Page 7 of Daughter of the Serpent

“Maybe Haldor will be there.” Tara whispered into her ear, her eyes brimming with amusement. “I’ve seen how he looks at you.”

A sudden blush engulfed Sylvie’s cheeks.

“Imagine if he chooses you to be his divine counterpart.” Tara squealed, still keeping her voice low.

Sylvie rolled her eyes. It was common knowledge that survivors of the trials were granted the privilege to select mates from those sanctified by the gods. Their destined partners - the halves that would bring balance to their souls and innate magical birthright. While romanticized over time, it was understood that this union transcended gender or physical attraction, seeking instead the balance of energies: water to fire, air to flame, earth to air. Unchecked, imbalance threatened catastrophe; thus, magic demanded equilibrium. Regardless of such understanding, the love between divinely chosen mates was unfathomable and most were bonded for life.

Lost in contemplation, Sylvie pondered the prospect of her own ascension. If she continued her studies as a healer, developed her magic, and kept her head down - perhaps there was a possibility she could be eligible to be a Drengr’s chosen bride.

But, could someone like Haldor choose her?

It was true they shared something - a closeness, a certain connection - but was it love? Could it ever be more than friendship? She couldn’t deny there were times she wished it so, but could he feel the same?

“He doesn’t like me like that,” Sylvie dismissed, shaking her head at her foolishness and shoving her feelings aside.How could he?

She wasn’t considered a beauty. Maybe she could have been, if not for her eye - but she didn’t live in that reality. People like her, whowere different, didn’t get to experience love - especially with people like him.

“I know you’ve known him forever, but don’t pretend you haven’t noticed,” Tara beamed. “He’s one of the best - looking warriors in all the village!”

Sylvie clutched her golden braid, smoothing it over her shoulder absentmindedly. She supposed Tara was right. Over the years, his gangly limbs had grown thick with muscle, and his young face had become wiser and more masculine.

“I can’t think of such things right now,” Sylvie dismissed, pushing such thoughts away. “Before any divine selections can be made, the trials come first - ”

“You doubt he will survive?” Tara questioned, cutting her off.

“Not at all, out of anyone he would be most likely to triumph.” Sylvie reaffirmed, though a certain pang of worry clutched her gut at the thought of Haldor in danger.

The trials were no trivial matter. The tournament spanned four brutal weeks, beginning with the onset of spring. Known for its exceptional savagery, its sole purpose was to separate the strong from the weak, offering the victors a chance to ascend in glory and valor within the priesthood and the kingdom. To survive, one needed not only courage but also cunning.

All clans presented their chosen candidates, those who had demonstrated both strength and magical capabilities, ready to compete. Others volunteered, drawn by the allure of glory, power, and renown - to capture the eyes of the gods. Only those who passed the trials could take the name, the oaths, and the sacred title of Drengr.

Yet for many, such ambitions would end in death.

There was a high likelihood that most, if not all, from their chosen selection would perish. Fewer and fewer returned home from the island of the gods, and those who did were changed forever.

These truths weighed heavily on her mind. Haldor was rumored to be among the selected, and it was no doubt that he, like the otherswho had shown promise, had prepared their entire lives for this singular event - to be proven worthy by the gods and claim their own fame and power. How often she had watched them train with axes and swords, honing their minds and bodies, wielding their magic.

Her heart had dripped with envy.

If only she could be given the chance.

If only she could prove to the people she was worthy, true, and good.

That she wasn’t everything they said she was - a descendant of evil.

But such a life, such a glorious and violent purpose, was never to be hers. She was a healer, a child of the light, and her magic was nothing but a mere whisper. Despite her years of training, magic had still not channeled through her fully, and the people’s prejudice only grew while their fear festered.

Yet hope did remain. If she could apply herself and marry well, she too could live a normal life. She would only need to bury her deceitful heart that longed and craved - and push away all her desire for more.

Dreams were dangerous, especially for someone like her.

Better to lock them all away. Better to forget than desire.

For such things only led to dangerous ends.

Her eyes greeted the afternoon sun. For a precious few hours the children were permitted to go about the village, supervised, until nightfall. It was a day of celebration and joy, after all. Yet, Sylvie clutched her hood closer to her face, seeking its shelter. The cold air swept in from the ocean, damp against her skin, causing her to shiver as they left the warmth of the temple's roaring fires and ventured into the chill of the open air.

Mardova itself was nestled sweetly along the coastline, the ruggedness of the land wild and untamed as the sound of the rushing waves lapped the shore and crashed against the cliff sides. It was a place of heart and grit, and only the strongest survived the harshness of the winters and the dangers that awaited offshore. Many had met theireternal slumber by means of the reckless waters, and many more were sure to be claimed by the sea’s depths. It was the nature of her homeland, and the people still fought daily to keep the village alive. Large stone walls to the north side of the village separated the city from the outside world, keeping all safe behind the wall from the monsters that were said to still live beyond. It was a well known fact that anything past Mardovian borders was a dangerous place, and that many who ventured there, were never to return. This only reaffirmed the knowledge that the gods were the people’s only refuge, as they were the only thing that had kept the people and their lands safe. Since they had begun to entreat the gods and erect the high priests centuries ago, there hadn’t been a death in years - until more recently. The rumors of the bodies being found clawed and marred were becoming more frequent, yet it seemed the village still remained in chosen ignorance.