The victory of the previous day felt hollow in the harsh light of the morning after. The air was still thick with the scent of bruised greenery and damp earth, a constant reminder of the violence that had been visited upon their sanctuary. Ina had risen at dawn, her body aching with a tension that had little to do with physical labor. She moved through the cottage quietly, watching Juraj as he slept. The lines of strain were still visible on his face even in repose, and a faint, sickly pallor clung to his skin, a testament to the immense power he had expended to shield them.
He had protected the heart of her field, but the periphery was a scene of devastation. A swath of lavender lay flattened, its stalks broken and mud-smeared. The gnarled old olive tree, once miraculously revived, now had several of its precious new branches snapped off, the wounds weeping sap. The vegetable garden was a morass of mud and shredded leaves. It wasn't just an attack; it was a desecration.
A cold, hard knot of anger began to form in Ina's stomach, a new and unfamiliar sensation. It was a clean, sharp emotion, cutting through the residual fear like a knife. This was no longer about her terror of the divine. This was about someone deliberately destroying the work of her hands, the land she loved, and exhausting the god she loved.
She left him sleeping and went outside, pulling on her worn work gloves. The sky was a flat, oppressive grey, the air unnaturally still and heavy. The weather felt… waiting. Ignoring the ominous feeling, she set to work. She couldn't save all the plants, but she could try to salvage some. She began the painstaking task of righting bent stalks, gently brushing mud from the fragrant buds, her movements precise and filled with a quiet, simmering fury.
Juraj found her there an hour later, kneeling in the damp soil, her dress already stained, her brow furrowed in concentration.
"Ina, you should rest," he said, his voice still carrying a note of deep fatigue. "The land will heal. I will help it heal."
She looked up, and the look in her sea-blue eyes gave him pause. It wasn't the wide-eyed fear from Morana's dream, nor the stunned terror from his revelation. It was a flinty, determined anger.
"Will it?" she asked, her voice deceptively calm. "Or will he just do it again? To prove a point?"
As if her words were a summons, the sky answered.
There was no slow build-up this time. One moment, the air was still and heavy. The next, a deafening crack of thunder split the sky directly overhead, so loud it felt like the world was breaking in two. A torrential, icy rain erupted from the clouds, and a wind, even more ferocious than the day before, screamed down from the hills, intent on finishing the job.
Juraj's body tensed instantly, the weariness seeming to fall away as his power surged to the surface. The green-gold light flickered around him, weaker than before, but determined. "Get inside!" he yelled over the gale, reaching for her.
But Ina was already moving. As she tried to stand, a violent gust shoved her sideways. Her foot slipped on the mud-slicked ground, and she fell hard, her knee twisting awkwardly beneath her. A sharp, bright pain shot up her leg, and she cried out, her hands plunging into the cold mud.
Juraj was at her side in an instant, his face a mask of alarm and renewed rage. "Ina!"
He reached down to help her, his intention to gather her up and carry her to safety, to once again throw his power against the onslaught.
But before his hands could touch her, something in Ina snapped.
The pain in her knee, the sight of her ruined field being assaulted anew, the exhaustion on Juraj's face, the sheer, bullying arrogance of this celestial attack—it all coalesced into a white-hot torrent of defiance. This was her home. This was her love. And she was done being a passive victim in a war between gods.
She slapped his helping hands away, a gesture not of rejection, but of fierce independence. Using a half-buried lavender stalk for support, she pushed herself to her feet, ignoring the throbbing in her knee. The rain plastered her hair to her head and her dress to her body, the wind trying to knock her back down. She stood her ground, her slight form trembling not with fear, but with raw, unadulterated fury.
She turned her face to the raging, black sky, to the source of the thunder and the punishing rain. And she shouted.
It was not a scream of terror. It was a roar of possession, a declaration of war from the most unlikely of soldiers.
"HE IS MINE, AND I AM HIS! LEAVE US BE!"
