking as if smoke were funneled down his throat, burning his chest with each breath. His body sagged, drugged, every limb heavy, yet still he fought. His head lolled, eyes rolling back, only to jerk forward again with a snarl that tore his throat raw.
Aurora's healing glow flared uselessly beneath her palms. "Hermano, it's not real, it's not- "
But Jaime knew it was. It was real because it was Elena.
When the gag forced into her mouth split her lips raw, his own jaw yawned wide, pried apart by invisible hands until coppery blood streaked his teeth. His tongue ached with cloth that wasn't there. His screams tore into silence.
He felt the cold of stone on her back, and his spine arched against the cot as though pressed into rock. Chains he could not see coiled around his wrists and ankles, tightening until blood welled. He gasped her terror into the air of the healer's hut, his body writhing in grotesque imitation of what was happening leagues away.
Phineus clutched his knees in the corner, eyes squeezed shut, whispering to himself, "Jaime's strong. He'll survive. He has to, for Mama."
But Jaime's body shook like a man crucified.
He saw shadows dance across his blurred vision- the silhouette of the High Priestess Elena beheld. Her laughter rang in his skull, birdlike, merciless. Jaime spat blood into the air, though no one had touched him. Her hand trailing Elena's bare abdomen became a searing violation across his own belly. His shame bled through the bond, matching hers, a desecration that stripped him raw.
When the obsidian dagger pierced Elena's flesh, Jaime's stomach convulsed, phantom steel gouging sigils into his skin. He arched violently, the cot nearly tipping. Aurora and the Behike pinned him down, chanting counter-prayers, but the stormlight bled from his wounds in glowing indigo rivulets, shimmering like fire.
He screamed into the gag that wasn't there- until suddenly it wasn't.
For one shuddering breath, his throat cleared, and words burst out with Elena's:
"You might as well kill me, pendejo. I belong to the sea, the storm, the flood- "
His voice cracked, echoing hers, the words breaking into sobs.
The freedom vanished. The gag slammed back. His jaw wrenched apart again, teeth grinding. He wept with her.
Then came the whip.
The first strike stole his breath, blooming a welt across his chest. The second lacerated his abdomen, fire searing the already-carved sigils. The third shredded his shoulder until stars burst in his vision. His back arched, his body convulsing so hard the cot legs screeched against stone.
Phineus cried out now, sobbing openly. "Stop it! Stop hurting him!"
Aurora's voice wavered, desperate. "Jaime, please, fight it! You must endure!"
But he was fighting. Every lash, every carved sigil, every violation- they tried to break Elena, but they had to break him too. And he would not yield.
When the gag vanished again, his throat opened with hers, and he rasped through torn lungs:
"Never. Do your worst. I belong… to Elena, and Elena alone."
His chest heaved, sobs rattling through him, blood and stormlight dripping from his phantom wounds. His eyes found Phineus, wide and tear-streaked in the shadows. He tried to smile through broken lips, but another lash snapped it away.
He sank into delirium with her, pain and ash flooding his veins, head thrashing side to side. He moaned when she moaned, cursed when she cursed, sagged when she sagged. And yet, through every echo, every violation, his love poured into her through the bond, his voice in her ear even when she could not hear it.
Fight, mi amor. You are not theirs. You are mine, and I am yours. You are storm. You are sea. You will endure.
By the time dawn broke, Jaime was pale, drenched in blood and sweat, eyes glassy as death. His voice barely rose above a whisper, yet it threaded itself across the leagues of distance, tethering them still:
"Elena… survive… love… you…"
His head fell back, chest heaving. Sigils burned across him, bright as lightning, warning the world:
They were not to be broken. Not by gods. Not by beasts. Not by fanatic cults.