I study her face in the heartglass's cerulean glow, weighing each word carefully. "TrueCoil believes our blood is sacred. They see humans as a contamination, I say, watching her reaction. “A disease that weakens our connection to the elements. They orchestrated the collapse of every treaty between our peoples, igniting the Sundering.” My voice drops lower. "They would rather see the last naga die pure than survive alongside humans."
"But if she's TrueCoil, why would she help me escape?" Serin's question mirrors my own confusion. "Why not just let them kill me?"
“Perhaps she truly does feel a debt to your sister,” I mutter, my thoughts churning. “You mentioned Leira burned a man to ash who would have struck Varok in the back with an arrow. During the Sundering, Severa nearly died protecting Varok's clutch brothers. Such loyalty recognizes itself across species. The debt makes sense.”
Although Severa’s involvement with the TrueCoil does not.
Memories of another traitor rise unbidden. Jarik. A Talon sworn to serve Naryth, and secretly one of his worms. Nameless, faceless spies once believed to be the Sovereign Crown's most loyal servants. None knew their identities, only that they answered to Naryth alone. We trusted them as our ruler's vigilant eyes and ears until the truth emerged in fire andrubble when these clandestine serpents had turned against us, orchestrating the explosion that destroyed the palace's great hall while our ruler dined.
Worms and TrueCoil burrow deeper than we ever suspected. How many more of these fanatics tunnel through the foundations of our society, waiting to collapse everything from within?
"We are surrounded by enemies," I hiss. "Some wearing the faces of allies. Trust has become a liability."
Serin's hand brushes against my arm, the touch so light I might have imagined it. "Not all trust," she says softly.
I look down at her, this small human female who has twice saved my life when she could have left me to die. Her hair hangs in tangled waves around a face marked by exhaustion and pain, yet her eyes remain clear, unflinching.
"No," I agree, surprising myself with the certainty in my voice. "Not all trust."
The irony is not lost on me. Here, in the heart of danger, surrounded by the treachery of my own kind, I find myself placing faith in a human. The very species I was raised to despise has given me the one person I trust without reservation.
I adjust my grip on the heartglass, feeling it pulse in time with my heart as we press onward through the shadowed passageways, guided by its cerulean light and the quiet determination of the female at my side.
The tunnel changes around us, subtle at first, then unmistakable. Rougher stone gives way to deliberately carved surfaces, ancient glyphs worn smooth by centuries etched into the corners where wall meets ceiling. These are not just any forgotten passages. I know these corridors, not from maps or patrol routes, but from memory. From a time before human weapons scarred stone with blood and fire.
"What is it?" Serin asks, her voice hushed with concern. She steps closer, her shoulder nearly brushing my arm as she studies my face.
"I know these tunnels," I whisper, running my free hand along a series of carved symbols, each touch awakening echoes of childhood wonder. "These are ancient passages, as old as Vessan-Kar itself."
These stone passages awaken memories from my earliest years. A time when my scales still gleamed with youth's luster, and I slithered through these very tunnels, heart racing with the forbidden excitement of venturing where my mother had expressly forbidden.
"How?" Serin's question pulls me from the past. "How do you know them?"
“I explored them as a youngling after my clutch-sister, Lysara, was killed," I admit, continuing forward with renewed purpose. "Before the war collapsed half the mountain, it was an escape from the harsh reality of the Sundering. I would slip away whenever my mother turned her attention elsewhere, mapping passages she had forbidden me to enter." The memory pulls my lips into a smile, wistful and sharp-edged. "She would catch me covered in dust, scales dulled from crawling through forgotten tunnels. Her punishments grew more creative with each escape, but even her most severe discipline never kept me from these tunnels for long.”
The passageway widens into a chamber I recognize, despite centuries of erosion and neglect. Massive columns rise from floor to ceiling, carved to resemble coiled serpents supporting the weight of the mountain above. Between them, eroded basins that once held luminous water now stand empty and cracked, their channels long dry.
I called this the Chamber of Echoes as a youngling," I murmur with a soft rumble in my throat, surprised by thememory surfacing after so many years. "Water used to cascade from channels in the ceiling, and I would lie here for hours, convinced each droplet whispered ancient secrets as it fell."
Serin's gaze lifts to the ceiling, her eyes tracing the ancient channels. "What secrets did you hear?" she asks softly, and when I look down, her expression holds no mockery. Only a gentle curiosity that makes something in my chest constrict.
"That the mountain breathes," I answer, my voice dropping to match the chamber's hushed acoustics. "That my sire and Lysara watch over me from beyond the veil.” My tail shifts against the stone floor. "A youngling's fantasies, but I believed them then."
"Maybe the water wasn't wrong," she says, her smile soft but tinged with sadness. "I believe my mother watches over me from beyond the veil. Perhaps she's there with your sire and sibling, and they guide us together."
I tilt my head, studying this human female who speaks with such conviction about souls and spirits. "You believe our kind shares the same afterlife?"
"Why not?" Her eyes meet mine without flinching. "Tails or no tails, we all have souls."
"That's rather profound coming from one so young," I say, surprised by the wisdom in her words.
"I'm twenty-three," she replies with a wry twist of her lips. "Hardly a child."
No, definitely not a child. My gaze catches on the gentle curve of her neck, the determined set of her shoulders. I've been trying not to notice how her form draws my attention, even exhausted and dirt-streaked as she is.
"How old are you, Lurok?" she asks, breaking into my illicit thoughts.
"A little over a century."
