Chapter 18 #2
I glance at Varok for confirmation, eyebrows raised in alarm.
He slowly shakes his head, the corner of his mouth twitching.
"The shadow-eaters are just stories Eira told a certain headstrong hatchling so she would go to sleep,” he says, flicking his luminous gaze at Zara.
"The only monsters who exist are our enemies who hide in shadow. "
“Are you sure, Ry’Varok?" she tilts her small head. "Because I swear I saw one creeping along the wall inside my chamber just last night. It had those long fingers, reaching for my memories. I hid under my blankets until dawn, clutching my dagger the whole time. You know, the one you gave me."
Varok's scales ripple with a sigh as he shakes his head. "I will have a word with Eira about these tales she has filled your head with. Shadow-eaters are not real, little seer. You have my word.”
I catch myself wishing this peaceful bubble could last forever, where the only concern is a child’s fear of a fictional monster under the bed, and nothing of politics, history, or lurking dangers can intrude.
But the thought dissolves as quickly as it forms. I know the truth: this moment shines so brightly because it’s temporary, a fleeting calm before the storm that gathers around us while our enemies move freely through the shadows.
For now, though, I let myself savor it. The taste of strange fruit on my tongue, the easy familial conversation between Zara and Varok.
There's something unspoken between them, a history that goes deeper than mere acquaintance. My curiosity, always my weakness and my strength, rises like a tide I cannot resist.
"You seem to know each other well,” I say, sharing a curious look between the two. “And what does Ry’Varok mean?”
“I suppose uncle in human terms.” Zara's smile turns wistful, her small hands folding in her lap as she looks to Varok, clearly deferring to him to tell the story. Something in her posture, the slight protective curve of her shoulders, tells me this isn't a simple tale.
Varok sets down his cup, the light from the pool reflecting in ripples across his face.
For a moment, he seems to retreat behind the mask of the warrior I first met, his expression becoming distant.
But then he exhales slowly, and when he speaks, his voice carries a depth of emotion I've only heard when he spoke of his brothers.
"A few years ago, during one of many offensives of the Sundering," he begins, his gaze fixed on the waterfall as though seeing beyond it to some painful memory, "the humans had developed a new type of explosive that could penetrate deep into our tunnel systems. They found their way inside the Serpentspine Mountains.
Before all of our people retreated entirely beneath the earth to Vessan-Kar, we maintained several settlements within caverns deep inside the mountain.
.." He trails off, a muscle working in his jaw.
I feel a pang of shame at what my kind has done, though I was never directly involved in the battles that raged. The weight of history sits between us, undeniable even in moments of connection.
"The settlement of Nir'vassa fell," he continues. "It was primarily a civilian enclave of scholars, artisans, those who preserved our oldest traditions. By the time we reached it, there was little left but ruins."
The garden's peaceful atmosphere seems to recede as his words paint images of destruction. I can almost smell the acrid aftermath of explosions, hear the crumbling of ancient stone.
"I led the recovery team. We were searching for survivors, artifacts, anything that could be salvaged." His voice lowers, taking on a different quality, less formal and more raw. "In the remains of what had been the hatchery, I found her."
Varok's gaze shifts to Zara, and something passes between them, an acknowledgment of shared pain transformed into connection.
"She was the only one left alive," he says simply. "Somehow protected when the ceiling collapsed, creating a pocket of safety in the midst of destruction. She could not have been more than a few moon cycles old."
Zara nods, her eyes lowered. "I do not remember it," she says softly. "Only the stories."
I swallow hard, imagining the scene: Varok, the battle-hardened warrior, finding a tiny hatchling in the ruins.
It's not difficult to reconcile this image with the stern, formal male who I first met in the binding chamber.
And as I watch him now, the careful way he speaks to spare Zara pain, the protective glance he casts toward her, I glimpse more layers of him I've only begun to discover myself.
"When I lifted her from the rubble, she looked at me with eyes too old for her young face," Varok says. "And I knew immediately what she was. The violet eyes, the white scales, all hallmarks of the seer bloodline, lost to us for centuries."
"Ry’Varok says I cried until he picked me up," Zara interjects, a small smile returning to her face.
"I took her directly to the Temple of Threads," Varok continues. "To Eira. If anyone would know what to do with a seer hatchling, it would be the elder Temple Guardian."
"Eira raised me," Zara says, brightly. "She taught me to understand what I see, to listen to the threads without getting tangled in them.
But Varok visits me often." She looks at him with undisguised affection.
