Chapter 20
Chapter Twenty
LUROK
Ipause outside the Flame room, palm flat against ancient stone as I steady myself. Even before I enter, I sense her presence. A subtle shift in the air currents that should not be detectable, yet reaches me through whatever elemental bond now links us.
My scales tighten against my flesh as I fight the surge of anticipation.
This is a debriefing, nothing more. Whatever passed between us in the grotto, whatever words she whispered as consciousness slipped away from her.
None of it matters. The prophecy warns that only love shall fully ignite each power.
I steel myself against the pull of her, against this unwanted connection that threatens everything. If I yield even an inch, I will shatter like glass. And I cannot afford to succumb; the fate of my people depends on my strength, on the walls I must build around my heart.
I approach the door, my scales rippling with tension. The ancient stone recognizes my essence and flows open like water, revealing the sacred blue-gold flame that dances at the center of the chamber, casting ethereal light across the two females who turn toward my entrance.
Serin sits perched on the edge of the healing cot, her back straight despite the lingering weakness evident in her posture. Color has returned to her face, replacing the ashen pallor of near-death, and her eyes, those impossibly expressive human eyes, brighten at the sight of me.
Relief surges through me like a flash flood, so intense it threatens to crack my carefully constructed walls.
She is truly awake and healing. I crush the feeling beneath the weight of duty before it can take root, forcing my expression into the neutral mask of a warrior reporting for duty rather than a male returning to his—
No! Not mine. Never mine.
Leira rises from her chair beside her sister, gray eyes flickering to the silver armband encircling my bicep. "Lurok," she greets me, one finger gesturing toward the etched sigil that gleams against my scales. "I see Varok has returned your rank of Second Fang."
"Traven and I now share the position," I explain, running a claw along the etched metal. "After believing me dead, it would dishonor his service to strip away what he earned in my absence."
"You prove to be a hard male to kill," she grins. "I was just telling Serin about plans for rebuilding the market district. The artisan quarter will be restored first."
"So I have heard. The Sovereign Flame sent me to gather intelligence," I say, my voice emerging more clipped than intended. "If she is well enough to speak."
"She's well enough," Serin answers for herself, her voice carrying more strength than I expected. The stubborn lift of her chin reminding me of her unflinching determination as she dragged my unconscious body through miles of tunnel. "And she can hear you perfectly well."
A smile flickers across Leira's face before she smooths it away. "I'll leave you two to your... debriefing." She squeezes her sister's hand once before moving toward the door. As she passes me, she murmurs, "Try not to exhaust her completely with your questions, Lurok. She's still healing."
The door flows closed behind her, leaving us alone in the flame-lit chamber. For a heartbeat, silence stretches between us like a living thing, taut with all I cannot say.
I glide forward, maintaining a careful distance from her cot, my coils arranged in formal posture. "The Sovereign Flame requires any intelligence you might have gathered while in your father's house. Voices, plans, locations, names. Anything that might help us understand what we face."
Serin's face falls at my tone, but she straightens her spine, meeting my gaze directly. "I've already told Leira what I remember, and she passed it on to Varok.”
My jaw tightens. "Tell me anyway."
She sighs, running a hand through her hair. A gesture so achingly familiar it sends unwanted memories cascading through me. Her hair tangled between my fingers, her head thrown back in ecstasy, her body arching against mine in the grotto's hidden pool.
"As I told her yesterday," she begins, pulling me from dangerous recollections, "I overheard my father’s meeting with Captain Halvane.
They argued about timing. Halvane wanted to proceed immediately with destroying Vessan-Kar, but my father wanted to wait for more intelligence from someone named Zela. "
"Zela," I repeat, the name Varok questioned me about in the war chamber. "You are certain of the name?"
"Yes. Halvane mocked my father for dismissing naga prophecy as superstition while trusting the visions of a naga seer.
" Serin's fingers twist in the fabric covering her lap.
"My father said this Zela had visions that contradicted your prophecy.
