Along the back wall stands the potting table, its surface cluttered with empty seed packets, crumbling soil, and what looks like a wooden box that might once have held tools.
I move deeper into the shed, careful to avoid the items scattered across the floor of empty sacks, a cracked watering can, a pile of twine tangled like abandoned nests. The blood trail guides me, darker now against the weathered wooden planks. It doesn't flow in a straight line but weaves erratically, as if whatever left it struggled to maintain direction. In places, the droplets pool more heavily, suggesting their source paused there, perhaps resting before continuing.
My eyes follow the crimson path as it winds between obstacles, heading toward the rear of the small building. My pulse quickens as I realize where it leads directly to the potting table, disappearing beneath its low shelf where shadows gather, thick and impenetrable.
Something is under there. Something injured. Something hiding.
I take another step forward, and a board creaks loudly beneath my foot. The sound is shockingly loud in the stillness, and I freeze, listening. From beneath the table comes a newsound, a soft shifting, like something heavy adjusting its position. A faint rasp that might be labored breathing.
Whatever is hiding there knows I'm here.
I approach the table in measured steps, pausing to gather courage before slowly crouching. I bend until I'm eye-level with the dark space beneath. At first, I see nothing, just deeper shadow against shadow, the vague outlines of what might be old pots or sacks stored underneath. Then a shaft of dying sunlight shifts through the window, casting one thin beam into that darkness.
Something catches the light and reflects it back with cold brilliance. Something silver that ripples slightly, as if disturbed by breath or subtle movement.
The lump in my throat makes it hard to breathe. As my eyes adjust, it begins to make sense what lies before me. Not pots or sacks, but a long, sinuous form covered in jagged scales, the color of polished metal. Scales that rise and fall with labored breathing. Scales that belong to no animal I've ever encountered.
A monster from nightmare.
I open my mouth to scream, the sound already building in my chest. A primal response to discovering something so utterly foreign in this familiar space.
But then the creature shifts again, and in that movement, I glimpse more details. Blood, dark, almost black, seeping from multiple wounds along its powerful form. A massive humanoid torso attached to that serpentine lower half. Arms with fingers ending in wicked claws. And a wealth of pearly grey hair matted with dirt and blood, falling across a face turned away from me.
Not just any monster.
A naga.
The very beings Father plans to destroy. The people among whom my sister now lives. An enemy, according to everythingI've been taught. Yet here, wounded and vulnerable, seeming far more victim than threat.
I stare at the naga, my mind racing to process what my eyes are seeing. Books in Father's study had shown these creatures, half human, half serpent, but those clinical illustrations failed to capture the exotic beauty before me. Despite the wounds marring his silver scales, despite the blood darkening his strange luminous hair, there's an undeniable power in his form. Even injured and unconscious, he radiates danger like a sleeping predator that might wake at any moment. Yet all I can think is here lies a living bridge to my sister's world. A means to warn her about Father's plans. A chance to prevent the slaughter of an entire species, including Leira, in the collapsed tunnels Captain Halvane so eagerly anticipates.
The fear that initially gripped me transforms, melting away like morning frost under sudden sun. In its place rises something stronger, more focused, of hope mixed with determination. This isn't just a wounded enemy in a forgotten shed. This is the answer I've been seeking since I first heard Father's cold discussion of sacrifice and strategic advantage.
This naga came from Vessan-Kar, and he might know Leira. Might know how to reach her and be willing to take me there.
I shift closer, and his breathing changes, becoming more alert, though his eyes remain closed. He knows I'm here and is likely assessing whether I'm a threat. The realization should frighten me, but instead, I feel a strange calm settle over me.
"I'm not going to hurt you," I say softly, making sure my empty hands are visible. "I want to help."
For a moment, nothing happens. Then he turns his head, and his eyelids flutter open, revealing a serpent's slitted gaze unlike any I've ever seen. Irises pale as winter moonlight on undisturbed snow with tiny flecks of alabaster scattered acrossthe otherworldly surface. They focus on me with startling intelligence, pain giving way to wariness.
"My name is Serin Valen," I tell him, maintaining a respectful distance while ensuring he can see my face clearly. "I'm Leira's sister."
His eyes widen fractionally at my sister’s name, a flash of recognition that confirms my hope. He knows her, or at least, of her.
The naga watches me with unnerving intensity, his gaze revealing nothing of his thoughts. A muscle in his jaw tightens, and I realize he's fighting pain to maintain consciousness.
"I know you have no reason to trust me," I acknowledge. "But you're injured, and I can help you. Tend your wounds. Give you food and shelter until you're strong enough to travel." I take a steadying breath. "In exchange, take me to Vessan-Kar and to my sister."
Chapter Three
LUROK
Ilie against the icy wall. Blood and grit choke my throat as she kneels beside me with those round, human eyes. Nothing like her sister’s. Leira’s gaze cuts like a blade: honest and unflinching. This one’s stare flutters, brimming with questions and tremors she masks. I simmer with familiar loathing for her kind. It settles in my veins like frost under the fever of my wounds.
Serin leans closer. Her scent drifts over me like a breeze, carrying notes I cannot name yet instantly know. It tingles across my scales with an unfamiliar heat. Beneath the exotic floral of her scent lingers something distinctly human, a warning that sends primal fear through my veins. Every instinct insists she is prey and I am predator. Yet truth mocks me with every stab of pain. Here I lie: a fearsome naga warrior, useless as shed scales.
"I'll return with medical supplies. Food. Water." Her voice trembles, but her gaze remains steady. "But I need to know. If I help you, will you take me to Leira?"
