Chapter 18
Chapter Eighteen
LUROK
Serin's whispered confession, I love you.
It echoes in my mind like a dagger between my ribs.
My claws pierce my palms. I coil tighter before the stone table, fighting for control.
The war chamber suddenly feels like a prison.
The carved ceiling seems to descend, inch by suffocating inch, until I can barely draw breath through lungs that forget their purpose.
Varok's voice fades as strategic concerns recede. Serin's words cut off each thought. Three words push the gears of the Threadborn Prophecy forward, hastening the Season of Naga and the extinction that awaits at its end.
“Lurok." Varok's voice is a distant echo barely penetrating the fog of my thoughts.
"Second Fang Lurok," he repeats, gaining my attention.
His molten-yellow gaze fixes on me with quiet authority, a hint of challenge in his tone.
"Or should I have waited to restore your rank if you are not up to the task?”
"Forgive me, Sovereign," I say, forcing my voice to remain steady. "My mind was elsewhere.”
“Map the location of the tunnels you found that lead from Clavenmoor."
I straighten, rearranging my coils with discipline. The stone table displays carved topographical maps sprawling across its surface. The Ashlands rise like scars, Vessan-Kar's underground labyrinth spirals in detail, and nearby human settlements press closer to our borders.
I study the stone surface scarred with the claw marks of a thousand war councils, the ancient obsidian displays fresh markings alongside faded battle plans, strategies that never truly became obsolete.
Despite Leira's arrival and the peace she once symbolized, we now see that peace was merely a breath between battles.
"Here,” I say, placing a claw on the stone map. I trace a line from the hidden entrance inside human territory, where I had emerged covered in dust and blood. "This one is now collapsed on our end.”
Sareth leans forward, his massive frame eclipsing the light as it spills across the stone table.
The gunmetal scales of his broad shoulders catch the dim glow in muted flashes of black, the old battle scars across his chest pulling tight as he shifts his weight.
“The same passage where you held off the worms?”
My jaw tightens, phantom dust coating my throat as the memory claws its way back.
"Yes." I can still hear the scrape of my scales against stone, feel the suffocating press of earth as my shoulders wedged against the walls.
"The tunnels are winding and some dead-end, but all barely accommodate a naga's width. I had to drag myself through them, and the darkness is absolute. The entrance to the labyrinth remains hidden beneath a tangle of wild vines. I doubt the humans know it exists.”
I shift my attention to the second location, my claw hovering over the carved representation of Clavenmoor.
"And here. A tunnel entrance hidden beneath the hallway floor inside Valen’s house.
" The memory of Serin leading me through that passage flickers behind my eyes, of her small form navigating the darkness with surprising confidence, her hands steady as she lifted the concealed panel beneath an ornate rug.
"Impossible," Traven mutters, his broad shoulders forming a wall of muscle and armor beside me.
The cobalt braid at the back of his neck slides forward over one shoulder as he studies the markings with a narrowed, glacial gaze.
"That would place an entrance to Vessan-Kar directly within a diplomatic residence. "
"Yet it exists," I counter, meeting his skeptical stare. "It is the tunnel, Serin and I traveled until we were taken captive by the TrueCoil.”
“And where is the location where you were taken captive?” Varok asks, his dark auburn hair like a banked fire, catching the glow of the room.
“I do not know. I was not conscious when it happened."
Heat swirls around me as I picture Serin dragging my unconscious body through miles of tunnel. Rescued by a human half his size. My pride stings, but even more, I admire her strength when mine failed.
I move my claw to a different section of the map, tapping a spot where the Ashlands meet the northeastern ridge of the Serpentspine Mountains. "This cave entrance is where we emerged aboveground.”
My tail coils tighter as I trace our journey. "From there, we crossed the Ashlands before..." My voice fades as I recall Serin's body disappearing into the ash pit, the desperate moments when I thought her lost forever. I clear my throat. "Before reaching the obsidian gate."
Sareth’s crimson eyes narrow, the predatory focus of a veteran warrior settling over his angular features. “And the TrueCoil lair? You can pinpoint its location?”
