Elena woke in the infirmary to a body weighed down by pain she could barely bear. Each breath tore at her ribs like shattered glass. Thick, hot with coppery blood that coated her throat and clung to her tongue. She tried to move, but her limbs felt like lead beneath the heavy silence of La Sirena's creaking timbers and the steady hum of its mana engine.
Across her skin, dark veins writhed and pulsed like gnarled roots twisting beneath bark- black lines of curse spreading slowly, insidious as shadows creeping over a dying forest.
Juan lay nearby, still unconscious, his shoulder wound festering with the same creeping darkness. Despite all their prayers and efforts, the curse was near fatal for both of them.
Elena's chest burned fiercely, yet when Niegal approached with hands glowing green with healing mana, she refused him. Her voice was barely a whisper, but firm as iron.
"I'd rather take my chances," she said, clutching Esperanza's small hand like a lifeline.
Surprising everyone, she pushed away Niegal's touch again and again. The room filled with thick tension. Niegal's lion heart was wounded by her rejection, the air heavy with unsaid words and shattered hopes.
Aurora and Esperanza rarely left Elena's side now, flitting like guardian spirits in the dim light beneath the ship's wooden rafters. They kept watch, their faces etched with worry and exhaustion.
The family decided to send Alejandro's messenger hawk, Azura, ahead to the Sanctuary in Veracchia. It would take about a week for La Sirena to sail and make landfall on the rocky shores. A long and perilous journey, but the only chance for safety and healing.
Niegal was a storm of conflicted emotions. The lion within him roared in frustration and shame. His beloved consort's rejection cut deeper than any wound. When he tried to speak gently to Esperanza, the girl quaked with fear, shrinking away as if from a ghost.
Phineus, watching quietly, began to see his father in a new light, his eyes burning with a mix of distrust and sorrow. He stood constant vigil near his mother and sister, a silent sentinel in the gathering storm.
Only Vera remained close to her tío, unaware why the household had grown so tense and frayed. She didn't understand the distance that had grown between Niegal and the family, or the silent threat lurking beneath his gaze.
As La Sirena neared the coast, Juan's condition worsened. Despite his fierce will, the curse gnawed deeper into his flesh. Esperanza visited him often in the cramped infirmary below deck, touched by his stubborn attempts to help her and their mother even as he faded.
One night, she fell asleep beside his bed, whispering a quiet "thank you" into his ear before curling up in the wooden chair. The soft rocking of the ship mingled with the rhythmic drip of water leaking from a loose plank, creating a lullaby for the weary.
In her sleep, she dreamed of golden magic swirling in her palms. A warm, steady glow that pulsed like a heartbeat. From the light emerged a smooth piece of turtle shell, ancient and etched with faint runes.
A deep voice echoed, clear and gentle: "Carve this and save the boy."
When Esperanza awoke, the same turtle shell lay nestled in her hands, cool and heavy, humming faintly with mana.
With trembling fingers, she began to carve, tracing the ancient patterns as the ship cut through the dark sea. The delicate work took days- nights spent whispering prayers, hands aching but steady. The pendant took shape, a small turtle carved from shell, smooth and perfect.
Finally, she slipped the pendant onto a thin chain and gently placed it around Juan's neck.
Hours later, Juan's eyes fluttered open. The cursed black tendrils had begun to recede, their grip loosening like ice melting under the sun.
He looked down at the pendant resting on his chest, then over at Esperanza, still asleep in the chair beside him.
A weak but stubborn smile curved his lips. The smile of a boy who had stared death in the face and survived.
Aurora and Alejandro exchanged shaken looks.
The girl had saved the boy with the help of a god.
Juan was now a vessel of Guey, the ancient turtle spirit.
Elena's body showed little improvement, though she could manage slow, tentative walks within the small sickroom. The walls of La Sirena felt both protective and suffocating. She missed Niegal with a sharp ache in her chest, an absence deeper than any wound.
If even her goddess, Guabancex, could see how wrong it was to lash out at a child, how could she tolerate such wrath from the man she loved?
She'd rather endure the burning blood and unrelenting pain than face a stubborn, angry man.
And yet beneath the steady thrum of her own heartbeat, a strange pulse echoed, alien and insistent.
Not her own.
Not Guabancex's.
Something else stirred inside her, deep beneath her ribs.
Waiting.