Betti_Lorenzo

The Unbound

Gothic Romance • Spiritual Rebellion • Fantasy Drama

Elena Rosaria was born a witch in chains—branded by the Church, betrayed by her own blood, and forced to survive in the shadows of an empire that hunts her kind. But when her life collides with Viscount Seamus Matteo—a brooding heir with a taste for danger and a heart drawn to her fire—their connection sparks a forbidden passion that defies the Church’s rule.

As war brews between the old faith and a rising resistance, Elena must reckon with a violent past, prophetic visions, and the price of power. Seamus would burn the world to protect her. But it is Niegal Matteo—his exiled uncle and a gifted healer—who may hold the key to not only Elena’s survival, but the fate of magic itself.

In a land of holy inquisitions, blood-bound magic, and saints who are not what they seem, three haunted souls must choose: surrender to the roles they were born into… or become something unbound.

THE UNBOUND

A flutter of his eyelids. A groan torn from a bruised throat. His fingers twitched against the marble cot as he struggled to rise-

Pain shot through his ribs, and he collapsed back with a sharp gasp.

"Shhh," a familiar voice cooed. "Easy, old friend."

The Behike leaned over him, her dark curls tied back, eyes shining with both weariness and warmth. She reached out, gently squeezing his hand.

"Welcome back to the land of the living."

Niegal blinked slowly. His throat ached. Every limb was lead.

He tried again to sit, but the Behike firmly pushed him back down.

"Rest, mi amigo. You need to rest."

His eyes scanned the dim sanctum, searching. Panic flickered beneath the fatigue.

His voice was hoarse, barely more than a breath.

"She emptied herself, Niegal. Everything. Every drop of her mana, her strength, her soul… it's gone."

"She's regenerating… slowly. Carefully. But-"

Niegal's jaw clenched, pain flaring in his side as he sat up just enough to growl:

The Behike studied him for a long moment.

She laughed, just once, dry and astonished by her own words.

"The child… her child… your child… it's still alive. Barely. But it's there."

She glanced toward Elena's motionless figure. The spiral pendant in her sleeping hands flickered, like candlelight.

"The child may be the only thing keeping her tethered to this world. But… it's not just that."

The Behike hesitated again, her fingers briefly brushing the spiral pendant resting on Elena's chest. It glowed brighter with the touch.

"Something else is stirring in her. Something ancient. The elders believe… she's not just a vessel anymore."

"They believe she is Guabancex. Not metaphor. Not myth. The storm herself, returned in blood and flesh."

She turned back to Niegal, her voice a whisper.

"You didn't just survive the hurakan, Niegal."

He lay back again, eyes wide, staring at the stone ceiling above, where cracks spread in the shape of a spiral he hadn't noticed before.

Somewhere between wonder and devastation.

Within moments, his strength gave out. He slipped back into sleep.

A single, lone water dropped from the spiral in the ceiling above him, barely brushing his cheek. Like a kiss.

The Behike sighed, releasing his hand. She adjusted the blankets over his chest with maternal care, then turned her attention once more to Elena.

"That was too much," she whispered to herself.

She laid one hand on Elena's chest, watching the flickers of faint energy crackle beneath her skin. The pendant's flickering became a more constant, even glow.

The other hand glowed green with healing magic as she pressed it gently against Niegal's side. The wound was closing.

But still… the hardest work remained.

She leaned back and stared at the pair of them, the last great hope of their people.

"Please, Doña Guabancex and her Lion."

Chapter 78: Father of Storms, the Lion Stirs