Her voice, usually so soft, cut through the cacophony of the storm with a shocking, clarion clarity. It was the voice of the earth itself, of every rooted thing that refuses to be torn away. It was filled with a love so fierce it was a weapon, and a wrath so pure it was a shield.
The effect was instantaneous and profound.
The wind, which had been a howling demon, faltered, dropping to a confused gust. The relentless, hammering rain softened to a downpour, then to a steady rain. It was as if the storm itself had been startled into hesitation.
Juraj stared at her, his own power momentarily forgotten. He was utterly stunned. He had faced down the Thunderer's wrath, but he had never witnessed anything like this. This was not divine power. This was mortal will, a force so potent and unexpected it gave even a primordial storm pause. He saw not a fragile human to be protected, but a queen defending her king, her land, and her love. In that moment, drenched and muddy, her eyes blazing with blue fire, she was more magnificent, more powerful, than any goddess he had ever known.
Ina stood panting, her chest heaving, her fists clenched at her sides. She didn't look at Juraj; her gaze remained fixed on the heavens, daring them to answer.
And for a long, suspended moment, there was only the sound of the rain. The lightning ceased. The thunder held its tongue.
Then, a different sound reached them. It wasn't a boom, but a low, rolling grumble that seemed to carry not just sound, but emotion. It was a sound of… surprise. Of grudging, bewildered respect. It was the sound of Perun, the unassailable, being given pause by a mortal's shout.
The clouds did not vanish, but their malevolent intent seemed to drain away. The storm became just a storm—a heavy, soaking rain that, while still strong, was no longer a targeted weapon of divine annihilation.
Ina finally turned to look at Juraj. The furious energy drained out of her, leaving her shaking and suddenly aware of the throbbing pain in her knee and the cold soaking through to her bones.
Juraj moved to her then, but not with the frantic energy of before. He approached her slowly, reverently, as one would approach a holy site. He didn't speak. He simply looked at her, his soil-dark eyes wide with awe and a dawning, profound new understanding.
He reached out and cupped her muddy, rain-streaked cheek. His thumb stroked her skin, and a warmth spread from his touch, seeping into her, easing the chill and the pain in her knee.
"You," he breathed, his voice full of wonder, "are a force of nature all your own."
He bent and, in one smooth motion, lifted her into his arms. She didn't protest, letting her head fall against his shoulder, the adrenaline ebbing away to leave her exhausted. He carried her not as a burden, but as a prize won in a great battle.
As he carried her towards the cottage, the rain continued to fall, but it was different now. It was a cleansing rain, washing the mud from the leaves, soothing the battered earth. It was no longer Perun's storm. It was just weather.
Inside, he tended to her knee with the same focused care he had shown after their first night together, cleaning the cut and wrapping it. But the atmosphere was changed. The balance of power between them had irrevocably shifted.
She had stood with him. More than that, she had stood for him. She had faced the fury of the sky and commanded it to stop.
Later, as they sat by the fire, the scent of wet earth and lavender drifting through the open window, Juraj held her hand, his thumb tracing circles on her palm.
"They will not stop, you know," he said quietly. "This was a skirmish. They have seen our resolve, but they will not accept it."
Ina looked into the flames, her expression calm and resolute. The girl who had fled to Dubrovnik was gone. In her place was a woman who had found her strength.
"Let them come," she said, her voice soft but iron-clad. "I'm not afraid of them anymore." She looked at him, her love for him a steady, burning flame in her eyes. "I'm only afraid of a life without you. And I will not let them take you from me."
Juraj felt a surge of emotion so powerful it threatened to overwhelm him. This was the partnership he had craved, not just a mortal to cherish, but an equal to stand beside him. Ina's defiance had not just surprised the gods; it had forged something new and unbreakable between them. They were no longer a god and his mortal lover. They were Juraj-and-Ina, a single, defiant front against any power that dared to threaten their shared, impossible, and fiercely defended love.