For now.
I stare at the serpentine statue now cradled in my father’s palm. Its coiled form a symbol of peace, but no less a warning. My heart thunders because I know it isn’t the statue that seals this fragile accord. It’s me.
I am what stands between war and peace. The offering. The first human to be bound to a naga. If I fail, I don’t just fail myself, I fail all of humanity and reignite the war both sides are so desperate to set aside.
For a flicker of breath, I think of Serin. Of her quiet laughter, of her youth. This is the only way I can protect her.
By surviving what she was never meant to endure.
By bonding with a stranger cloaked in scales and mystery.
"Human offering." First Fang Sareth’s slitted gaze pins me to the ground. "You will follow."
Not a request. Not even a proper greeting. I square my shoulders, feeling the eyes of my father and the Crownward Guard at my back.
"My name is Leira Valen," I reply, my voice steady despite the dryness in my throat, "come to honor the peace treaty between our peoples. To put an end to the Sundering."
The naga warrior doesn't acknowledge my words. He simply turns, his upper body pivoting while his lower half remains coiled, then gestures toward the open gate with an impatient hand.
I glance toward my father, foolishly hoping he might offer me one final look, a word, anything.
But he’s already turned away, speaking to one of the delegates, the OathCoil tucked beneath his arm like a sealed bargain. I shouldn’t have expected anything less. Not from him.
The sting is swift and familiar, but I shrug it off like I’ve done a hundred times before. What he didn’t give me, I’ll learn to stop needing.
I take a deep breath and step forward. As I cross the threshold, I feel it, the invisible line that separates human territory from naga. My skin prickles as if I've passed through a veil of static. The stone beneath my feet changes from sun-warmed granite to something smoother, almost glassy, that holds the chill of deep earth. The air grows cooler with each step, wrapping around me like a living thing, testing my warmth.
Behind me, I hear the subtle shift of armor as Commander Alric and his men reach the limit of their escort duty. They will go no further. From here, I walk alone.
No. Not alone. Surrounded.
The naga warriors position themselves around me with First Fang Sareth ahead, one behind, two flanking. Their weapons remain ready though not pointed at me. Not yet. Their eyes reflect the blue-green flames like pools of molten gold.
The corridor beyond stretches into darkness, broken only by those strange blue-green flames at regular intervals. They cast more shadows than light, creating pools of darkness between each glassy torch. The tunnel narrows slightly, curved rather than angular, more like a natural formation than something built.
I force my breathing to remain even, my stride measured. The white silk of my ceremonial robes whispers against the stone, catching on the rough edges. I note each intersection we pass, each alcove and side passage. If I needed to run, which way would offer the best chance? Where would I find cover? What could serve as a weapon?
Not that I intend to run. I came willingly. But knowledge is its own kind of armor.
The ceiling arches higher as we proceed, carved with symbols that remind me of star charts, though the constellations are unfamiliar. Water trickles somewhere in the distance; the sound bouncing off the walls in ways that make it impossible to locate the source. The scent of my enemy grows stronger, dark musk and magic and something like wet stone after rain.
We pass through a wider chamber where the ceiling arches high above, formed of interwoven stone serpents that appear alive with faint pulses of amber and violet light. The glow seems to breathe through the patterns, casting shifting scales of illumination across the floor, as if the walls themselves remember the sun.
For a moment, it’s beautiful the way the light pulses through the lattice above, casting shimmering scales of color across the floor.
Not sunlight, I remind myself. It’s what the naga call biotech, some fusion of stone and energy, light shaped by naga magic. Then I notice the warriors watching my reaction. I school my features back to neutrality, refusing to give them the satisfaction of awe.
The corridor narrows again, then splits into three branches. First Fang Sareth takes the center path without hesitation. The torches here burn brighter, their flames tinged with green edges. The walls are no longer bare stone but inlaid with thin veins ofsome luminescent material that gently flows like blood through tissue.
I map each turn in my mind. Left, right, center fork, descending slope. The path seems designed to disorient, to make retracing steps difficult. Whether by accident or design, it's effective.
A sound reaches us, distant, rhythmic, like drums or heartbeats amplified through stone. The guards straighten subtly, their movements becoming more formal, ceremonial. We're approaching something significant, and my steps slow.
“Keep moving, Offering. The Temple of Threads lies just ahead,” a warrior behind me murmurs, his tone sharp, controlled, devoid of warmth. He leans in to deliver a deliberate whisper that grazes my ear. “But first… you will be prepared for the ceremony.” The words slither through the air, designed to unsettle, to make me acutely aware of my own exposure, meant to make me flinch.
Prepared.The word sends a chill down my spine that has nothing to do with the cool air. What exactly does preparation entail in the naga custom of the Crimson Bond Ceremony? The peace treaty documents had been frustratingly vague, both about the ceremony itself and about Varok, my intended. I’d only managed a glimpse one night, slipping into my father’s study while he slept, the door left carelessly ajar.
The corridor widens suddenly into a circular antechamber, its walls rising into a domed ceiling veined with faint lines of glowing stone. Seven arched doorways ring the chamber, each sealed by a smooth stone slab that fits seamlessly within the frame. Every slab bears a unique symbol, etched deep and inlaid with faintly glowing mineral: a serpent’s fang, a continuous line, an open eye, and others I can’t yet name.
