Page 28 of Orc’s Redemption (Red Planet Dragons of Tajss #35)

28

ELARA

T he chamber hums with a low vibration I feel in my bones—less a sound, more the ghost of some enormous thing breathing beneath us.

I sit on the cool stone floor between Z’leni and Ryatuv, trying to steady my own breath.

My limbs are still trembling from the crawl through the tunnels and the fear that overcame me. My muscles burn with a fatigue so deep it feels carved into my soul, baked into the marrow of my bones. The soft glow of the crystals gives the space we’re huddling in a dreamlike quality, too beautiful for what we just endured. Too beautiful for what I know must be coming next.

Z’leni hands me a canteen. His fingers brush mine, barely, but it’s enough to send a ripple up my arm. He doesn’t look away when I meet his eyes. There’s something unspoken and steady in them, burning far too bright for the darkness we’ve endured.

I sip the water, grateful even though my stomach is knotted with nerves. As I pass it back I notice that Ryatuv is watching. Unmoving and silent like always. His presence is different and I take the moment to contrast the two men. Z’leni is fire—bright, reckless. Ryatuv is gravity—silent, immovable. Each is dangerous in his own way.

“Children?” Ryatuv hisses, stepping to the side to move around me.

I close my eyes, take a deep breath, and push all the feeling and thoughts into a box. Right now survival is first. There is no telling if we’ll even be able to pull that off. I wrap my arms around my knees in an attempt to anchor myself, but my mind won’t stop spinning.

“I don’t know how much farther I can go,” I whisper. “I almost broke.”

“But you didn’t,” Z’leni says.

Ryatuv doesn’t say anything, but he shifts closer, enough that his knee is brushing against mine. He doesn’t apologize for the touch. Doesn’t flinch from it either. And for some reason, it makes my throat tighten. Z’leni shifts his gaze from me to Ryatuv then exhales and rises, brushing dust from his pants.

“We can’t stay here. These tunnels are too close to the old city’s roots. If there is another tremor?—”

Ryatuv nods, already moving to stand.

“She needs rest, but you are right, we are not yet safe.”

Z’leni offers me his hand. It’s rough, callused, and warm. I hesitate, not sure why, then take it. When I’m upright, Ryatuv steadies me from the other side, his palm strong and firm at my back. For a moment, I’m between them, braced by fire and stone.

Something flares in my chest. Instantaneous. White hot and burning furiously as it creeps over my chest and onto my cheeks. I can’t look at either of them as my breath hitches, catching in my chest.

I know there is no way they miss it, but they are both kind enough to not call me out and we set off again. The tunnel opens into a passage, wide enough for us to walk upright. The walls on either side are carved with faded markings. As we go deeper, the heat builds. Not the usual dry heat of Tajss—this is heavier. Thicker. Like the air itself is sweating.

The walls begin to transform, no longer raw stone but sculpted. As the tunnel continues to shift from natural to something made it also widens. Soon it’s wide enough the three of us walk side by side. Z’leni holds the torch ahead, illuminating the path. Then I notice it. The flickering light flashes off the wall strangely and I stop, walking over to inspect it.

“Bring the light, please,” I say, as I stand before the wall.

It’s a mural. Faded, but still powerful. Swirling colors faded and cracked with age, yet unmistakable. He brings the torch closer. Even in its current state, parts of the mural sparkle, sending tiny rainbows dancing through the air.

Gently, afraid it might destroy it, I rub my hand across it, swiping away layers of dust and dirt. The partially clean swatch reveals a massive serpentine creature, wreathed in fire and coiled beneath a mountain.

Emboldened that it didn’t wipe away I swipe again, cleaning more of it until I can see that there are cities burning above the serpent filled with tiny figures who are fleeing in panic. I reach out, tracing a trembling finger along the arcs of flame.

“The Paluga,” Z’leni says, his voice soft.

“I thought it was a story,” I say. “A myth.”

Ryatuv steps closer, his gaze locked on the creature’s massive eye.

“It’s real. My people have forgotten what it is, but we know it was real. It is the world ender. The bringer of the new age,” Z’leni says.

It’s almost too much to process. A fire-born beast beneath the earth, larger than any living thing should be. I look again at the mural, at the ruins, the bodies, the rising plumes of smoke, and my stomach twists.

“It looks like a zemlja,” Ryatuv says, his voice barely a whisper. “But wreathed in fire.”

“We’re not prepared for this,” I whisper. “No one is.”

Z’leni’s expression darkens.

“The Shaman doesn’t know. I’d bet my life he’s only been using the Urr’ki myths to manipulate the people. Twisting fear into mindless devotion and despair,” Z’leni says, ending with a dark growl, low in his throat.

