Behind Francisco stood a woman—already well known to him. She was Aurelio's daughter. After the incident in which their lives had been in risk, their relationship had grown closer, and feelings had slowly developed between them. Truth be told, those feelings were born less from time and more from danger—the kind that binds people together when survival is uncertain.

"I came because I heard, more or less, what is happening," Amelia said quietly. "Boquerón has fallen, and the next step is war between Spain and the fanatics. Even if they've lost most of their troops… aren't you worried that Spain will defeat them?"

"Honestly, I'm not sure," Carlos replied. "But I doubt it. They still have at least two thousand men. Once they receive news of their defeat and the collapse of Boquerón, they'll focus their entire offensive on Spanish territory. There's no risk of us attacking them anymore. Still, even though they've lost the population of this area, they may start expanding elsewhere."

Amelia sighed deeply."So we still have to worry about him… that boy. How did he become like that?" Her voice dropped. "Sometimes I wonder if I failed as an Aunt. Maybe if I had paid him more attention, been more present… he wouldn't have turned out this way."

Hearing the pain in her voice, Carlos stood and pulled her into an embrace."It wasn't your fault," he said firmly. "You were raising your own children—and after losing your husband, even more so. If anyone is to blame, it's your father."

Amelia rested her head against his chest, silent for a moment. Then, as if remembering something important, she asked softly,"Have you spoken to your daughter about us yet?"

Carlos looked away, clearly uncomfortable."I'm sorry. I haven't had the time. After the news from Santa Fe about the Jesuit invasion, I haven't even left this office. You can probably smell me—I haven't even managed to bathe."

Amelia sniffed theatrically and pinched her nose."You're right," she said, half-smiling. Then her expression turned serious. "But you should speak to her. The men who came with me are… nervous. Especially now, with the power and influence you're gaining. They fear you might turn your back on us—betray us—to seize my family's assets."

Carlos raised an eyebrow."That bad?"

Amelia nodded."That bad. Even if we still have a considerable numbers, your influence now stretches toward Río Negro and even into Spanish territory. We are rootless warriors, Carlos—without land, without a true base, we depend entirely on you."

Carlos sighed deeply, running a hand through his hair."I understand. I'll speak to her. Still… I'm worried about how she'll react. The last time you two saw each other, I was almost sent to the grave. I'm preparing myself for her to hate me, cry, or give me nothing but cold silence."

Amelia chuckled softly."That girl loves you with all her heart. She won't hate you. If anything, I'm the one at a disadvantage." Her smile faded slightly. "Everyone under your command adores her. I've even heard of soldiers beating men in the streets just for speaking ill of her. There's a rumor going around the city—if you dislike the Gómez family, you should curse Carlos instead of Isabella. Otherwise, you might end up beaten by half the city."

There was bitterness beneath her words.

Carlos shook his head."I doubt she'll do anything to you. Though… she may never say a word."

Amelia let out a quiet sigh."I hope so. Now go—take a shower and get a proper night's sleep. I'll inform the bureaucrats that the threat from Santa Fe has passed and that we can finally breathe. We'll leave those unbearable meetings for tomorrow."

Carlos opened his mouth to protest, but Amelia kissed him and pushed him out of the office before he could object. Resigned, he instructed the servants to prepare water and made his way to his chambers.

Once inside, he stepped onto the balcony and lit a cigar. The city below was still half-ruined. Though it was far better than during the war, the scars remained. A dull ache settled in his chest as he wondered when Medellín would bloom again, when it would reclaim its former beauty. He finished the cigar in silence, then turned inside and immersed himself in a long, cleansing bath.

Meanwhile, inside the council chamber, men from many factions gathered under Carlos's authority. Military elites, bureaucrats, and merchants sat together, waiting for his arrival.

"What do you think prompted Carlos to call this meeting?" one man asked quietly.

"I don't know," another replied. "Maybe something happened at Boquerón. Did you feel the tremor this morning?"

"I'm not sure," a third said. "I saw his servants rushing back and forth afterward, but that boy keeps his lips sealed. We must admit—expensive as his methods are, the way he treats his servants makes them fiercely loyal."

