* * *
Awareness crept back into my senses like a reluctant dawn.The earth was unyielding beneath me, my skin prickled with the slithering touch of serpents—cold, indifferent scales tracing the contours of my prone form.
Naked and vulnerable, I lay within the cavernous belly of stone, surrounded by a writhing, hissing congregation.
The air was dense with the musty scent of old rock and the acrid stench of reptiles.Beneath it lingered something fouler—the faint, unmistakable bite of decay.Death had marked this place, a grim reminder of my mortality.
The cavern walls were jagged, dust clinging to them like remnants of a forgotten time, shimmering in the flickering torchlight.Snakes of varying sizes and colors coalesced in endless motion, their cold scales glinting like scattered jewels.Beady, malicious eyes watched me, forked tongues flicking as they coiled and writhed in eerie harmony.
“What are you doing?”My voice scraped against my throat, barely more than a whisper.My gaze locked onto Lazarus, standing motionless above me.
His hands were steady, cradling a black Inland Taipan.The stark, creamy yellow, white-speckled patterns of its underbelly were like ghostly imprints of something long forgotten.Its fangs lay bared, glistening with lethal promise.
“That snake’s venom will kill me,” I said, a sudden jolt of panic slicing through me for the first time in what felt like eons.
“No,” Lazarus countered, his voice full of resignation.“The venom won’t kill you.Not truly.Only three things can destroy the darkness within you—the Blade of Shadows, Belladonna poison if it lingers long enough in your veins, or the Noctyss flower.This venom?”
He exhaled slowly, watching me with an unreadable gaze.
“This will keep you alive.”
Before I could muster a protest, Lazarus drove the serpent’s fangs into my thigh.
An inferno erupted, the venom searing through me like liquid fire.A raw, unbidden scream tore from my throat—a sound I barely recognized as my own.The agony was overwhelming, obliterating thought, obliterating self.My body convulsed violently as it surged through my veins, a raging river of torment dragging me under.
It swallowed me whole.
When I clawed my way back to the surface of consciousness, the world was slow to take shape.My breath came in ragged gasps, the echoes of my screams still clinging to the cavern’s cold air.
The snake dangled limply from Lazarus’ grasp, its deathly task complete.With a flick of his wrist, he cast the carcass aside, and it landed with a soft, unceremonious thud against the stone floor.
The slithering mass that had constricted around me had finally withdrawn, retreating into the shadows.Yet their cold, scaly touch lingered like an unwelcome memory, sending shivers through my exhausted frame.With trembling hands, I brushed at my skin as if I could rid myself of the phantom sensation of their coils.
Weakness weighed heavy on my limbs, but beneath the exhaustion, something else stirred.A shift.A quiet, insidious pain that whispered not of destruction—but of restoration.The twisted sinews of my body began to unravel, the broken jigsaw of my bones slowly realigning.I could feel it happening, the venom forcing my form back together, piece by agonizing piece.
Lazarus snapped his fingers, the crack of it echoing through the cavern like a command.
From nowhere, several figures emerged.Clad in black robes, their faces veiled beneath Tagelmust-like coverings, they moved like specters—silent, knowing.Yet, I did not need to see their faces to recognize them.
They were my brothers in arms.
We had fought side by side for centuries, our bonds forged in blood, sweat, and sacrifice.Each scar we bore was a testament to our trials together, a symbol of unending loyalty.
“Carry him into the healing chamber,” Lazarus commanded, his gaze never leaving mine.Then, turning to another, he added, “And bring me those subjects deemed worthless and beyond redemption.”
Strong hands lifted me from the cold stone, their grip firm yet reverent.My body, still weak but no longer overridden by agony, felt weightless in their grasp.
The corridor ahead stretched endlessly, a tunnel bathed in the flickering glow of torches.Their flames licked at the walls, casting elongated shadows that mimicked ghosts of the past.The black-robed men carried me with solemn strength, their footsteps a steady cadence in the hush of the underground.The chill seeped into my skin, a welcome reprieve from the feverish torment that had racked me moments before.
At last, we reached an ancient door, its wood groaning in protest as they pushed it open.
Inside, a dimly lit chamber unfurled before me, the air thick with incense and the timeworn scent of stone.Candlelight revealed a space of quiet opulence—silken tapestries hanging like whispers of forgotten tales, marble basins filled with scented water, and, in the center, a feather-stuffed mattress draped in fine silks that shimmered like the twilight sky over Anatolia.
They laid me down with the care of men who had carried the wounded before, the weight of war still etched into their souls.My head sank into the pillow, and for the first time in what felt like an eternity, I allowed myself the novelty of rest.
I closed my eyes, surrendering to the dimness, knowing the battles ahead would not allow such mercy again.
But the peace shattered.
