Page 63 of Season of Naga: Volume 2
“We need to find Malikor before that happens,” Varok says, his eyes narrowing to molten slits.
“The scouts lost his trail here.” Sareth points to the northern region of human territory. “Maybe they are holding him in the Blackwood Forest.”
"We need to act swiftly," Varok says, straightening to his full height, his burnished scales catching the keh'shalin light as he addresses us. "Sareth, take your most skilled trackers and follow Malikor's trail through the Blackwood Forest. Find him, but do not engage unless extraction can be accomplished without detection. I want him home alive."
His gaze shifts to me, the weight of command settling over the chamber. "Lurok, when Serin wakes properly, debrief her thoroughly. She may have heard or seen more than she realizes. Every detail she can recall matters."
I nod once, fighting the leap of anticipation at the prospect of seeing her again. "As you command, Sovereign.”
"Traven," Varok continues, his tail sweeping an arc of finality against the stone, "assemble your wraiths. Use these new tunnels Lurok has identified. I want eyes inside human territory within two days. Learn what they are planning, where their forces gather, and search for any sign of this seer youngling Thorne claims to hold."
"What of the TrueCoil?" I ask, desperate to focus on anything but the human female whose pulse I can almost feel echoing through my veins despite the distance between us.
"Since you and Serin escaped their captor,” Varok’s expression darkens, “and Severa and Salvor identified, they will have gone deeper into hiding. We will increase patrols in the lower tunnels and set guards at all access points to the ancient network."
His gaze sweeps across all three of us, lingering on me with an intensity that makes my scales prickle. "We face enemies on two fronts. Humans who would see us exterminated and our own kind who would sacrifice peace for purity. Neither can be permitted to succeed."
Sareth and Traven nod in unison, their expressions grim with determination. I incline my head in acknowledgment, thoughmy thoughts already race ahead to Serin's bedside, to questions I must ask and truths I dare not face.
"Dismissed," Varok says, the single word carrying the weight of authority that has led our people through centuries of struggle.
Sareth and Traven slither from the chamber, scales whispering against stone as they depart to carry out their orders. I turn to follow, but Varok's voice halts me at the threshold.
"Lurok."
I pivot slowly, facing the Sovereign Flame with carefully schooled features. "Yes?"
The war chamber falls silent. Varok's molten gaze slides over me from crown to coil, his assessment leaving heat trails across my scales as if his elemental fire could burn through the walls I have built around my thoughts.
"The naga who left these halls is not the one who coils before me now," he says, voice low and certain.
"Survival changes us all, Sovereign," I say, feeling the air currents whisper between my fingers.
“They tell me you wield the element of air.”
"Talons would have died," I say simply, meeting Varok's knowing gaze. "I prevented it."
At the moment of the explosion, power tore through me, elemental air answering my will with terrifying obedience, surging outward in an invisible wall that met the explosion head-on and pushed it back. I remember the sensation, like exhaling after holding my breath for centuries. The air had become an extension of my body, responding not just to my command but to my intent, compressing the deadly force and hurling it away from the warriors.
"Air responds to your command now."
I do not deny it. There is no point. My power was witnessed as I harnessed the wind to do my bidding. "Yes."
“Yours will be my first blood bonding as ruler of Vessan-Kar.”
“No,” I say. “There will be no ceremony.”
“No?” Varok eyes me, perplexed. “You mean not to take Serin as a bloodmate?”
The warning of prophecy whispers through me like a rising gale. Only love fully awakens what sleeps in my blood. Elemental power requires an emotional catalyst. Not just acknowledgment of connection, but surrender to it. The more I allow myself to feel for her, the more the winds answer.
“The Crimson Bonding ceremony would only tighten the prophecy’s noose around our species’ throats,” I say with more conviction than I feel.
“You marked the female as surely as I marked my bloodmate. Any naga with a tongue can taste your essence on her flesh.” When I remain silent, Varok scoffs, “So, you mean to deny your place in the prophecy as a means to stop it? The Temple Guardians interpret it as rebirth.”
“Yet, some see the Season of Naga as our doom,” I counter.
"Change is not destruction, Lurok. It is evolution." Varok's hand clasps my shoulder, his grip firm but not threatening. "The Season of Naga may end some traditions, yes. But it may also forge new ones, stronger ones, that carry us forward into a future we could not have imagined."
