Page 72 of Season of Naga: Volume 2
I recoil as if struck, her words cutting deeper than any physical blow could reach. With a final snarl, I turn and flee the chamber, my tail propelling me forward with desperate speed. The wind follows in my wake, a testament to powers I can no longer fully control, to truths I can no longer fully deny.
The corridors blur past as I race through the Temple, away from Eira, fleeing the serpent stone, desperate to outrun the knowledge that threatens to shatter every wall I have built. My chest heaves with exertion that has nothing to do with physical strain and everything to do with the war raging within me.
I burst from the Temple's entrance into the main corridor of Vessan-Kar, scales burning with exertion and emotion. Naga scatter before me, pressing themselves against walls to avoid my reckless charge. I barely register their startled faces as I flee.
The corridor branches, and I take the left passage without thought, desperate for distance and space to breathe.
Only when I find myself in a deserted section of tunnel do I slow, my coils settling into tight spirals as I struggle to master my breathing. The air around me gradually stills, the elementalpower receding beneath my scales like a tide returning to the deep.
Serin's face haunts me. The hurt in her eyes when I denied what grows between us, the brave set of her jaw as she accepted my rejection. I told myself the lie was necessary, that I acted to protect my people from whatever doom the prophecy foretells.
But what if Eira speaks truth? What if the Season of Naga advances regardless of my resistance? What if, in fighting against the bond, I become the very instrument of the destruction I fear?
The questions circle like predators, offering no clear answers, no certain path forward. Only the knowledge that with each breath, each heartbeat, I move further from what feels right and closer to what destiny demands.
I straighten, forcing my scales to settle against my flesh. Varok still awaits my report. The worms still threaten from within. Thorne's armies still gather at our borders. The TrueCoil still plots in shadows. These are tangible enemies I can fight, problems with solutions I understand.
Not like the storm that rages in my chest whenever Serin's face floats before my eyes.
With one final, steadying breath, I turn toward the palace. Whatever war wages within me must wait. For now, I have a duty to perform, intelligence to relay, and a city to protect.
But as I move through the corridors of Vessan-Kar, Eira's words follow like persistent shadows,The Infinity Flame has already spoken. The serpent stone, Wyndren cast.
And beneath my scales, air stirs in response to a truth I am not yet brave enough to face.
Chapter Twenty-One
SERIN
The Infinity Flame dances before me. Blue and gold light cast shadows, moving with purpose across the chamber walls. My lungs still burn when I breathe too deeply, but the sharp agony has faded to a dull ache. It reminds me I'm alive. I trace the healing scars on my wrists, pink rings where shackles once bit into my flesh. Four days since Lurok carried me through the obsidian gate. Four days of healing. One day, since he walked away from me, taking something vital with him when he left.
I don't want to think about him, about the cold precision with which he severed whatever grew between us.Just survival,he'd said. Nothing more. Yet here I am, unable to focus on anything else, the memory of his words cutting deeper than any physical wound.
The Flame pulses, alive, almost a heartbeat. I stare into its depths, seeking distraction. The opaline fire should scorch the air, but no heat reaches my skin; only a gentle warmth slips past my flesh and sinks into my bones. How strange this place is. How alien. Yet somehow, I no longer feel like an outsider.
A whisper of movement draws my attention to the chamber entrance. The door ripples like midnight water, disturbed by an unseen hand. Solid stone parts in elegant, fluid waves,defying everything I know about matter and physics. Through this impossible threshold glides Eira. Her ancient silhouette, backlit by the corridor's amber glow, appears almost ethereal, as if she exists between worlds. The Temple Elder had once intimidated me when Leira introduced us; now her presence brings unexpected calm.
She glides into the room with the quiet authority of something older than the chamber itself. Her long, serpentine lower half moves with effortless grace. Pale alabaster scales catch the chamber’s light with a faint golden shimmer.
Her upper body is slender but upright. Her posture carries the calm certainty of someone who has outlived generations. Chalky scales gleam softly against the ceremonial robes draped over her shoulders. Pale threads are woven with tiny rune-beads, chiming faintly when she moves.
Her eyes, milky white orbs like polished moonstone, turn toward me. Though clouded with blindness, they lock onto my face with the eerie precision of someone who sees beyond mere physical sight.
“You are stronger today,” she says, her voice soft and textured, like ancient pages turning in a forgotten archive.
Not a question. A certainty.
“Yes,” I answer, sitting straighter on the edge of the cot. “Much stronger.”
Eira glides closer, her tail making no sound against the stone floor.
“May I?” she asks, her scaled hands hovering near my face.
I nod. "Of course," remembering Eira perceives with touch as much as sight.
Her hands are warm as her fingers trace the contours of my face with gentle precision. They move lower, pressing lightly at my throat, collarbones, and hovering over my chest. A strangevibration builds, as if air between her palm and my sternum becomes solid.
"Your lungs are healing well," she murmurs. "The ash did not do permanent damage.”
