Page 84 of Season of Naga: Volume 2
"Rest," I tell him softly, though I doubt he understands me. "You're safe now."
Am I lying to him? Is anyone safe while battle rages beyond these walls? While prophecy weaves its way through our lives, pulling us toward some culmination none fully understand.
A commotion near the entrance draws my attention. Four warriors carry in another, his massive body limp between them. For one terrible moment, I think it might be Lurok, and my heart freezes in my chest. But even from this distance, I can see the scales are wrong. Dark grey instead of silver.
Relief washes over me, followed immediately by shame. How can I feel relief when another suffers? When families will mourn regardless of which warriors fall?
I return to my task, cleaning a wound on a young warrior's shoulder where sunblight has burned through his scales. His eyes track my movements with wary confusion.
"Why do you help us?" he asks, his voice rough with pain. "You are human."
The question catches me off guard with its simplicity. Why am I helping? Because suffering demands a response, and these warriors fight to protect their home. That somehow, in the days since Lurok pulled me from the ash pit, this place, these people have begun to matter to me in ways I never expected.
"Vessan-Kar is my home, and this fight is mine too," I tell him, the truth of it settling into my bones as I speak the words.
His expression shifts slightly, pain giving way to something like grudging respect. He says nothing more as I finish cleaning his wound, but when I move to the next patient, I feel his eyes following me across the chamber.
The prophecy might speak of humans and naga joined by destiny, but here in this room of blood and pain, we are alreadyconnected by something more immediate: the shared experience of a world breaking apart around us, and the desperate hope that something better might rise from the ashes.
A hollow ache blossoms behind my sternum, freezing me mid-step. Not agony. Not terror. Something else entirely. My breath catches in my throat as a trapped gale stirs within me, scraping against my ribs and demanding release. My pulse skips and races, untamed as a wild storm seeking ground.
No.
Not mine.
His.
“Lurok,” I whisper, the name torn from me as if by that restless wind.
Across the chamber, Leira’s head whips toward me. The Flame’s light flickers across her tight features. For a heartbeat, we simply stand, two sentinels bound by the same tremor.
“You feel it, too,” she says, voice barely above a sigh, yet charged with certainty as she strides to my side. “How? You didn’t mingle your blood with his.”
“We did, but not in an official ceremony,” I gasp, as another surge rattles through my chest, sharp and unbalanced. Loose strands of my hair lift as if teased by an invisible draft. “When he breathed air into my lungs, we tasted each other’s blood from all the cuts from the ash. He’s losing control,” I manage, voice rough. “The wind… It’s fractured. Unsteady.”
Leira’s breath catches. Her hand flies to the serpent-stone amulet at her throat; its ember-red veins pulse faintly beneath her palm, responding to a call only she can hear.
“Varok,” she murmurs, eyes narrowing. “His fire is… taut. Stretching beyond its tether.”
Before I can speak, Eira glides beside me.
“You feel the bond,” she says softly, yet her voice threads through the clamor of wounded soldiers and chanting guardians.
My heart hammers. “I feel… something. It’s in my veins. It won’t still.”
Eira’s ancient eyes study me, luminous with knowing. “It will not settle because it was never meant to stand alone.”
Her gaze sharpens, addressing me as though I stand on a knife’s edge. “Do you feel the wind answer you?”
I swallow past the weight in my throat, remembering the tornado I created in my room. “Yes.”
“Good.” Her tone holds no comfort, only unyielding resolve. “You understand what must be done.”
My pulse skips. “What?—”
“You must go to him,” she commands, as though wielding a blade of light. “Whether he welcomes you or not.”
Leira straightens, ready to protest, but Eira’s gaze flicks to her, unblinking. “You feel it as well,” the elder continues. “His fire strains without your balance. The elements answer his call, but without harmony, his power will turn on more than just his foes.”
