Chapter 72: A Quiet Week of Storms to Come

It had been a blessed, quiet week at the Matteo estate.

Most of the staff, Cheri included, made sure to steer clear of the marital chambers. Elena and Niegal couldn't seem to tear themselves away from each other long enough for anyone to clean or deliver food. At Cheri and Phineus' request, the Behike cast a silencing charm over the suite.

Now, the only sounds from behind the heavy door were the occasional thump against furniture, or the rhythmic creak of bedsprings.

No one dared interrupt. The couple had earned this moment of peace, however fleeting, in the eye of the storm.

The rest of the estate, however, remained on high alert.

The Church's ambush during the wedding had left walls crumbling and nerves frayed. Extra patrols circled the grounds, mana lights flared to life at the slightest disturbance, and rumors spread like wildfire across the streets. Some swore strangers were entering the city at night, cloaked and armed. Others believed the Church was summoning reinforcements for one final strike.

Beneath the city, in the hidden black market, Alejandro lay in recovery. The Behike herself tended to him in the sanctum. She had sworn to Niegal that his old friend would survive, and that Niegal's healing magic was not needed here. "You have something else to live for now," she had whispered.

She pressed an enamel pin into Alejandro's palm; a blue hawk with its wings spread wide. His eyes flickered with faint recognition.

His breath, shallow but steady, caught in his chest as the Behike recounted what had transpired in his absence.

Aurora still lived. Fierce and radiant.

His sons, the ones he had missed growing up, now grown. Phineus, the youngest, was nearly a man. A quiet rebel with a wise soul and his mother's iron will.

And Niegal… the boy he once mentored… had returned from exile to become Viscount again. Standing beside his beloved wife, the rumored Witch Saintess.

A love story whispered of in song and prayer.

And Alejandro? All he could do was lie in the dark, aching with every breath.

He saw, in his mind's eye, a most precious memory; Seamus, no older than 4 or 5, splashing in tide pools, his mother chasing after him. Her gold hair glowed in the sunlight.

Aurora.

He had no right, not anymore. But gods help him, he would do anything to see her again.

Anything.