Chapter 2 #2
Moving with silent care, I approach the shed from an angle, making sure to stay hidden from the manor's view. The blood trail becomes more pronounced on the grass, no longer smears but distinct droplets spaced in a pattern that suggests someone dragging themselves.
The ground before the door shows signs of disturbance; deep, wide, irregular scuffs carve through the dirt, as if something immense had hauled its weight across the earth.
Stalks of ornamental grass lie crushed beneath that path, flattened in a broad wake.
Whatever came this way was too large to be any common beast.
The shed itself feels wrong.
I’ve stepped inside it more times than I can count, seeking quiet among its forgotten tools and dust-choked shelves, but now it seems aware of me.
The weathered planks and warped seams hold their breath.
The small windows catch the last of the sinking sun, the glass glowing a dull, tarnished gold.
Within that dim light, shadows twitch along the inner wall, stretching and folding into unfamiliar shapes.
The blood trail leads directly to the door. It stands slightly ajar, barely an inch, a narrow seam of darkness between wood and frame.
For an instant, doubt creeps in. The sensible thing would be to turn back, to fetch a groundskeeper, and let them investigate what is likely just an injured animal seeking shelter.
Leira wouldn't hesitate. She'd already be inside investigating.
My brave, impulsive sister never had to gather courage; she simply possessed it.
I take a steadying breath, willing my racing heart to slow as I edge toward the door, placing each foot with deliberate care to avoid twigs or dry leaves that might announce my presence.
The blood trail disappears beneath the door's edge, continuing inside where I can't see.
Leaning close, I listen. At first, I hear nothing but the distant calls of birds settling for the night and the soft rustle of leaves in the evening breeze.
Then, so faint I almost miss it, a sound from within.
A scrape, perhaps, or the whisper of something moving against the wooden floor.
Not the scurrying of a small animal, but something larger, more deliberate.
Something that breathes.
I push the door open with trembling fingers, wincing at the protest of rusted hinges. The gap widens to reveal the shed's shadowy interior, dust motes dancing in the thin shafts of fading light that penetrate the dirty windows.
"Hello?" I call out softly, my voice barely above a whisper. "Is someone there?" The words fall flat against the wooden walls, met only by silence.
No response comes, but I sense I'm not alone. The air feels different, charged somehow, like the heaviness before a summer storm. I should leave. Every instinct screams danger. But the blood trail continues inside, drawing my eye like a path I'm destined to follow.
The interior is exactly as I remember, yet utterly transformed by context and shadow.
Old clay pots line sagging wooden shelves, some cracked with age, others still intact but filmed with years of dust. Gardening implements hang from rusted nails: pruning shears, trowels with worn wooden handles, and a rake missing half its tines.
Bundles of dried herbs dangle from the exposed rafters, their once-vibrant green faded to dusty gray-brown, filling the air with ghosts of thyme and lavender.
Along the back wall stands the potting table, its surface cluttered with empty seed packets, crumbling soil, and what looks like a wooden box that might once have held tools.
I move deeper into the shed, careful to avoid the items scattered across the floor of empty sacks, a cracked watering can, a pile of twine tangled like abandoned nests.
The blood trail guides me, darker now against the weathered wooden planks.
It doesn't flow in a straight line but weaves erratically, as if whatever left it struggled to maintain direction.
In places, the droplets pool more heavily, suggesting their source paused there, perhaps resting before continuing.
My eyes follow the crimson path as it winds between obstacles, heading toward the rear of the small building. My pulse quickens as I realize where it leads directly to the potting table, disappearing beneath its low shelf where shadows gather, thick and impenetrable.
Something is under there. Something injured. Something hiding.
I take another step forward, and a board creaks loudly beneath my foot. The sound is shockingly loud in the stillness, and I freeze, listening. From beneath the table comes a new sound, a soft shifting, like something heavy adjusting its position. A faint rasp that might be labored breathing.
Whatever is hiding there knows I'm here.
I approach the table in measured steps, pausing to gather courage before slowly crouching.
I bend until I'm eye-level with the dark space beneath.
At first, I see nothing, just deeper shadow against shadow, the vague outlines of what might be old pots or sacks stored underneath.
Then a shaft of dying sunlight shifts through the window, casting one thin beam into that darkness.
Something catches the light and reflects it back with cold brilliance. Something silver that ripples slightly, as if disturbed by breath or subtle movement.
The lump in my throat makes it hard to breathe.
As my eyes adjust, it begins to make sense what lies before me.
Not pots or sacks, but a long, sinuous form covered in jagged scales, the color of polished metal.
Scales that rise and fall with labored breathing.
Scales that belong to no animal I've ever encountered.
A monster from nightmare.
I open my mouth to scream, the sound already building in my chest. A primal response to discovering something so utterly foreign in this familiar space.
But then the creature shifts again, and in that movement, I glimpse more details.
Blood, dark, almost black, seeping from multiple wounds along its powerful form.
A massive humanoid torso attached to that serpentine lower half.
Arms with fingers ending in wicked claws.
And a wealth of pearly grey hair matted with dirt and blood, falling across a face turned away from me.
Not just any monster.
A naga.
The very beings Father plans to destroy. The people among whom my sister now lives. An enemy, according to everything I've been taught. Yet here, wounded and vulnerable, seeming far more victim than threat.
I stare at the naga, my mind racing to process what my eyes are seeing.
Books in Father's study had shown these creatures, half human, half serpent, but those clinical illustrations failed to capture the exotic beauty before me.
Despite the wounds marring his silver scales, despite the blood darkening his strange luminous hair, there's an undeniable power in his form.
Even injured and unconscious, he radiates danger like a sleeping predator that might wake at any moment.
Yet all I can think is here lies a living bridge to my sister's world.
A means to warn her about Father's plans.
A chance to prevent the slaughter of an entire species, including Leira, in the collapsed tunnels Captain Halvane so eagerly anticipates.
The fear that initially gripped me transforms, melting away like morning frost under sudden sun.
In its place rises something stronger, more focused, of hope mixed with determination.
This isn't just a wounded enemy in a forgotten shed.
This is the answer I've been seeking since I first heard Father's cold discussion of sacrifice and strategic advantage.
This naga came from Vessan-Kar, and he might know Leira. Might know how to reach her and be willing to take me there.
I shift closer, and his breathing changes, becoming more alert, though his eyes remain closed. He knows I'm here and is likely assessing whether I'm a threat. The realization should frighten me, but instead, I feel a strange calm settle over me.
"I'm not going to hurt you," I say softly, making sure my empty hands are visible. "I want to help."
For a moment, nothing happens. Then he turns his head, and his eyelids flutter open, revealing a serpent's slitted gaze unlike any I've ever seen.
Irises pale as winter moonlight on undisturbed snow with tiny flecks of alabaster scattered across the otherworldly surface.
They focus on me with startling intelligence, pain giving way to wariness.
"My name is Serin Valen," I tell him, maintaining a respectful distance while ensuring he can see my face clearly. "I'm Leira's sister."
His eyes widen fractionally at my sister’s name, a flash of recognition that confirms my hope. He knows her, or at least, of her.
The naga watches me with unnerving intensity, his gaze revealing nothing of his thoughts. A muscle in his jaw tightens, and I realize he's fighting pain to maintain consciousness.
"I know you have no reason to trust me," I acknowledge. "But you're injured, and I can help you. Tend your wounds. Give you food and shelter until you're strong enough to travel." I take a steadying breath. "In exchange, take me to Vessan-Kar and to my sister."