Page 69 of Season of Naga: Volume 2
"As I told her yesterday," she begins, pulling me from dangerous recollections, "I overheard my father’s meeting with Captain Halvane. They argued about timing. Halvane wanted to proceed immediately with destroying Vessan-Kar, but my father wanted to wait for more intelligence from someone named Zela."
"Zela," I repeat, the name Varok questioned me about in the war chamber. "You are certain of the name?"
"Yes. Halvane mocked my father for dismissing naga prophecy as superstition while trusting the visions of a naga seer." Serin's fingers twist in the fabric covering her lap. "My father said this Zela had visions that contradicted yourprophecy. That instead of naga being saved through human blood, she foresaw that the child of flesh mentioned in the Threadborn Prophecy would be the thing that destroys your kind."
My scales tighten against my flesh. Varok mentioned Thorne had said he held captive a seer named Zela, but had dismissed it as an attempt to unsettle him. Now, hearing confirmation from Serin makes the naga seer all the more real.
“Did they say where Zela was being held? Who guards her?"
"No.” Serin shakes her head. “But they spoke as if her visions were regular. Like she'd been providing information for some time." She pauses, eyes searching mine. "Do you know who she is?"
My voice emerges rougher than intended. "No." I force my gaze away from the curve of her neck where my lips would press, where I would taste her pulse quickening beneath my tongue as I bury my shaft deep inside her clenching slit.
My claws flex against my palms as I fight to maintain distance. "What else did you overhear? Locations of human forces? Plans for further attacks?"
"The explosive devices were part of what they called plan B. The worms had already placed them throughout Vessan-Kar, but you already know all of that."
I pace the length of the chamber, tail sweeping across the smooth stone floor. Each detail confirms what we already know, offering no new advantage. Yet I continue the interrogation, stretching it beyond necessity, because the alternative is acknowledging what pulses between us, what ignites the air when our gazes meet.
"What of the structure of command? Did names of other officers arise?"
Serin sighs, frustration evident in the tense set of her shoulders. "Lurok, Leira has already told all of this to Varok. I'vetold you everything I remember. If there had been more, don't you think I'd have mentioned it by now?"
Her voice wavers with exhaustion, and I notice the shadows beneath her eyes, the slight tremor in her hands. She pushes herself too hard, even now. Leira’s parting warning echoes in my mind that she is still on the mend.
I ask another question, then another, each one a transparent excuse to remain in her presence, though I know I should leave. "The TrueCoil you encountered in the tunnel. Could you identify them again?" My voice betrays nothing of how I catalog each small detail of her recovery. The slight flush returning to her cheeks, the delicate lattice of scars where the ash had scored her flesh.
She shifts on the cot, wincing slightly. “I could identify the TrueCoil who ambushed us in the tunnel,” she says quietly. “Both of them. One had midnight blue with silver in his scales, the other copper with gold. The copper one was the one who stepped forward.”
Her fingers drift unconsciously to her face as if remembering the sensation. “He released some kind of golden dust into the air,” she continues, voice tightening. “It hit my face before I even understood what he was doing. My vision went dark almost instantly.” Her gaze hardens. “I would recognize them again.”
A small eddy of air curls around my wrist, responding to emotions I refuse to acknowledge. I clench my fist, forcing the element back beneath my control. This is what the prophecy warned of power awakening through connection. Through love.
"Is that all?" I ask, my voice deliberately cold.
Her eyes flash with something between hurt and anger. "Yes, Second Fang. That is all I have to report."
My title stings more than it should. Talon discipline tells me to be satisfied with her answers, to report back to Varok, and continue my duties. Yet I remain coiled before her, unable tobreak free of her gravity. The air between us feels charged, heavy with unspoken truths and the memory of her body against mine, her whispered confession as consciousness faded.
I love you.
Three words that could destroy everything. A confession I cannot afford to hear. A declaration that would push the Threadborn Prophecy forward, accelerating whatever doom awaits our kind.
I force my expression to remain impassive, though beneath my scales, chaos reigns. The element stirs, responding to the turmoil I refuse to show. Small objects shift slightly on nearby tables. A cup slides an inch to the left, a scroll's edge lifting without being touched. Evidence of what I am becoming, what I cannot allow myself to be.
"Rest," I command, turning away before she can see the cracks in my armor. "The healers will return soon."
I force myself toward the door, each powerful undulation of my tail a battle against the magnetic pull she has on me. My heart thunders against my ribs, a desperate prisoner seeking escape. With every inch of distance I put between us, the air around me grows more chaotic, stirring scrolls, rattling vials, betraying the storm she unleashes within me. This fragile human female has somehow become the keeper of a heart I never meant to surrender, unlocking chambers I never knew were there with nothing but the quiet strength in her hazel eyes.
"Wait." Her voice stops me before I reach the door, that single word carrying enough weight to halt my retreat.
I do not turn, needing time to compose my features, to reinforce the walls that threaten to crumble. The air grows thick around us, responding to emotions I refuse to name.
A small vase filled with luminescent blue flowers on the nearby table begins to tremble, the water inside forming tinyripples. I force the element back beneath my scales through sheer will, though the effort leaves me drained.
"What is it?" I ask without turning, my voice carefully modulated to reveal nothing of the storm brewing within.
Her voice cuts through the chamber. “Look at me.” Not a request, but a demand, carrying the same quiet strength that had guided the key Severa gave her into my shackles, metal scraping until the lock gave way with a decisive click. The same hands that had treated my injuries in the shed, when anyone else would have summoned the Crownward Guard to have me tortured and killed.
