THE UNBROKEN

Is this what it's like to love a child? Elena wondered as she brushed gentle kisses across each of Esperanza's fingers.

One, two, three, four, five.

Each one made the baby laugh like tiny silver bells.

"You really are our little hope," she whispered with a radiant smile.

Esperanza responded by grabbing her mother's nose.

Outside the tent flap, Niegal stood quietly, his silhouette outlined by the deep violet hues of twilight. A soft smile tugged at his lips as he watched mother and daughter, his entire world, wrapped in peace for the first time in what felt like centuries.

He inhaled, letting the air fill his lungs and steady his heart.

Their tent was the last one standing.

Most of the hold had already been packed down to its bones. Their time in Arenavida was at its end. The last breath of that sacred ground lingered on the wind; earth, smoke, and a faint trace of lavender.

They would depart by nightfall. They moved only under darkness now. Too many eyes watched the skies.

Inside, Elena secured Esperanza to her chest with practiced hands, the baby giggling as the straps tightened.

Only one table remained.

"Are we ready, mi corazón?" Niegal asked softly.

Elena nodded and shouldered a light bag. Niegal took the other with one hand and clasped hers with the other.

As they stepped out together, a hush fell over the encampment.

The tent collapsed behind them into the dust with a quiet sigh, as if the very ground was mourning their departure.

Elena turned back only once.

Niegal gently squeezed her hand and led her toward the front of the caravan, where Aurora, Phineus, and the commanders waited; faces carved by weariness, eyes hardened by resolve. A fire glowed in their chests. The kind of fire that only survived war.

Just as Niegal opened his mouth to give the signal to move-

Wings.

A rush of air.

Azura, Alejandro's hawk, swooped low across the canyon winds, her shadow rippling over tents and dust. She landed with precision on Alejandro's leather glove. The rogue had been watching the rear… until that moment.

Alejandro's face changed the second he saw her.

He retrieved the scroll bound to her leg, unrolled it, and went still.

Then he ran.

Sand kicked up behind him as he skidded to a stop beside Niegal. His voice was grim.

"They know. They're coming. A half-day out. From the north."

Niegal scanned the note. His jaw tightened.

The glyph on the page had already begun to burn.

"They know you live," he murmured, glancing at Elena.

He turned to the commanders. "We move out. NOW."

No panic erupted.

Only action.

Years of drills, losses, and grief had trained them in this: silence, discipline, survival.

"Leave everything behind!" Niegal barked. "Only what you need to survive—food, weapons, medicine! Go!"

Elena's face was unreadable, her arms steady as she gently passed Esperanza to Niegal.

"I'll carry her," he said, already adjusting his chest straps. "We'll move faster this way."

She nodded. Words weren't needed.

The baby yawned and nestled against her father's chest, her breath warm, her presence powerful in its peace.

Alejandro gave Niegal a look of grim solidarity. Niegal nodded, placing a protective hand at the small of Elena's back.

A low roll of thunder echoed across the sky: not from clouds, but from something deeper. The old spirits of Arenavida. Watching. Weeping. Wishing them well.

Dozens of families began moving into the night.

Some parents dosed children with herbal sedatives, whispering protective prayers and lullabies. The Behike's voice echoed quietly over the wind, leading a low chant to Guabancex for veiled paths and clouded skies.

"Darken the stars, veil our breath.

Hide us in leaf and stone and death.

Do not let their magic find us."

The wind listened.

The clouds gathered.

And the people moved like shadows.

Esperanza slept soundly against her father's chest.

Phineus walked several paces ahead of his mother, scanning the ridges with a soldier's eyes. The moon glinted off his blade.

Alejandro watched him with quiet pride. The boy had grown into his own.

No longer a shadow of Alejandro's past, Phineus had become something more.

Still, Alejandro found himself drifting near Aurora.

She walked beside the Behike with her head held high, though tension hummed beneath her skin. Occasionally, her fingers brushed Alejandro's. Neither spoke.

But three nights ago still hung between them.

He had found her outside the fire ring, alone beneath a low sky stained red with dusk. She smoked one of Elena's herbal cigarillos, tears slipping down her cheeks unchecked.

He didn't speak.

He simply sat.

Wordless. Steady.

When he offered her his flask, she took it.

"You still drink the same rum," she said after a moment.

Alejandro chuckled. "This is new," he replied, gesturing to the smoke. "You used to hate the smell of this."

Aurora gave a weary smile. "Elena taught me. Chamomile for clarity. Lotus for grief. Smoke when your heart won't be still."

She took another puff. "I'm just so glad she's back. I thought-" Her voice cracked. "I thought we lost her."

Alejandro looked at her. Fully.

Her hair had silver in it now. Her hands bore new callouses. But her presence, her gravity, was still magnetic.

She felt his gaze. Met it.

And in that moment, something unspoken passed between them.

Not forgiveness.

Not yet.

But something older. A memory. A seed. A spark.

She leaned into him.

He placed his arm around her shoulders.

Together, they sat in the stillness, smoking, saying nothing more as the moon climbed overhead.

Back in the present, Alejandro exhaled and blinked the memory away.

They were still walking.

Still breathing.

Still free.

The caravan pressed through the veil of night. The red cedars of Marisiana loomed ahead, thick with fog and spirits. Mana pooled in the waters beneath their roots. Will-o'-the-wisps danced in the branches. The old gods of the swamps remembered blood. They would protect this new refuge… if honored properly.

Arenavida had fallen behind them.

But the march forward carried the weight of ancestral memory.

Their ancestors, those who had walked the jungles barefoot, whispered spells into clay, and died with dignity, marched with them now.

And freedom, for the first time in generations, was within reach.

The people of Arenavida marched on…

…with stormlight in their veins

…and hope blazing in their hearts.