It is immediately apparent that the wagon was never designed for a creature of my proportions. My upper body and the first loop of my tail fit awkwardly on the platform, but the remainder of my length spills over the back edge, destined to drag against the tunnel floor as we move. The position forces my dislocated shoulder into an awkward angle that sends fresh pulses of agony through my body with each breath.
I curl my tail as tightly as I can manage, trying to minimize what will drag behind us. The effort makes my vision swim, the tunnel walls seeming to contract around me. For a single, terrifying moment, I think I might lose consciousness again. I close my eyes, focusing on my breathing until the worst of the dizziness passes.
"Are you all right?" Serin asks, hovering at the edge of my awareness.
"I will endure," I answer, opening my eyes to find her watching me with genuine concern.
When I am as settled as I will ever be in this undignified position, she begins loading supplies around me. I brace them with my good arm, anchoring them against the inevitable motion of our journey.
Serin positions herself at the front of the wagon, grasping the crude handle that extends from its frame. She braces her feet against the packed earth floor and leans forward, her small body straining against the combined weight of a massive naga warrior and our supplies. At first, nothing happens. The wagon remains stubbornly motionless despite her effort.
I expect her to give up, to admit that her plan has failed against the simple mathematics of weight and strength. Instead, she adjusts her grip, plants her feet more firmly, and pulls again. This time, with a low sound of determination that rises from deep in her chest, the wagon lurches forward with a wooden groan.
My body shifts painfully with the sudden movement, and I bite back a curse. The wheels, rough-hewn but functional, begin to turn, first with resistance and then with surprising smoothness as our momentum builds.
Serin does not look back at me. Her focus remains entirely on the path ahead, her shoulders set with determination as she pulls us deeper into the tunnel. The lantern hangs from a hook at the front of the wagon, its light casting her silhouette against the stone walls. A shadow much larger than the slight figure casting it.
I watch her with growing surprise as she establishes a rhythm, her pace quickening beyond what I would have thought possible given her burden. The wheels rumble steadily now, the occasional bump sending fresh spikes of pain through my injured body.
This human female, who appears as fragile as new spring growth, reveals a core of steel that defies explanation. Herbreathing comes quick but controlled, her steps sure despite the weight she pulls. There is no hesitation in her movements, no suggestion that she might falter or reconsider the sacrifice she makes with each step that takes her farther from the only home she has known.
An uncomfortable warmth spreads through my chest. Respect, reluctant but undeniable, for this tiny creature I should despise.
The steady rumble of the wheels lulls me despite my resistance. My consciousness begins to slip away once more, darkness creeping in from the edges of my vision. I fight against it, determined to remain aware of our progress, of any dangers that might threaten Serin as she pulls me through this unfamiliar tunnel.
But my body's demands override my will, and in my fading awareness, I recognize an unfamiliar emotion taking root inside me. Trust. Fragile, reluctant, born of desperation but no less real for its origins. I am placing my life in her hands. Not just my life, but the fate of my entire race. And strangely, as consciousness slips away, I find no terror in that realization. Only a quiet certainty that she will not falter, will not abandon me or her mission, will not prove unworthy of the faith I have reluctantly placed in her.
The rhythmic turning of wheels becomes my heartbeat, and darkness welcomes me once more.
Chapter Seven
SERIN
My arms tremble violently with each step, muscles screaming in protest. Sweat trickles down my neck despite the tunnel's chill, as though someone has poured molten metal into my veins. The wagon's wooden handle digs into my palms, blisters stinging where they have already burst and wept. Fresh ones rise beneath them, hot little pockets of agony that throb with every heartbeat.
Time has abandoned me to this darkness, leaving only the burn of my muscles and the echo of my breath. How long has it been? An hour? Three? The shadows swallow every second, digesting them into an endless now where only pain and purpose exist. But I can't stop. Not until we reach Vessan-Kar and my sister.
Behind me, the wagon moves silently through the darkness, Lurok's massive form a silver shadow in the lantern's flickering glow. His breathing grows more labored with each passing moment, ragged inhales followed by wet, rattling exhales that make my stomach clench with dread. Each struggling breath sounds farther apart than the last.
“Almost there," I lie, the words scraping past my dry throat. I don't know if he can hear me, but I keep talking anyway, willingmy voice to reach whatever dark corner of his mind still clings to consciousness. "Just a little farther, Lurok. Hold on."
The truth is, I don't have any idea where we are or how far we still have to travel. The tunnel stretches endlessly before us, swallowing the weak light of our lantern like a hungry beast.
For the first time since we entered this passage, I stop to check on him. My legs tremble beneath me as I release the handle, nearly buckling with the sudden absence of weight. The momentary relief sends pins and needles racing through my fingers. I flex them, watching fresh blood well from the raw, angry flesh of my palms.
Lurok lies motionless, his jagged, silver scales dulled with a fine layer of dust and dried blood. His chest rises and falls in shallow, uneven breaths. The bandages I applied earlier are soaked through, dark stains spreading like spilled ink across the once-clean linen. His frosty hair tangling around his ashen flesh. Even unconscious, pain etches lines around his mouth, his fangs slightly bared as if ready to strike despite his weakness.
"You have to hang on, Lurok,” I whisper, smoothing a strand of hair from his face. My fingers tremble against his scales, cool and dry beneath my touch. "Just a little longer."
I tear two strips from the bottom hem of my dress, the fabric yielding with a satisfying rip that echoes in the silence. Wrapping each palm carefully, I cover the worst of the blisters and raw patches.
I take a water skin from the supplies packed around Lurok and kneel beside him. His head is heavy as I lift it and cradle his neck in the crook of my arm. I tip the skin to his parched lips, watching as the liquid slips between his fangs. His throat works once, weakly, but most of the water escapes, trailing rivulets down his ashen scales.
I wipe his mouth with my bandaged thumb, then tilt the skin to my own cracked lips, the lukewarm water like nectar on myparched tongue. After tucking the water skin back into the sack of supplies, I lower his head gently back onto the wagon bed and grasp the handle once more. My shoulders protest as I lean forward, dragging our burden deeper into the endless tunnel.
Squinting ahead, I stop again and unhook the lantern and raise it higher, its weak flame barely pushing back the shadows. The light catches something unexpected. Where the passage should continue straight, a jagged fork splits the path in two. My heart stutters in my chest.
Two identical openings, one veering left, the other right. Both disappear into absolute darkness beyond the reach of my light. Nothing distinguishes one from the other. Both have the same rough-hewn walls, the same packed earth floor, and the same oppressive silence.
