Chapter 83: the Storm Returns

Whispers moved faster than flames.

First a rumor.

Then a declaration.

Then a movement.

"The Matteo's are alive."

"La Doña and her Lion lives!"

"Guabancex is among us."

In taverns, alleyways, crumbling altars, and shadowed kitchens, hope passed from mouth to mouth like a sacred spell.

The sigil began to appear again, hastily painted on walls, etched into dirt roads, carved into chapel doors.

A triple spiral forked with lightning.

"They live," the people whispered.

"They survived."

The Church of Saintess Yidali responded with terror.

And terror, as always, became violence.

Homes were raided.

Businesses destroyed.

Entire villages accused of heresy, dragged from their beds and cast into flames or chains. The Church could no longer afford patience. Desperation clawed through them like fire in dry grass.

But something had changed.

The people were no longer afraid.

They had seen the lightning.

They had heard the whispers.

And they remembered.

No longer would they kneel to gilded falsehoods.

They raised their fists. Painted their faces.

Chanted the title, "Doña Guabancex, Stormbearer."

"They live," the people whispered.

"They live," the children sang.

"They live," the soldiers prayed before battle.

In hiding, Elena and Niegal barely recognized the way the world spoke of them now.

Legends.

Not rebels.

Not fugitives.

Not survivors.

Living gods.

And somewhere between fear and awe…

Revolution began to breathe again.