I lean closer to the map, studying the intricate carvings. "Here," I say finally, indicating a network of unmarked tunnels that branch off from a secondary passage. "The TrueCoil held us in chambers beneath this ridge. Ancient tunnels, predating even the oldest sections of Vessan-Kar."
"Those tunnels are not on any official map,” Traven mutters.
"I discovered them as a youngling.” My jaw tightens. "I never revealed their existence to anyone.”
Varok studies me in silence, the stillness around him tightening like a drawn bow.
The faint ember-glow beneath his obsidian coils pulses when he shifts his weight, and his piercing gaze remains fixed on me with the patient intensity of a predator deciding when to strike.
"Why would you keep knowledge of ancient tunnels to yourself?”
"I was a youngling," I say defensively. "And they are tight crawlspaces barely wide enough for a full-grown naga. The TrueCoil has expanded them and connected them to their network."
The memory of our escape surges forward.
The alcove where basilyx lead chains and wrist shackles dangled, empty, from the wall.
Beneath them, a dark stain on the floor where Serin's blood had pooled as she was tortured.
I never saw her bound there, but the evidence of what had been done to her will forever haunt me.
I run my claw along the smooth, undulating walls of the tunnel in my memory.
"These passages were not carved by tools," I continue quickly.
"The tunnel walls are curved and polished, marked by ancient water once flowing through the mountain, which eroded and shaped the stone over millennia into winding, twisting channels.
They predate the Great Burning, formed well before even human arrival bordering our territories. "
Heat rushes over me like wildfire as my mind betrays me with flashes of our hidden grotto.
Water droplets glisten on Serin's pale skin.
Her soft gasps echoed off the stone walls.
The way she trembled beneath me while gentle waves lapped against our entwined bodies.
Ancients help me, I can still feel her tight sheaths hugging both my hemipenes at once.
I shift my coils, grateful that naga physiology conceals certain... reactions.
Varok’s expression hardens, his molten gaze narrowing to dangerous slits as the light glances across the red-gold scales of his shoulders.
Heat seems to gather around him without flame, the quiet pressure of his presence alone enough to command the room.
"And you are certain Severa and Salvor were among your captors? "
"Without question." My fists clench until my knuckles ache.
"Salvor said he was disappointed I had not joined them. Serin described the female who gave her the key to her shackles. Said she owed Leira for saving your life. Also, Lethira, the violet-scaled healer with pale blue eyes from the Temple, treated my injuries, was one among them.”
Varok's tail lashes once against the stone floor. "I should have had Severa questioned when we rounded up all the russet-scaled females when Leira was abducted. She has been missing since the evacuation."
My voice drops to a guttural growl as the air around me vibrates with my fury. "There is a male who tortured Serin for information. Iron scales, amber eyes, chipped fang." I hiss, each word a promise. "Once I identify him, he is mine to kill."
The others exchange quick glances and subtle nods of agreement as the air currents swirl violently around my coils.
Varok's eyes sweep the room with a look that silences any potential commentary. His fiery scales catch the keh’shalin as he leans over the table, eyes narrowed in calculation as he studies the map with the patient focus of a predator considering all possible paths.
Varok traces a claw along the map's edge. "The tunnels Lurok discovered must be mapped and temporarily sealed."
"Consider it done," Traven responds, straightening slowly to his full height.
"However," Varok continues, his tail tip twitching with barely contained energy, "the passages you and Serin traveled could give our scouts undetected entry into human territory." His voice drops to a dangerous rumble. "A critical advantage when Thorne and Halvane inevitably strike again.”
I should feel satisfaction for the intelligence I provide, but my claws dig deep as I fight the war inside. Each heartbeat thunders her name. My scales burned hot, then cold, as she whispered those three words, stirring something ancient within me that answered before I could stop it.
Resisting this longing feels like suffocation. Surrender brings me closer to prophecy, yet denial twists something vital inside me, as if my very essence recognizes what my mind rejects.
"What of the OathCoil?" I ask, desperate to redirect my thoughts. "Have you learned anything useful?”