Page 3 of Daughter of the Serpent

It hadn’t escaped her notice that the people were on edge, a certain urgency that one could feel stretching across the crowd as they beseeched the gods for their favor. Heads bowed, prayers spilling from trembling lips in murmured waves that drifted like fragile tendrils of smoke, curling toward the heavens.

It wasn’t just the harvest at stake. The rumors had spread like wildfire, whispered in the shadows, bodies torn apart on the edge of the forest, strange cries echoing through the night. The Karnikim were stirring again, their presence stretching darkness over the land. Sylvie’s stomach twisted as she recalled the tales she had heard since childhood. More beast than man, the Karnikim were said to leave nothing but smoldering ruins in their wake, and no sword or shield could stand against them. Villages swallowed by fire and dark magic. Clans wiped from memory.

Salvation had come only once, through the first high priest, whose desperate plea to the gods had brought their mercy, and their protection. It was from that miracle, the Way of the Light had been born, a new religion instating the high priest as acting leader over the people, to be the bridge between god and man - a promise that, as long as the people remained devoted to their service and listened to their will, the gods would shield them from destruction.

The great temple doors pushed open, and a hush fell over the crowd. Sylvie’s gaze snapped to the entrance, her breath catching as figures emerged.

The Drengr.

The warriors who had been chosen to protect and defend Mardova and its people in the gods sted.

The warriors who had faced the gods trials and won.

They moved as one, their matching robes a crimson tide spilling into the temple’s sacred halls. Fur - lined shoulders swayed with their deliberate steps, boots thudding against the stone with a rhythm that echoed authority. Beneath their robes, she could see the ripple of muscle, the glint of steel at their sides - the divinely appointed weapons earned by blood and honor. Their faces were shadowed byhoods, but their eyes - sharp, unyielding - burned with something dangerous she couldn’t place. Maybe it was the strength of their magic, maybe it was the trials that they had lived through, but whatever it was, made a shiver run down her spine.

The Drengr existed for a singular purpose - to defend the realm, chosen by the gods themselves to wield unmatched power and skill against threats like the Karnikim. They were more than warriors; they were living beacons of hope, a reminder to the people that they were not entirely defenseless.

To become a Drengr was no ordinary feat.

They were not born - but forged, their worth tested through battle, blood, and ultimately, the four deadly trials decreed by the gods.

Each trial was known to be merciless, designed to strip away the weak and unworthy, leaving only those who won the gods' approval. Those that survived, would move on in their station, taking up their sacred position, as divine warriors of the light - and all knew they would need them now, more than ever. As dark omens stirred and whispers of Karnikim returned, the people’s eyes shifted to the high priest and the Drengr once again, in hopes for their deliverance.

As the procession approached, the high priest himself stepped aside, allowing them to place their offerings directly before the sacred altars - an honor reserved only for them.

Sylvie couldn't ignore the twinge of envy that gripped her heart.

How she yearned to stand where they stood.

Anyone who had the faintest glimmer of magic could feel the power rippling from the ascended warriors in rich tangible waves, and it made Sylvie’s heart fill with longing. To hold such power, such fame - was something all who called themselves Mardovian would strive towards. These chosen few had faced death itself and come home remade. They were no longer slaves to the temple, but respected, placed in positions of power at the high priest Rederick’s side. Their stories would be passed on, their glory to be known forever.

Though her own magic had barely sparked to life, she still could dream.

It was no secret that the temple needed more priests, wielders, and Drengr, now more than ever, if the rumors were true. Anyone who showed promise was swiftly taken into the temple for evaluation and possible ascension, just as she had been all those years ago.

Magic was a coveted blessing.

Though the land had been ripe with it, over the centuries, it had become rare and unpredictable, and only a precious few could learn to channel. Such a sacred art was only taught to those deemed as worthy, pure of blood, and showed strength and cunning - and even then, not many would be successful enough to wield. Initiation didn’t guarantee one’s ascension, as magic was a gift not just awarded, but of its own mind. It would choose its vessel as much as the vessel must choose it, and over the years it was becoming more and more selective. Those who didn’t make the cut, met a swift and painful end.

In a world where strength was valued over all, everyone must prove their worth - not only to earn their place, to befriend and wield magic, but to earn their right to life itself.

She looked on as the Drengr presented their gifts one by one, each rendering reverence to the gods.

"Accept these offerings in the name of the people!” declared high priest Rederick, his arms outstretched as the final gift was given, prompting unified cheers from the crowd. “Guide us, protect us, and keep us safe from evil - and in return we offer those purest of blood, and our devoted service!”

A sudden stir disrupted the assembly as two priests guided a cluster of young children forward. Clad in blood red, they advanced quietly toward the altars.

Turning towards the village, Rederick addressed the throng. "It is now time to present those who have been brought forth for dedication and testing."

Sylvie's skin prickled.

Not every year did the temple have new devotees, and when theydid, it was seen as one of the most prized gifts of all. Unlike the sacrifices in blood, these ones were to be given in service. If they passed the first test by the examination of the sacred flame, they would be offered the chance to choose the path of the light, and if deemed worthy - to ascend the trials of the gods.

But if they failed - their very soul would be given instead.

The village watched in rapt attention, their cheers mingling with praise as they welcomed the new arrivals. Hands clapped proudly on young shoulders as the children moved toward the altar, step by step, drawing closer to their destined fate. Envy gripped Sylvie as she absorbed the crowd’s unwavering approval. She longed to share their certainty - to embrace the world without doubt, to accept the rules and sacrifices demanded by the gods.

Yet, she couldn’t.