Page 12

12

XIRATH

T he moment I step into her empty chambers, I know what she has done.

The sheets are still warm. The faint scent of her skin lingers in the stillness, salt, something crisp and sharp, like rain against stone.

She has fled.

Not far.

Not to escape me.

If she had meant to run, she would have taken provisions, weapons, something more than just the blade she always keeps hidden.

No. This is a test.

A defiant, reckless act to prove that she is not bound to me.

She will learn soon enough.

I move through the halls, past the sleeping guards, past the corridors lined with etched stone and unlit torches. The stronghold breathes in quiet anticipation, but the jungle beyond is awake.

She does not understand what she has stepped into.

Nagaland is not forgiving to the fragile. The creatures lurking in the shadows do not hesitate. The vines that curl from the trees are more than decoration.

She thinks she is free.

She thinks she is alone.

I will show her how wrong she is.

The moment I step beyond the gates, the trail is fresh, a trail of dampened footsteps over thick vines, broken twigs bent at angles no beast would have disturbed.

She moves carefully, but not like prey.

Not stumbling, not frantic.

She is walking into the jungle as if it is hers to challenge.

I follow without sound, my tail coiling and uncoiling over the thick roots, claws barely grazing the damp soil. The night swallows unnecessary noise, the vines above pulsing faintly with light as if feeding from the tension between predator and prey.

I let her have the illusion of distance.

Let her think she has won this round.

Something shifts.

Not her.

Something else.

A new scent drifts through the tangled undergrowth, not animal, not naga.

Something more dangerous.

Something ancient and cold.

Dark elves.

I lower myself slightly, moving more carefully, gaze scanning the jungle until I see them.

Three of them, partially hidden, their lean figures barely noticeable among the shifting foliage. They move like hunters, precise and soundless, their crimson eyes gleaming as they scan the darkness.

They are searching for someone.

A low hum curls in my chest, something close to amusement.

Are they here for me?

Unlikely.

A bounty, perhaps. A target in Kario, some foolish noble who crossed Jalith’s kind once too often.

I consider passing them by.

Until the nearest one turns, his voice low, deliberate. “She was here.”

I still.

A breath’s hesitation before my muscles coil, my claws flexing in the thick undergrowth.

Not for me.

For a she.

A woman.

The cold realization settles in my spine before I allow it to reach my mind.

They cannot mean her.

It is coincidence.

But I do not believe in coincidences.

The first elf gestures toward the path Seren walked not long ago. "The magic lingers. She carries something old. The artifact."

I bare my fangs.

Magic.

They are tracking magic.

“She’s wearing the ring,” a dark elf says.

I freeze as I recall Seren wearing an inconspicuous ring. What’s going on? A nagging sensation that they’re looking for her grows on me.

A slow, dangerous heat burns through my veins, my tail flicking behind me as I straighten.

They do not know who she is. Not yet.

They are still searching.

They will not get the chance.

The elf closest to me barely has time to turn his head before my blade is in his heart.

His gasp is swallowed by the jungle, the wet sound of steel meeting flesh lost beneath the hiss of shifting vines.

The other two react swiftly, but not fast enough.

One lunges, dagger flashing in the dim glow, quick and merciless. I shift, catching the blade with my clawed hand before it reaches my throat.

He struggles, but I am stronger.

I let him see it.

Let him feel the inevitability of his death.

Then I crush his wrist, bones snapping like dry branches.

His scream does not come. Because my fangs are already at his throat.

Blood bursts over my tongue, hot and metallic, thick with the magic that hums beneath elven skin.

The last one tries to run.

He does not make it three steps before my tail snakes around his legs, yanking him back into the dirt.

I crouch over him, pressing a single claw against his ribs, just enough to dig into the fabric of his armor.

“Who are you hunting?” I murmur.

The elf struggles. "No one of importance."

I press harder. "Wrong answer."

His lips curl in something close to a smirk. "You have no idea what you are protecting, naga."

A slow, dangerous thing uncoils inside me.

I do not need his words to tell me what I already suspect.

This was not coincidence. This was a warning.

A test to see if they could find her.

My claws sink deeper. "You will tell me who sent you."

The elf’s smirk does not falter. "You already know."

The jungle swallows his final breath.

I do not let him suffer.

It is not worth my time.

But the truth lingers, coiling through me like a slow-burning fire.

Seren has been marked. Not by my kind.

By something far worse.

She has no idea what she has walked into.

I rise, shaking the blood from my claws, eyes already tracking her path through the trees.

If the dark elves are already looking for her, she has lost the right to walk this jungle alone.

She wanted freedom. She will not have it now.