Page 42 of Season of Naga: Volume 2
"It is alright," I murmur, the unfamiliar comfort feeling strange on my tongue yet somehow ancient in my bones, as if some primal part of me has always known how to cradle something fragile without breaking it. "I have you.”
Her scent assails my senses. Sweat and fear and determination, the lingering traces of captivity not yet washed away, and beneath it all, something uniquely Serin. Like spring water over stone, clean and clear despite the mud stirred up around it. I tuck her head beneath my chin, one hand moving to brush tangled hair from her face.
Venom take it!What am I doing? This intimacy feels like treason against my beliefs, my very nature. The Threadborn Prophecy warns that such closeness will unravel all that makes us naga. Yet I cannot bring myself to release her, not when her body shakes against mine, not when something deep within recognizes a need I can fulfill.
Her fingers curl reflexively, catching on the ridged scales of my chest. She does not pull away as consciousness wavers, does not flinch at the inhuman texture beneath her palms. Instead, she presses closer, as if seeking the heat radiating from my core.
"You’re so warm,” she whispers, and snuggles against me.
I tighten my embrace fractionally, careful not to restrict her breathing with the pressure of my arms.
Gradually, the most violent tremors subside. Her breathing evens, though still too rapid for proper rest. I run a careful hand down her back, the same motion my mother used to soothe meafter nightmares as a hatchling. The gesture feels right despite the strangeness of offering such comfort to a human.
"Thank you," she murmurs against my scales, the words barely audible.
I make a non-committal sound in response, unwilling to examine too closely the warmth spreading through me that has nothing to do with physical heat.
Minutes stretch into an hour, maybe more. Time loses meaning in the shadowed cave with only the distant howl of toxic wind marking its passage. Serin's body gradually relaxes against mine, and her breathing deepens, slows, catches on a sigh as she surrenders finally to exhaustion.
I remain motionless, afraid that shifting might disturb her rest. Her head nestles against the curve where my shoulder meets my chest, one hand still pressed flat against my scales as if to reassure herself of my presence even in sleep. The unconscious gesture of trust tightens my throat with an emotion I will not name.
Outside our shelter, the Ashlands wait, barren and merciless, a graveyard of what once was. Danger lurks in every shifting dune of ash, with a countdown of two or fewer days that I cannot stop.
Yet here, in this moment, exists a fragile peace I never expected to find. This human female trusts me enough to sleep within my coils, vulnerable and defenseless. The enormity of that gift leaves me breathless. In all my years, no moment has felt so profound as this simple act of providing shelter to one who should be an enemy but has somehow become... something else.
I watch the rise and fall of her chest, the flutter of her eyelids as dreams claim her, the slight parting of her lips with each exhale. I memorize the contours of her face, the pattern of burns that mark her skin like a warrior's tattoos, earned in battle andcarried with dignity. She is so small against me, yet the strength in her slender form humbles me.
I curl my tail more securely around us both and settle in for the long watch, one arm cradling her sleeping form while my gaze remains fixed on the tunnel entrance. I will not sleep. I cannot afford such luxury, not when danger waits on all sides. Not when this impossible trust has been placed in my keeping.
The ash storm continues to rage beyond our shelter, covering all traces of what came before. Perhaps there is wisdom in that, I think as Serin sighs in her sleep, her fingers tightening briefly against my scales. Perhaps sometimes the past must be buried before anything new can grow from its remains.
I rest my chin lightly atop her head and prepare for the long wait until the ash storm stalls and our journey can resume.
Chapter Thirteen
SERIN
Iwake to cold and absence. The warmth that cradled me is gone. Only stone lies beneath my body now, the darkness pressing hard against my eyelids. For one disoriented moment, I can't remember where I am, only that something vital is missing. My fingers reach out, searching for the smooth scales and solid muscle of Lurok's coils. Nothing. Just empty air and cold rock. Silence crashes down, broken only by the moan of wind beyond the cave mouth.
"Lurok?" My voice sounds small, a frightened child's whisper swallowed by darkness.
No answer comes. The fatigue that gripped me earlier has receded. My mind is clearer now, but my body remains weak; my limbs tremble as I push myself to sit. The darkness around me is absolute. There is no gleam of heartglass, no silver shimmer of scales catching distant light. Nothing.
"Lurok!" I call louder this time, my voice bouncing off unseen walls, returning to me emptier than when it left.
The panic comes suddenly. It is complete, a physical thing clawing up my throat. I scramble to my feet, hands outstretched like a blind woman, feeling my way along cold stone. My fingersbrush rough walls. I try to orient myself in a space that, without him, feels hopelessly alien.
“Lurok,” I call out his name again, but only the mournful howl of the ash storm answers, a sound like grief given voice.
I feel my way back to where I woke and mark the spot in my mind. If he left supplies, they would be here. My hands sweep the stone floor in widening circles. I find nothing: no pack, no waterskins, no heartglass. Just dust and sharp stones that cut my palms.
The realization hits harder than I expected. I am completely alone. Again. Just as I was in the TrueCoil labyrinth before finding him.
But something is different this time. This absence cuts deeper. It leaves a wound I can't explain. It's not just fear of dying alone in this cave, though that certainly pulses beneath everything. It's him. The specific absence of him. The timbre of his voice. The careful strength in his hands. The way his silver scales caught the heartglass and turned into something magical.
I sink back to the floor, drawing my knees to my chest. Breathe. Just breathe. There must be an explanation. Perhaps he went to scout the ash storm's progress. To find food.
A soft whisper of light catches the corner of my eye, so faint I think I've imagined it. A trick of desperate hope. But it grows steadier, a cerulean glow like dawn seen through water, spilling around a bend in the tunnel I hadn't even realized was there.