The speaker was a man wearing a woven palm hat—the administrator of the royal plantations in Medellín and its surrounding regions. He normally resided in Santa Fe, but had been staying in Medellín with his wife and daughter. That decision had spared him from calamity—though his brothers and their families had not been as fortunate.

At last, the doors opened.

Amelia entered the chamber, followed by two servants bearing the insignia of the Gómez de Castro family. At the sight of her, the room stirred with surprise. Though everyone had heard that Carlos was protecting her, most had imagined her as a caged canary—hidden away within the Gómez estates. After the attacks, she had withdrawn into the family's mountain lands, surrounded by loyal servants, making it impossible for other houses to know her true condition. That secrecy had fed countless rumors: that Carlos had killed her during the chaos, that she was gravely wounded, or that illness had claimed her.

Her presence now shattered them all.

The servants alone were proof enough—living testimony that the Gómez de Castro line still endured. This was the first time many present had laid eyes on the last survivor of Aurelio's blood.

"Gentlemen," Amelia said calmly, standing before the council. "Carlos is exhausted. I insisted that he rest. I will deliver the news we received this morning."

Murmurs rippled across the chamber. Some men frowned at the sight of a woman claiming the speaker's place. Others looked on with curiosity. A few smiled faintly, already calculating the consequences. The remnants of the Gómez de Castro and the Gómez family stood closer than ever—and the union of those two behemoths could reshape the region.

An elderly man rose slowly, his gaze heavy with contempt."May I ask," he said coldly, "why Carlos did not send one of his trusted men instead of you?"

"Because he wished it so," Amelia replied without hesitation. Her voice hardened. "If you take issue with me standing here, you are free to leave. No one will stop you."

The old man sneered."Then I shall," he said, pushing himself upright. "I have no interest in listening to women give orders."

He turned and walked out of the cabildo. A few small groups followed him, though the majority remained seated.

Amelia inhaled slowly, then continued.

"This morning, Carlos dispatched scouts to Boquerón after the tremor."

She recounted the events in full. As her words sank in—the destruction of the fanatic army, the collapse of the pass, the complete sealing of Boquerón—the chamber fell into stunned silence. Shock gave way to alarm, and then to something close to exhilaration.

Medellín was no longer under immediate threat.

Yet not all faces reflected relief. Among the elites loyal to Spain, unease spread quickly. With Boquerón blocked, reclaiming Medellín after defeating the fanatics would become a near-impossible task for the Crown. Some began whispering urgently, others rose and left to spread the news. A few leaned forward, already aligning themselves more openly with Carlos. Others quietly weighed how they might still support Spain.

The room fractured into thought and ambition.

Still, like an explosion, the news granted Medellín—and the lands around it—a precious breath of safety.

At last, Amelia spoke again.

"One more thing," she said. "Carlos has called for another meeting tomorrow morning, once he has rested. We will discuss the future of Medellín—and Antioquia as a whole."

She paused, letting her next words strike with full force.

"Attendance is expected. Those who do not come will be considered outside the Gómez faction—and outside the Medellín faction. From that moment on, Medellín will have nothing further to do with you."

A wave of uproar swept through the chamber as chairs scraped against stone floors. Voices rose in disbelief and excitement alike.

It was no longer just a meeting.

It was a declaration—the birth of a new government.

The news exploded through Medellín.

Servants, merchants, and landowners alike reacted with unrestrained joy. For the first time in months, they believed they would live in peace. The war felt distant now—either truly over for them, or at least far enough away that it would no longer devour their lives.

That night, the city abandoned itself to celebration.

Shops closed early. Tools were forgotten where they lay. Music echoed through the streets as people danced, drank, and laughed beneath torchlights. Wine flowed freely, and strangers embraced as if the future itself had returned. Hope, long buried under fear and ash, finally came back to Medellín.

But happiness did not reach everyone.

The man who had excused himself from the cabildo when Amelia began to speak was anything but relieved. When the news reached him, his face drained of color, fury tightening his jaw. What others celebrated as salvation, he saw as catastrophe.

Gathering the men who had left with him, he shut himself away from the revelry. While the city sang, they whispered. While Medellín drank, they planned.

They would find a way to fix this situation—or destroy it before it could take root.

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