That instead of naga being saved through human blood, she foresaw that the child of flesh mentioned in the Threadborn Prophecy would be the thing that destroys your kind. "
My scales tighten against my flesh. Varok mentioned Thorne had said he held captive a seer named Zela, but had dismissed it as an attempt to unsettle him. Now, hearing confirmation from Serin makes the naga seer all the more real.
“Did they say where Zela was being held? Who guards her?"
"No.” Serin shakes her head. “But they spoke as if her visions were regular. Like she'd been providing information for some time." She pauses, eyes searching mine. "Do you know who she is?"
My voice emerges rougher than intended. "No." I force my gaze away from the curve of her neck where my lips would press, where I would taste her pulse quickening beneath my tongue as I bury my shaft deep inside her clenching slit.
My claws flex against my palms as I fight to maintain distance. "What else did you overhear? Locations of human forces? Plans for further attacks?"
"The explosive devices were part of what they called plan B. The worms had already placed them throughout Vessan-Kar, but you already know all of that."
I pace the length of the chamber, tail sweeping across the smooth stone floor.
Each detail confirms what we already know, offering no new advantage.
Yet I continue the interrogation, stretching it beyond necessity, because the alternative is acknowledging what pulses between us, what ignites the air when our gazes meet.
"What of the structure of command? Did names of other officers arise?"
Serin sighs, frustration evident in the tense set of her shoulders. "Lurok, Leira has already told all of this to Varok. I've told you everything I remember. If there had been more, don't you think I'd have mentioned it by now?"
Her voice wavers with exhaustion, and I notice the shadows beneath her eyes, the slight tremor in her hands. She pushes herself too hard, even now. Leira’s parting warning echoes in my mind that she is still on the mend.
I ask another question, then another, each one a transparent excuse to remain in her presence, though I know I should leave.
"The TrueCoil you encountered in the tunnel.
Could you identify them again?" My voice betrays nothing of how I catalog each small detail of her recovery.
The slight flush returning to her cheeks, the delicate lattice of scars where the ash had scored her flesh.
She shifts on the cot, wincing slightly. “I could identify the TrueCoil who ambushed us in the tunnel,” she says quietly. “Both of them. One had midnight blue with silver in his scales, the other copper with gold. The copper one was the one who stepped forward.”
Her fingers drift unconsciously to her face as if remembering the sensation.
“He released some kind of golden dust into the air,” she continues, voice tightening.
“It hit my face before I even understood what he was doing. My vision went dark almost instantly.” Her gaze hardens. “I would recognize them again.”
A small eddy of air curls around my wrist, responding to emotions I refuse to acknowledge. I clench my fist, forcing the element back beneath my control. This is what the prophecy warned of power awakening through connection. Through love.
"Is that all?" I ask, my voice deliberately cold.
Her eyes flash with something between hurt and anger. "Yes, Second Fang. That is all I have to report."
My title stings more than it should. Talon discipline tells me to be satisfied with her answers, to report back to Varok, and continue my duties.
Yet I remain coiled before her, unable to break free of her gravity.
The air between us feels charged, heavy with unspoken truths and the memory of her body against mine, her whispered confession as consciousness faded.
I love you.
Three words that could destroy everything. A confession I cannot afford to hear. A declaration that would push the Threadborn Prophecy forward, accelerating whatever doom awaits our kind.
I force my expression to remain impassive, though beneath my scales, chaos reigns.
The element stirs, responding to the turmoil I refuse to show.
Small objects shift slightly on nearby tables.
A cup slides an inch to the left, a scroll's edge lifting without being touched.
Evidence of what I am becoming, what I cannot allow myself to be.
"Rest," I command, turning away before she can see the cracks in my armor. "The healers will return soon."
I force myself toward the door, each powerful undulation of my tail a battle against the magnetic pull she has on me.
My heart thunders against my ribs, a desperate prisoner seeking escape.
With every inch of distance I put between us, the air around me grows more chaotic, stirring scrolls, rattling vials, betraying the storm she unleashes within me.
This fragile human female has somehow become the keeper of a heart I never meant to surrender, unlocking chambers I never knew were there with nothing but the quiet strength in her hazel eyes.