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XIRATH

S eren is not herself.

The training pits echo with the familiar sounds of combat, clashing weapons, the sharp exhale of exertion, the hiss of steel meeting flesh. Yet, she moves like a ghost.

Her stance is perfect, her strikes controlled, but she fights like she doesn’t care.

Like it doesn’t matter.

That is not the human who defied me at every turn, who refused to break, who turned even submission into rebellion.

I should be relieved. Should welcome the lack of defiance.

Instead, my patience frays.

She meets my eyes once, a flicker of storm-gray beneath damp strands of hair, then looks away like I am nothing.

That is when my tail flicks against the floor. That is when irritation burrows beneath my skin and stays there.

"You look like you’d rather be anywhere else, little mouse," I say, keeping my tone mocking.

A bait. A sharp hook.

She always bites.

Seren barely reacts. No sneer. No sharp retort.

She exhales, dragging the back of her hand over her brow, expression impassive. "Would it make a difference?"

My grip tightens on the hilt of my blade.

Something is wrong.

"You’re asking me?" I step closer, my shadow swallowing hers. "You don’t seem to care about anything today."

The human shrugs, adjusting the dagger in her palm. "Not everything is about you, Lord Xirath."

That title.

Spoken without a trace of heat.

Without challenge.

Something about that cool, measured tone rakes down my spine like claws.

She should be spitting it at me. Should be calling me a bastard.

Instead, she just turns away.

"Something wrong, little mouse?" I press, stepping forward, my voice low, dangerous.

Her grip tightens ever so slightly, but her stance does not change. "Nothing that concerns you, my lord."

Sheathing her blade, she moves past me, the soft rasp of steel settling against her belt.

No taunt. No glare.

She is retreating.

I catch her wrist, halting her steps. The touch is not firm, not meant to hurt, but the reaction is immediate.

She goes rigid.

Not fearful.

Just cold.

The stillness between us stretches, a breath too long, a heartbeat too tense.

She pulls away, smooth, calculated.

"I have nothing left to prove today."

That should not bother me.

Yet it does.

Before I can demand an explanation, a soft laugh cuts through the thick tension.

Talyra.

She moves with calculated ease, her emerald scales glinting in the dim light, golden eyes flickering with amusement.

Of course, she would pick now to appear.

She has never bothered to set foot in the training pits before. Politics interest her more than violence. So why is she here?

Talyra smiles like she knows the exact answer.

She shifts her gaze between me and Seren, tilting her head as if she sees something I don’t.

"You're distracted today, Xirath."

The words are lazy, teasing.

Before I can stop her, she touches me.

Fingers glide against my forearm, soft, measured, too familiar.

The movement is calculated.

Talyra is never careless.

She knows exactly what she is doing.

The other naga see it.

Seren sees it.

She does not react, not the way I expect.

No tensing. No sharp remark. No burning glare.

Just emptiness.

The reaction unnerves me more than any insult ever could.

Talyra’s golden eyes flick toward Seren, her voice mocking. "Is this the human everyone whispers about?"

A challenge.

Seren does not answer.

She steps back, her expression unreadable. "I’ve had enough for today."

And she walks away.

Walks away from me.

I should let her go.

But my tail coils slightly, irritation rippling through my muscles.

"You’re leaving?" I call after her.

She does not stop. Does not turn.

"I don’t see the point of staying," she says smoothly. "Excuse me, my lord."

Again, that title.

That distance.

Something inside me snaps.

Talyra laughs again.

I round on her, voice low. "What are you doing?"

She does not answer immediately. Instead, she lets the silence settle between us, studying me like I am a puzzle missing its last piece.

She smiles.

"I’m giving you a push."

My tail flicks in irritation. "A push for what?"

Her eyes glint with too much knowledge. "You are hopeless, you know that?"

Before I can demand more, she steps back, her expression infuriatingly smug.

Then she turns and walks away, her long robes brushing against the stone.

I do not understand what the fuck just happened or what Talyra means.