Page 22

22

SEREN

T he ropes bite into my wrists, rough fibers scraping against torn skin. My shoulders burn from their forced position, arms wrenched back as the dark elves haul me forward.

The jungle closes in around us, vines slithering across ancient trunks, the pulse of hidden creatures watching from the thick canopy above. Heat presses against my back, thick, cloying, suffocating. Each breath tastes of damp earth and something fouler, the stench of dark elf steel, of magic tainted with cruelty.

Jalith’s soldiers move with eerie precision, their crimson eyes glinting in the half-light. They don’t talk to me, only to each other, murmured Elvish slipping between them like the slithering of serpents. They do not see me as a threat.

They are not yet prepared for the fight I will give them.

The one gripping my arm tightens his hold, his claws pressing into my skin, a silent warning. A reminder that I am theirs now.

I do not flinch.

Ahead, their leader, a dark elf with a scar running from temple to jaw, his expression eternally bored glances back. His lips curl in a mockery of a smile. “Tense, little human?”

I meet his gaze, letting silence sharpen my defiance.

The warriors surrounding us chuckle, dark amusement twisting their features.

“Perhaps she misses her master,” another muses, his voice coated in syrupy condescension. “The great Naga Lord. What a tragedy.”

The leader hums in agreement. “Abandoned so quickly. Maybe he was tired of his pet.”

The words sink their claws into my ribs, scraping against something raw.

Xirath would not abandon me.

Would he?

No.

He would come.

A sharp tug yanks me from my thoughts. “Hope is a fool’s curse, little thief,” the leader murmurs, his grin widening. “You won’t escape this time.”

They underestimate me.

Their arrogance is a gift, one I do not intend to waste.

Each step counts. Every shift in the jungle’s terrain, every loose stone beneath my feet, every twisted root, I memorize them all.

Waiting.

Timing.

We reach a narrow pass where the jungle thickens, shadows swallowing the path, the undergrowth rising in tangled walls. A perfect place to disappear.

The leader gestures to his men. “We camp here.”

Their mistake.

The moment their grips loosen, I move.

A sharp twist, a well-placed kick to the side of a knee. The dark elf gripping me staggers, a curse slipping from his lips. I wrench my hands up, ropes snapping under the force of my pull.

The jungle erupts into chaos.

I dive forward, fingers snatching the dagger from the belt of the nearest elf before he can react. The blade is foreign in my grip, but my intent is not.

Steel sinks into flesh.

A gurgled sound shudders from the warrior’s throat as blood spills hot over my hand.

They will not hesitate now.

Neither will I.

I bolt.

The jungle devours me, vines whipping against my arms as I plunge into the dark.

Branches tear at my skin, but I do not stop, feet barely touching the ground as I leap over fallen logs, ducking under twisting limbs. The night sings with pursuit, shouts rising behind me, Elvish curses slicing through the thick air.

They are faster.

I am smaller.

More desperate.

Leaves blur past, shadows twisting, the pulse of the jungle a living thing pressing against my back. The chase tightens, sharp as a noose.

One of them gains on me, his breath a rasp just behind my ear.

A sharp pivot sends me sliding down a slope, rocks tumbling with me. My body collides with the earth, pain flashing through my ribs, but I use the momentum, rolling back onto my feet.

No time. No hesitation.

A hand snatches for me.

I spin, dagger flashing. The warrior grunts as steel carves across his arm, his grip faltering. I tear away, legs screaming as I push forward.

They are still coming.

The jungle narrows, walls of thick stone rising on either side. A gorge.

Trapped.

The realization shudders through my bones.

I slow, breath ragged, burning.

The elves emerge from the dark, their figures cutting sharp against the silver-streaked night.

A ring of hunters.

I am the prey.

The leader steps forward, lips curling as he wipes a splatter of blood from his cheek. “A good chase,” he muses. “You run well for something so breakable.”

My grip on the dagger tightens.

A low chuckle rumbles from another elf. “Did you truly think he would come for you?”

They circle closer, predators scenting finality.

Another scoffs. “A naga lord, risking himself for a human?” He clicks his tongue. “How tragic.”

The words press deep, twisting.

Xirath would come.

Wouldn’t he?

A flash of memory, his eyes locked on mine in the arena, the press of his hand beneath my chin, his presence against my back, the way he refused to let me go.

But would it be enough?

Would he be too late?

The leader sighs, tilting his head. “Let’s end this, shall we?”

The jungle closes in.