The wind whispers against my scales, an ally now rather than merely an element. It carries information, the subtle vibrationsof mechanisms counting down, the displacement of air around objects that do not belong. I follow these invisible currents, letting them guide me through textile merchants' silks hanging like colorful banners, the farmers' empty grain sacks piled in untidy heaps, and a scribe's delicate papers and pigments.
We work with increasing urgency as the minutes tick by, each deactivated device both a victory and a reminder of how close we stand to catastrophe. Seventeen devices neutralized when Sareth and Traven finally appear, gliding into the marketplace from the south wall.
"South wall clear," Sareth reports, his expression grim as he approaches. "Found eleven devices embedded in support columns."
Traven's onyx scales glisten with exertion, his chest rising and falling rapidly. "The worms were thorough," he says, voice tight. "They targeted every major structural point."
I slither toward a display case housing crystalline spheres of various sizes. Meditation orbs carved from the heartstone of ancient stalactites, their surfaces etched with prayers to the Ancients. My scales brush against the wooden display table as I bend to examine its underside. There, magnetically attached to the metal support beam, my claws find the cold, mechanical shape of a device. Its presence is a desecration beneath these sacred relics.
The ground trembles beneath my coils.
Too late.
A detonation, then another, ignites at one of the last unexplored stalls. Deep and concussive, felt more than heard as the stone floor buckles. The sound follows a heartbeat later, a roar that shakes loose dust and fungal spores from the ceiling hundreds of feet above. Fire blooms beyond the outer structures, visible through connecting tunnels as a fast-approaching wave of orange-white fury.
“A chain reaction,” Sareth's voice cuts through the growing thunder. "Retreat! Now!"
Kareth and Vaelor are already moving, their tails propelling them toward the exit with desperate speed. Nirik hesitates, looking back at me still coiled near the final stall.
The shockwave builds, devouring stone and air as it races toward us. Falling debris blocks the escape route, cutting off our retreat. I can see the calculations running behind Sareth's eyes. We will not make it out.
In that frozen moment, I make a decision to reveal my truth.
The elemental force inside me answers my silent command. Wind erupts from my outstretched hands in a violent surge that meets the advancing shockwave. Fire twists to the side against my invisible barrier, debris scatters upward as I redirect the explosive force away from my comrades. The power flowing through me is intoxicating and terrifying, demanding every ounce of concentration I possess.
My scales burn with the effort, muscles trembling as I bend elemental forces I barely understand to my will. The air becomes a shield, a weapon, an extension of my body. Flames lick around the edges of my control, seeking weakness, finding none as I pour more power into the barrier.
The concussion slams into me like a physical blow, my tail digging grooves into the stone floor as I brace against it. I roar, the sound lost in the cacophony of destruction, forcing more power through channels I never knew existed within my body.
When the final blast fades, silence falls, broken only by the gentle patter of settling ash and debris. I sway but remain upright, exhaustion threatening to buckle my coils. Around me, the marketplace lies in ruins. Stalls collapsed, goods scattered and burned, and ceiling supports cracked, but are holding for now.
Behind me, sheltered in the pocket of calm my power created, my fellow Talons remain intact. Alive. Five pairs of eyes stare at me with expressions ranging from shock to awe to dawning understanding.
The air stills around me, my elemental power receding beneath my scales like a tide returning to the deep. But there is no hiding what I am. The Season of Naga advances another step, and I have just revealed myself as one among its harbingers.
No one speaks at first. The reality of what just happened is too immense for immediate words. What does one say when prophecy manifests before your eyes?
Kareth breaks the silence first, his practical nature asserting itself as he slithers forward to examine the fallen debris around us. "The structural supports held," he observes, running his palm along a cracked but intact column. "Your air shield prevented a complete collapse."
Vaelor nods in agreement, coiling his muscular tail beneath him as he rises to full height. His amber eyes never leave me, narrowing slightly as if seeing me truly for the first time. The weight of his gaze carries unspoken questions that hang in the ash-filled air between us.
Traven circles the perimeter, onyx scales gleaming under the remaining light crystals as he assesses our position. "We should not linger," he says, voice low and tense. "The vibrations may have destabilized other sections of the marketplace."
Nirik circles the perimeter of our small group, his rust-colored scales gleaming with sweat and ash as he checks for further threats. His movements betray a nervous energy, the reality of what he witnessed still processing behind his wide eyes. He keeps throwing glances at me when he thinks I am not watching, quick, darting looks filled with equal parts fear and fascination.
Sareth glides toward me, his massive form moving with deliberate slowness as if approaching something volatile. His expression remains carefully neutral, but I see the calculation behind his eyes, the pieces fitting together in ways that cannot be undone.
"That was elemental manipulation," he says, his voice pitched low enough that only I can hear. "Air."
I say nothing, letting my silence confirm what we both know. What use are denials in the face of what they all witnessed?
Sareth's eyes narrow with certainty. "You have bonded." It is not a question but a statement, heavy with implication.
The words hang between us, weighted with centuries of prophecy and portent. Varok's fire awakened first through his bond with Leira. Now my connection to air emerges, sparked by something equally forbidden.
I turn away from Sareth's knowing gaze, unable to face the truth reflected there. My scales feel too tight, as if my body can no longer contain what I have become. The power that flowed through me moments ago now lies dormant beneath my scales, but I feel its presence like a slumbering beast, ready to wake at my command.
Traven glides closer, his voice dropping to a whisper that nonetheless carries in the stillness. "The Threadborn's sister," he says, the words sharp with sudden understanding. His gaze holds mine, connecting pieces I wish he would not. "She is your catalyst."
