Chapter 11
Chapter Eleven
SERIN
My heart pounds against my ribs as Lurok's frosty gaze holds mine, colorless like the still air before a tempest. The space between us feels charged, dangerous. The same danger I felt when I first saw him coiled beneath the table in the garden shed, wounded yet still deadly.
My confession of attraction hangs in the air between us.
Words I can't take back. His pupils widen so his pale, arctic irises become mere rings around black pools.
I should recoil from his predatory focus, but I stay frozen, transfixed in the dangerous current connecting us, like prey awaiting the strike.
Then suddenly, he releases me, severing our connection with such force that I nearly stumble backward. He turns away with a sharp, decisive movement that leaves me gasping as if surfacing from deep water. The spell shatters, and I'm left dizzy, unmoored.
His massive tail makes a soft rasping sound against stone as he slithers toward a barely visible fissure cutting through the far wall, like a jagged wound, each scale scraping the rock, a physical manifestation of his retreat from whatever just passed between us.
"This tunnel is not on any map I have ever seen," he says, his voice rougher than before. "It was my discovery. I never told anyone that I found it."
"Where does it lead?" I ask, studying the narrow opening with guarded hope.
"Up." He gestures with the heartglass, illuminating the steep incline beyond the fissure. "Most of the tunnels are ruined now, collapsed during the Sundering when your people's weapon brought down sections of the mountain. But not this one. This path to the surface still remains."
Lurok turns sideways to slip through the fissure, broad shoulders scraping stone.
He flinches without a sound, healing wounds, protesting the tight squeeze.
Jaw clenched, pride refusing to yield to pain, he emerges and extends a clawed hand.
I hesitate, then take it, surprised by the warmth of his scales and how easily his massive hand engulfs mine as he guides me through the gap.
The passage slopes sharply upward, forcing me to dig my fingertips into tiny crevices for balance. My shoes slip on the floor, worn glass-smooth by what must have been ancient floodwaters.
"This path leads to an exit on the northern face of the mountains," he explains as we climb, voice echoing against stone.
"And then?" I ask between increasingly labored breaths, my lungs burning as the incline steepens. I refuse to fall behind, though my legs strain to match his powerful, serpentine movements.
"Then we travel eastward around the base of the mountain through the Ashlands to reach the obsidian gate on the south side." Lurok's voice drops to a rumble that makes the air vibrate against my skin. "It will take us several hours of travel to reach the gate.”
"The Ashlands," I whisper, my father's warnings echoing in my mind. "My father spoke of them. Said they're uninhabitable, poisoned by the Great Burning."
"Is that what humans call the use of the incendiary device that laid waste to our territory?" Lurok's pupils narrow to slits, his massive body coiling tighter.
"Yes."
"Your Great Burning did more than kill our warriors," he says, each word sharp as a blade, the frills along his neck flaring. "It poisoned the land itself, turned forests to ash, and lakes to toxic sludge. Nothing grows there. Nothing lives."
I watch his jaw clench, muscles shifting beneath jagged scales, catching the heartglass light like polished armor. Tension ripples as he swallows bitter words.
I fall silent, weighing his words against what I know of the Ashlands. My throat tightens as I remember the maps in Father's study, vast regions marked with skulls.
"How much farther?" I ask, wincing as a jagged edge of stone catches my forearm, opening a fresh cut alongside the burns and bruises already marking my skin.
"We climb until we can no longer climb," Lurok answers cryptically, reaching down to steady me as I stumble on a loose piece of rock. "This passage was carved by water, not hands. It follows its own path through the heart of the mountain."
His touch lingers a moment longer than necessary before he releases me and climbs upward.
I follow. The passage narrows; I am forced sideways, stone scraping my chest and back.
Ahead, Lurok slips through each constriction with a fluid grace that defies his size.
Claustrophobia claws at my throat. I swallow it down.
"The air is changing," Lurok observes after what feels like hours. "Can you taste it?"
I pause, drawing a deeper breath. He's right. The air carries a hint of something beyond stone dust and minerals, a subtle vitality that whispers of open spaces. Hope surges through me, giving strength to my trembling limbs.