“Then we show them the truth,” Ryatuv says, crossing his arms which makes his biceps bulge.

The way he says it makes something hot spark low in my belly. They’re staring at me, both with that same stubborn certainty that we’re somehow going to do this. Self-assured that we’ll survive. And I don’t know why, but that causes tears to fill my eyes. Swallowing hard, I blink them away.

We continue and now I see that there are more murals along all of the walls. Some show people bowing before the creature, others they stand defiant, their arms raised with fire blooming in their palms. Resistance. Sacrifice. A war long forgotten.

I touch a mural where a woman stands in the center, her arms outstretched between two armies, one Urr’ki and the other Zmaj, both reaching toward her with open hands. Peace. Unity. Or maybe hope. Something flickers in my chest.

“This was always possible,” I murmur. “If they saw what was coming, maybe they tried.”

“Then it’s up to us now,” Z’leni says, at my side as he runs a hand through his dark hair.

This is ridiculous, isn’t it? Three people in the dark, running from a collapsing world, daring to think we can change it.

And yet... somehow, I believe.

In them.

In us.

Eventually, we reach a massive chamber. The ceiling stretches so high it disappears into shadow. Ruins of what once must have been grand buildings fill the space. Wide streets, once paved and smooth, now cracked and broken. The buildings are little more than a few scattered walls and piles of rubble. Collapsed from both neglect and age.

The street is mostly clear, though, and easily traversed. As we walk, looking around at the ruined grandeur, the heat continues to rise. Sweat covers my body making my clothes stick. It’s a whole new reason for it to be hard to breathe. Every inhale feels like I’m trying to swallow something thick and viscous, but it’s the air.

“This was the capital…once,” Z’leni says.

“A long time ago?” Ryatuv asks.

“Before your kind came down here too,” Z’leni says angrily. “You drove us from the surface but that wasn’t enough, was it? You couldn’t leave us alone even after we retreated, giving the warmth of Tajss to you.”

Ryatuv huffs angrily, slapping the ground with his tail. He looks at Z’leni, over the top of my head, and hisses, low and dangerous. He rustles his wings as his hands ball into fists, but then he relaxes them on his own.

“That was not me,” he says when he finally speaks.

“No, it was your kind, though,” Z’leni says.

“It was also an Urr’ki trap that killed my brother,” Ryatuv says. “Not some ancient ancestor of yours. Possibly, even, one set by you. Would you compare the two?”

“You think I haven’t known loss? My people know nothing but. You cold-blooded monsters hunt us like animals.”

“We protect ourselves,” Ryatuv shoots back.

“You kill without remorse!” Z’leni shouts, stopping his walk and confronting the Zmaj.

I’m stuck between the two of them and the fantasy of peace and maybe more shatters as they square off.

“And your kind do not?”

“The only reason the Shaman was able to rise to power is because we’ve lost everything! You don’t just kill us, you killed hope! Any idea of a future. Of safety for our children.”

“Children?” Ryatuv hisses, his wings twitching as he shifts, angling to face Z’leni fully. “I would kill every one of you for the opportunity to have a child. You dare challenge me? You think I do not know my treasure when I see her? She is meant to be mine. Not yours.”

“Yours!” Z’leni shouts, moving in response.

I throw myself between them, slamming my palms against their chests, shoving hard enough that they both stagger a step back.

“Enough!” I shout. Sweat drips into my eyes, burning as I try to blink it away. “Treasure? Dragoste? Did either of you think to ask me what I thought? Or are you two going to throw down without even bothering?”

That stops them. Their angry looks disappear as they shift their attention from one another to me. Looking between the two of them it’s almost comical that they both have the same look of shock mixed with remorse. Wide eyes, open mouths, and shaking heads.

“Elara I am—” they speak in unison and that is enough to stop them again.

They look at one another then back to me. The anger fades leaving only the rising heat of the air and the three of us with too much said yet not enough either. I take my hands off them, unwilling to admit how even that light touch ignites desire and need. I wipe my forehead with my sleeve, trying to stop more sweat from hitting my eyes.

“We should keep moving,” I say. “If we’re to stand a chance of finding peace, you two need to figure yourselves out.”

Their jaws audibly snap shut. I can’t look at them, not right now, so I move ahead. They move quickly back to my sides and we travel in a silence that is no longer comfortable, nor easy, but I think it’s a necessary one. If there is any hope to be had, it’s going to start with us.

