Page 39 of Season of Naga: Volume 2
His pupils dilate sharply, vertical slits widening into dark pools. The muscles in his jaw tighten, and for a heartbeat, he goes utterly still, the stillness of a predator assessing his prey that makes my pulse quicken. Then something shifts in his expression, the hard lines softening almost imperceptibly.
We have lost many good naga," he says finally, his voice low and rough with emotion, he clearly struggles to contain. "Families. Hatchlings. My sister, Lysara, was barely past her first shedding when the war spilled into our cavern, and she was run through on a human sword." He looks away, then back to me with surprising intensity. "But I accept your apology on behalf of your kind, Serin Valen. You are... not like the others."
"My older brother, Kade, was killed in the Sundering as well," I whisper.
"I am sorry for the people you have lost," Lurok says, inclining his head.
"Thank you, but my brother wasn't an innocent like your sister. He died fighting in the war." I twist the frayed edge of my sleeve between my fingers. "For all I know, you could have been the one who killed him, or him the one who killed someone you loved."
Lurok's eyes grow wide, pupils narrowing to slits against their icy backdrop.
"War is war," I continue, meeting his gaze unflinchingly, "and it devours the guilty and innocent alike, turning us all into both victims and executioners.”
Lurok's silver-scaled chest rises with a deep breath. His pupils widen slightly as he studies me. "You show wisdom beyond your years, little human.”
"Or perhaps I’m just rambling,” I counter.
"Perhaps," he acknowledges, gathering the food wrappings and returning them to the pack. "Either way, you continue to surprise me, Serin Valen."
The way he says my name makes my heart skip a beat. I watch as he secures the pack across his torso and retrieves the heartglass, its glow strengthening at his touch as though responding to some unspoken command.
"Ready?" he asks, extending his hand to help me to my feet.
I take it without hesitation, my smaller hand disappearing into his massive one. "Ready."
Chapter Twelve
LUROK
We continue our ascent, the passage narrowing with each turn. The mountain tightens its grip around us, stone pressing closer as we climb higher. The air thins, carrying less moisture, the taste of minerals fading as we approach the surface. My scales rasp against the walls, leaving tiny silver flakes behind like breadcrumbs marking our escape.
"Mind your head here," I warn as we approach a jutting shard of rock that once sliced open my shoulder when I was young. The memory of blood on stone remains sharp, despite the decades that have passed.
She ducks under the shard without hesitation, moving fluidly. I extend my arm to steady her as the floor slopes upward. Her skin feels soft and resilient. When she grips my wrist in return, there is no flinch, no hesitation, just the pragmatic acceptance of assistance offered.
"Thank you," she says, voice strained with effort but steady.
I cannot remember when a human last looked at me without terror. From birth, we are taught that humans see monsters in us. Their fear breeds hatred, hatred fuels weapons, and weapons carve bloody channels through naga flesh. Our elders' storiesabout human treachery are treated as prophecies: facts, not fables; warnings, not wonders.
Yet here is Serin, following me into darkness. Trusting my guidance through a mountain that could become her tomb with a single collapse of stone. No fear clouds her eyes when she looks at me, no tremor betrays her hand when it touches mine. Between the garden shed and this moment, something fundamental has shifted.
A sharp pain shoots through my side as I twist to navigate a particularly narrow bend. The healer’s work was efficient but not complete. My body still protests sudden movements, reminding me of the wounds that nearly claimed my life. I suppress a hiss, but Serin notices anyway.
"Your injuries still pain you," she observes, her voice soft with concern.
"They heal fast enough," I reply curtly, unwilling to acknowledge weakness.
We pause at a small widening in the tunnel, a natural bubble in the stone barely large enough for me to coil my lower half while Serin leans against the opposite wall. We share water and strips of dried shadowfin in silence, the companionable quiet of those who have survived together. She does not shy away when my tail shifts against her legs, only adjusts her position to accommodate my bulk, as if sharing space with a massive serpentine predator is the most natural thing in the world.
"Does it bother you?" I ask suddenly, the question escaping before I can reconsider its wisdom.
"What?" She meets my gaze directly, those hazel eyes reflecting the heartglass's glow.
"This." I gesture to the inhuman architecture of my body. "What I am."
She considers the question with the seriousness it deserves, her head tilting slightly as she studies my form. "Should it?" she finally asks, her own question an answer in itself.
Warmth floods my chest, unwinding a tightness I had not recognized until its absence. Between us hangs the unsaid, that she sees me as I am, neither beast nor nightmare, but simply Lurok. This acceptance should not matter. It changes nothing of the centuries of bloodshed between our kinds, and nothing about the Threadborn Prophecy that foretells doom to my kind.
