Page 93 of Season of Naga: Volume 2
Sareth shakes his massive head. “No sign of him, Sovereign. We searched every inch of that camp. If he was there, they moved him before they abandoned it.”
“Or he is already dead,” Lurok says quietly beside me.
I place my hand over his, feeling the tension in his body. Malikor was a fellow Talon. “We don’t know that,” I whisper, though the words feel hollow even to me.
Varok turns his attention back to the twins. “Did she say anything? About where they might have taken him?”
“Nothing,” Sareth admits. “She knows nothing of a Talon being held captive.”
“I want to see what you found,” Varok says. “If they were studying Zela, maybe they are doing the same to Malikor. There might be clues.”
“Yes, Sovereign.” Sareth takes in the many wounded. “What of the battle?”
“We were victorious thanks to Leira and Serin,” Varok says, his golden eyes gleaming with pride. “If it were not for their willingness to join us, we would have lost Vessan-Kar to Halvane.”
“Halvane is dead. I saw his body myself,” Lurok sneers, the words dripping with cold satisfaction. “But no sign of Thorne.”
I watch as Eira carefully cleans Zela’s wounds, the ancient temple guardian’s face tight with concentration. Zara hasn’t left her sister’s side, their small hands intertwined as if afraid they might be separated again.
“I lied to him,” Zela blurts. “I told him the child of flesh the prophecy speaks of would bring only destruction to the naga.”
“To Lord Valen,” I state. “You lied to him, knowing he would send one of his daughters to the naga.”
“Yes. I foresaw both his daughters crossing the gate and the sky healing above the Ashlands.” Zela’s eyes briefly drift closed with exhaustion before blinking back open. “Did I miss the ceremony?”
“Ceremony?” Zara tilts her head.
“Their Crimson Bond Ceremony,” she looks directly at Lurok and me, her gaze suddenly old and knowing in her young face. “My visions only show faces but no names. You are to bond soon after this battle. Did I miss it?”
The room seems to still around us. I feel heat rise to my cheeks as I turn to look at Lurok. His expression is unreadable for a moment, those colorless eyes fixed on the twin seers with a mixture of awe. Then his gaze shifts to meet mine, and something in it softens.
“If the seer herself saw our bonding ceremony,” he grins, “then who am I to argue with prophecy?”
The words land like stones in a still pond, rippling through me. A Crimson Bond Ceremony. The sacred ritual that joined Leira and Varok, which would mark us as mates in the eyes of both our peoples. It’s too soon, too sudden. Yet something in me recognizes the rightness of it, as if the path has been laid before us all along.
“Lurok…,” I begin, not even sure what I want to say. “A ceremony,” I repeat, testing the weight of the idea.
“If you will claim me as your bloodmate?” his voice is steady, but I can see the vulnerability in his eyes, the fear that I might reject him.
“Yes, Lurok,” I say simply. “I will claim you as mine.”
Epilogue
SERIN
“Bring forth the aetherveil.” Eira’s command ripples through the Flame room.
“Oh, this is so exciting,” Leira murmurs beside me, her excitement humming through her fingertips as they brush against my arm. “Mine was called cindralveil.”
Two guardians glide forward, silent as shadows. Their fish-scale silk veils conceal every feature. Between them rests a single garment, folded with care. Their movements are ritualistic and deliberate.
With measured hands, they unfurl it.
The veil lifts easily. It is lighter than it should be. At first, it appears pale silver, like mist in early light. As it settles, color stirs through it. Soft blue, hints of violet, threads of gold shifting beneath the surface like something alive.
It doesn’t hang the way fabric should. The edges stir without wind; they rise and fall in subtle currents I cannot feel. When it brushes my skin, it barely touches me—cool and weightless. Instead, it moves to the rhythm of my breath.
It is not entirely solid. Not entirely air. Something in between. When I reach for it, the fabric cools against my palm,shifting faintly beneath my touch, as though it moves with a life of its own.