Some of the buildings are partially standing. The architecture that remains is amazing. I’ve seen a lot of different designs since the generation ship crashed onto Tajss. From the first city we all lived in that they called Draconov to the bunker, down to the underground Zmaj compound and then the Urr’ki city, but none of them compare to the remnants I see here.

Delicate frescoes that look so delicate and precise. The walls have remnants of color, faded and worn, but once it was probably brilliant and bright. The buildings were tall. Much taller than anything in the Urr’ki city. The Zmaj compound is tall, but it doesn’t come close to this and is mostly natural caves modified to use.

The deeper we go, the rougher the road becomes. Cracks become more common turning into full on crevasses that force us to navigate our way around. The air keeps getting thicker. There is an acrid scent that is cloying and sticks in the back of my throat. And we don’t need the torch anymore.

Gradually, the buildings become nothing but rubble. There is nothing left standing. Then we step onto what once must have been a central square. Or a circle and at the center is a jagged rift. The ground has cracked open leaving an open pit of glowing lava below. Its light pulses like a heartbeat.

“Is that?” I ask, not sure what I’m trying to say.

The three of us step closer. The heat rolls over my skin as we move. It’s so hot that sweat doesn’t bead on my skin, it sizzles off. A breeze of molten air rises and for a second I swear I hear it breathing.

Maybe ten or fifteen feet down is the lava. It shifts and stirs, bubbles popping. The Paluga sleeps below it and it’s stirring. Z’leni kneels beside the fissure, his jaw tight.

“They built the city over this. Did they know it was here?” he murmurs.

“Maybe they worshipped it,” Ryatuv says, standing tall and grim.

“Either way,” I say, turning to them, “this ends here. We can’t let it wake. Or if it does… we have to be ready.”

Neither of them argues. That tells me they believe it too.

“We need to escape,” I say. “The Zmaj compound. Rosalind, the human leader will know what to do.”

Ryatuv grunts, but Z’leni looks skeptical. He points off in a direction, but if it’s because he knows where we’re going or if he just wants to move I’m not sure. One way or another I don’t have a brighter idea.

I take one last look down into the glowing crevasse and for a moment it’s as if I can see the Paluga. Stirring below the molten rock as it shifts and swirls. My stomach clenches tight and I tear my eyes away, fighting the urge to run.

The Paluga is real. And it’s waking.

Urr’ki, Zmaj, human—we’re all fucked. In every possible sense of the word.

Z’leni leads the way and Ryatuv falls in behind me. They are constantly scanning, looking for any possible threats but it seems as if no one and no thing wants to make their home this close to the fire god sleeping below.

We travel in uneasy silence until we find another tunnel and leave the forgotten city behind. When the air has cooled to something more bearable, I ask for a break. I’m exhausted and all my aches and pains are killing me.

We sit to rest. I press my back against cool stone and close my eyes. My thoughts spiral around the Paluga, the war, and then inevitably, around the two men at my sides.

Z’leni’s thigh brushes mine as he shifts to sit closer. Ryatuv doesn’t move away when my shoulder presses lightly against his. I feel both their heat and their tension. The space between us is charged. This isn’t just survival. It hasn’t been for a while now. Z’leni turns, his voice low.

“I meant what I said earlier. About you being brave.”

I open my eyes. “I didn’t feel brave.”

“You don’t have to feel it to be it,” he says, his gaze locked on mine.

“You kept going when most would have broken. That matters,” Ryatuv says, quietly.

The way he says it, it’s not flattery. It’s reverent. And terrifying. Because I’m not used to being seen like this. I look between them, the weight of everything unsaid pulling at my chest.

“There’s something between us,” I say finally. “All of us.”

They’re silent for a beat too long.

“I don’t know what it means,” I add quickly. “I’m not asking for… anything. I just… I can’t pretend I don’t feel it.”

“Neither can I,” Z’leni whispers as he leans slightly closer.

Ryatuv says nothing at first. But then he shifts closer, his cool scales pressing along my side in sharp contrast to Z’leni’s warmth.

“It doesn’t have to make sense right now. What matters is that we survive. Together,” Ryatuv says.

“Together,” I say, releasing a shaky breath.

A tremor shakes the ground. The tunnel groans as dust rains down from above. The Paluga is stirring. Z’leni rises first.

“We have to move. We need to reach the Zmaj.”

“We’ll make them listen. Show them the truth,” Ryatuv says, grabbing my hand without hesitation.

And somehow, I believe him. I don’t know what we’re walking into. War. Revolution. Fire and ruin. But I have two warriors beside me, and the beginnings of something powerful in my heart.

Love? Maybe. Or maybe it’s something even deeper.

Hope.