"He brings me stories and sweet-fruits and showed me how to hold a blade, even though Eira said it was not proper for one as young as me. "
Varok's mouth quirks in that subtle half-smile. "The elder guardian and I disagreed on certain aspects of your education."
“How were the seers lost for centuries?” I ask, unknowing the gravity of my not so simple question.
The garden's peaceful atmosphere seems to tighten around us as Varok's expression shifts, the momentary tenderness giving way to something more guarded, more cautious.
“The TrueCoil killed them all,” Zara states bitterly.
“What?” I gasp. “Why?”
“Peace with humans," Zara’s words slice through the garden's tranquility like a cold blade. "Coexistence. Shared prosperity. An end to isolation and suspicion."
"Not all welcomed these visions," Varok says, his tail shifting restlessly beneath him.
"The TrueCoil formed in response. A faction dedicated to naga purity, to the belief that any contact with humans would weaken our bloodlines and corrupt our ancient ways.
At first they merely opposed the seers politically, questioning their visions, undermining their influence.
" Varok's voice grows cold, distant. "But as negotiations with early human settlements began, their opposition turned deadly.
More joined the insurrectionists and slunk into the shadows, hiding from capture. "
Zara's small coils tighten beneath her, the only outward sign of distress as she listens to the fate of those who shared her gifts.
"They hunted the seers?" I whisper, the horror of it settling in my stomach like lead.
Varok nods once, sharply. "Systematically. Over decades. They called it cleansing the bloodlines. Temple by temple, settlement by settlement, they eliminated those who carried the seer traits until the seer bloodlines were all but extinguished."
The waterfall's spray feels suddenly colder against my skin. I think of Zara, this bright, gentle youth with her knowing eyes and innocent wisdom, and imagine her hunted for the mere fact of her existence. The thought makes my hands clench into fists.
"Somehow, after all those centuries, you were born with the gift," I say to her, my voice soft with wonder.
“Which is why she has a compliment of guards wherever she go—” Varok stops abruptly when Zara visibly pales. “You outmaneuvered them again.” Not a question.
Powerful arms fold across a broad chest, muscles rippling beneath scales that catch the light like burnished armor. Molten eyes narrow to dangerous slits as they fix upon the diminutive seer-youth, his displeasure radiating with the intensity of a predator's focus.
“Maybe just a little,” Zara squeaks.
Varok unfurls to his full height as he summons the guards with a single, imperious flick of his wrist. “Zaethir and Nirik will be escorting you in your return to the temple.” The two warriors materialize at his summons, their bodies coiled in readiness.
His voice drops to a rumble that vibrates through the chamber.
“Escort Zara back to the temple and let her guards know she has slithered out from under their watch once again.”
Varok's tail flicks once, his voice softening despite the steel beneath it. "As for you, little seer, I will have your word. No more slipping away from those assigned to protect you."
“I promise.” Zara's delicate features crumple into a pout, her violet eyes widening with practiced innocence. A soft, melodic whine escapes her throat as her scales shimmer with iridescence. She turns to me, and I stand to say goodbye. Her small hands clasp mine with surprising warmth.
“Farewell for now, Leira," she whispers, her voice suddenly solemn despite her earlier dramatics.
Her fingers squeeze mine once more before she reluctantly glides toward her waiting escorts.
Just before she reaches them, she pivots in a fluid arc.
"And, Ry'Varok, beware the shadow that hides behind loyalty. Its fangs are patient."
Gooseflesh prickles my arms despite the garden's warmth.
My eyes find the waiting guards—Nirik, young and openly concerned, and then Zaethir.
The silver-blue scales of his face might as well be carved from ice for all they reveal.
Then his gaze locks with mine across the flowering distance between us.
Something flickers there, cold calculation?
Perhaps I only imagine it, my mind conjuring threats where there are none.
After all, he's made no secret of his dislike for me.
I blink, and there's nothing but the perfect mask of duty on his face, leaving me to wonder if my own paranoia is painting monsters in the eyes of those who merely tolerate my presence.
“I will, tiny seer,” Varok nods. "Zaethir. Nirik. Once you see Zara back to the temple safely, you are dismissed for the remainder of the afternoon. I wish for privacy with my bloodmate."
Nirik bows immediately, his youthful enthusiasm barely contained even in this formal gesture. "Yes, Sovereign."
Zaethir takes longer to respond, a hesitation so brief, it’s nearly imperceptible. "As you command, Sovereign."
The two guards escort Zara from the garden, the crystal curtain at the entrance chiming softly as they pass through. When the last musical note fades into silence, Varok turns his full attention to me.