"We're getting closer to the surface," I say, unable to keep the eagerness from my voice.
Lurok makes a sound that might be agreement. "Closer, yes. But we still have far to travel."
I cling to his voice, its deep rumble echoing as I watch him twist through a tight bend. My smaller frame should help me, yet I contort awkwardly, muscles screaming, while he flows through the mountain like water.
The path steepens, nearly vertical in places. I'm forced to climb more than walk now, using cracks and protrusions as handholds. Lurok moves ahead with surprising agility, his tail providing leverage where my legs struggle to find purchase.
"This was easier when I was younger," he mutters, and I catch a rare note of humor in his voice as he squeezes through a particularly tight bend.
"I imagine everything was," I reply, surprised by the lightness in my own tone despite our dire circumstances.
Lurok doesn't pause his steady ascent, his silver scales whisper-soft against the rock.
"I was perhaps seven seasons old when I found these tunnels. My mother had forbidden me from wandering beyond our den, which naturally meant I snuck away and spent every unguarded moment exploring where I was not allowed.”
I smile at the image of a young Lurok, rebellious and curious, slithering through forbidden passages. "You were a troublemaker."
"I preferred to think of myself as an explorer.
" There's a warmth to his voice I haven't heard before, something almost fond beneath his usual severity.
"This particular passage I discovered after following a strange draft that should not have existed so deep within the mountain.
None of the younglings my age would accompany me.
They feared their own mother's wrath too much. "
"But not you?"
"Mother’s punishment was worth the discovery." He pauses at a particularly narrow section, his massive shoulders barely squeezing through. Once past it, he turns to check my progress, the heartglass illuminating concern in his pale eyes. "Are you managing?"
I nod, though my limbs tremble with effort, every muscle protesting the steep climb after days of captivity and abuse. The stone scrapes my palms raw as I pull myself up toward him. My breath comes in shallow pants, each inhalation bringing the scent of mineral dust and Lurok's exotic musk.
Finally, we emerge into a small cavern where the passage finally widens enough for both of us to remain upright. My legs shake with the effort of the climb, but relief washes over me at no longer feeling stone pressing in from all sides.
I sink to my knees on the rough floor, letting my burning muscles rest as Lurok circles, his massive coils moving with practiced efficiency as he examines our surroundings.
The heartglass throws a blue-green glow over walls etched with ancient symbols I can't read, illuminating a chamber water carved from the mountain's heart centuries ago.
Lurok's vertical pupils dilate as they fix on me, his expression unreadable.
The scales along his neck flatten, then rise again as he watches me trembling on the stone floor.
He unslings the pack from his shoulder and extracts a waterskin, his movements deliberate as he approaches.
"We will rest here," he says, voice softer than usual as he extends the waterskin toward me.
I drink greedily of the cool liquid, rivulets escaping down my chin. When I finally lower the waterskin, I drag the back of my hand across my mouth, feeling the grit of dirt against my lips. "Don't stop on my account. I can keep up."
Lurok's gaze drops to where the shackles had bitten into my flesh, leaving raw, weeping rings around my wrists. "We need to eat," he says, "and those wounds require treatment.”
Lurok coils his massive tail beneath him, settling into a position that seems both relaxed and ready to spring in an instant. I notice the wounds I'd dressed days ago have already knitted together and are barely visible.
“Your shoulder," I say, gesturing to where the joint had been grotesquely dislocated. "It looks completely healed."
He rolls the joint in a fluid motion, silver scales rippling like liquid mercury beneath the heartglass light.
Not even a flicker of discomfort crosses his chiseled features.
"Naga medicine," he explains, his deep voice rumbling through the cavern.
"Our healers have perfected remedies over centuries that accelerate the body's natural restoration. "
He turns to the pack and rummages inside, extracting a square, matte-finished metal container.
Opening it reveals a healer's arsenal: tiny glass vials filled with luminous liquids in hues of amber, sapphire, and emerald that catch the heartglass light and shimmer like trapped fireflies.
Beside them, rolled bandages wait in neat bundles, and small metal tins of ointment gleam dully from their compartments.
"You think naga medicine will work on me?” I ask, studying this softer side of him with newfound curiosity.
“We will soon see.”