The Wager

The serpent blinked slowly, as if trying to register what had just happened. And for the first time since I'd laid eyes on it, this towering, ancient monstrosity of scaled muscle and coiled malice looked... utterly ridiculous.

Its vast body, once coiled in perfect, ominous stillness, now shifted with visible discomfort. Its jaws remained open, not in triumph or fury, but in some strange blend of disbelief and vague insult. Like a tyrant whose declaration had been met not with fear, but with a seventeen-year-old's sarcasm.

And honestly? I probably did look absurd.

My robes were torn and clinging to me with sweat and ash, my face streaked with dirt, and I was standing there with a gleam in my eye that said: I shouldn't have made it this far, but here I am anyway.

Then, it laughed.

A sound deep and guttural, rolling from its chest like an avalanche made of broken bones and venom. The very cavern trembled with it. Loose stones rained from above. The air thickened, humid, and sharp with something that smelled like rot and old magic.

"You amuse me, little heir," it hissed, voice slithering with cruel delight. "You twist meaning into false virtue. You cloak defiance in humility. You are clever... but not wise."

I stood my ground and crossed my arms.

"I beg to differ. I wasn't the one twisting any meaning down here. You've coiled yourself into enough contradictions for both of us."

The serpent narrowed its eyes. Slits of gold flashing like blades drawn in the dark.

"You think yourself clever," it said, the cavern darkening with its words. "But cleverness is a child's torch. It flickers. It fades. You mock what you cannot comprehend, little heir."

I shrugged, arms still crossed. "I mean, I comprehend quite a lot for someone who's apparently just a 'torch.' I've deciphered ancient runes, survived a collapsing temple, dodged shadow beasts, and now I'm here... holding a conversation with an emotionally wounded snake."

It coiled tighter. The water around the stone I stood on rippled from the sheer pressure of its disdain.

"You mistake survival for strength. Mockery for mastery. You think words will save you?"

"No," I said, stepping forward, "but they've kept me alive this long."

And frankly, they've irritated you just enough to distract from the fact that I'm already planning my next move.

I didn't say it aloud. Not yet. But I thought it—sharp and clear—as I watched the serpent twist and seethe, too pleased with its own riddles to notice the way my gaze kept flicking around the chamber.

The truth was, I'd been thinking of a way out from the moment I hit the water.

It hadn't been a graceful fall—more like a dropped stone. One second we were at the temple above, the next I was plummeting through a shaft of darkness, the air torn from my lungs. Then came the splash—icy, violent, swallowing. I remember the jolt of panic as I sank, arms flailing in the thick water, the weight of my soaked clothes pulling me downward.

But instinct clawed harder than fear. I kicked, rose. Gasped as my head broke the surface. The cavern had been black then, lit only by the strange glow of runes lining the walls like veins pulsing with foreign light.

Gasping, coughing, I reached for the nearest thing that wasn't trying to drown me—jagged stone, slick with algae, edges cutting into my palms as I dragged myself up onto a narrow outcrop.

And that's where I stood now.

The rock beneath me was uneven and sharp, jutting up from the black water like the broken spine of some ancient beast. It was only a few feet wide, barely enough room to pace, hemmed in on all sides by the serpent's massive coils and the echoing weight of the cavern itself.

Around me, the world was wrong. The ceiling arched impossibly high above, lost in shadows and threads of hanging roots. Water lapped quietly at the stone edges, deceptively calm despite what lurked within it. The air stank of wet earth, rot, and something older—like forgotten magic and things that should have stayed buried.

The serpent had coiled itself across much of the chamber, its body looping around the edges of the platform like it was part of the cavern itself. Its head, massive and too close for comfort, hovered just above me, eyes glowing with golden malice.

The stone beneath me was slick with moisture and carpeted in old moss, its surface worn smooth by centuries of silence. But beneath that damp green veil, I could make out something else—lines. Carvings. Pristine and purposeful. Ancient inscriptions swallowed by time, etched into the platform like whispers from a civilization long buried beneath myth.

It wasn't just a rock. It was part of something older. An altar, maybe. A dais built not for the living, but for the divine. Or for something pretending to be.

The architecture was immaculate despite its age—every line precise, every curve too symmetrical for nature's randomness. Whoever built this place had an intention. Worship, maybe. Or warning.

I stood in the center of it all—just a boy in torn robes and a borrowed title—on ground shaped by a world that had tried very hard to forget itself.

But I'd seen something.

Now the problem was, getting there meant leaping off this narrow ledge into the water and swimming fast. I'd have seconds. Maybe less. The serpent would sense the movement. Hear it. Strike.

Unless I gave it something else to look at.

And that was why I kept talking. Why I leaned into the sarcasm, the baiting, the petty jabs. Not because I wasn't afraid.

But because fear is useless when you're trapped in a cave with a monster and hope's clinging to the shape of a cave-mouth just out of reach.

All I needed was one opening.

Just one.

The serpent leaned in, its tongue flickering near my cheek like a curse not yet spoken.

"You dare insult me in my own lair?"

I tilted my head. "Well, I'd insult you in my lair too, but unfortunately, I'm not some ancient ego-hoarder who lives in a cave and speaks in cryptic threats like it's still the Age of Kings."

A pause. A long, still one.

Then, it laughed. Again. A low, horrid rumble that shook the walls.

"You are reckless," it said, voice now tinged with something darker. Not just delight. Hunger. "So very human. You burn bright before the end."

Its eyes locked on mine.

"Let's test that flame, shall we?"

It leaned in again, lowering its massive head to my level, and I felt the full weight of its intent behind those glowing eyes. The game was over. The act, the riddles, the theatrics—just a mask.

Now I saw the truth.

"Why don't we make your third riddle... more interesting?" the serpent whispered, voice sliding through the cracks in the stone like poison in a priest's chalice. It didn't hiss this time—it cooed. A coaxing lullaby laced with venom. "Raise the stakes. Make it a challenge worthy of history's attention."

I tensed. My hands clenched at my sides.

"...What do you mean?" I asked, though the question felt hollow. A chill had already coiled around my spine like a second serpent. I knew.

The beast's smile twisted—wide, unnatural, not meant for comfort. Its golden eyes narrowed, not in malice but in something far more unsettling: recognition.

"This world," it murmured, "has forgotten what it means to know truth. You all clutch stories like shields. Turn pain into prophecy. Lies into legacy. You build temples on graves and call it glory. Burn what you don't understand, and call it cleansing fire."

Its voice dropped further, a rasp now, like the scraping of bone on stone. "They cast me down, Prince Aric. Not because I lied. But because I remembered. I remembered what they wished to forget."

And suddenly, it made sense. This wasn't just a monster of fang and scale. It was memory, made flesh. The echo of something the world had buried and hoped would stay gone. Not evil in origin, but broken by betrayal. Twisted by time and silence.

"You will become my vessel," the serpent said, reverent now. "A voice to whisper through. A face to wear. You, Prince Aric, will bring me back into your world. In your blood, I will bloom again."

I stepped back. The runes beneath my feet pulsed red, vibrating with a low hum like the beat of a war drum. This trial... this wasn't a game.

It was a contract.

And the price was steep.

If I failed—not only would I lose my friends—

I would lose myself.

My body. My voice. My will. I would become the mask he wore. A hollow echo of a boy who once stood against something ancient.

And then the serpent moved.

The cavern darkened, shadows thickening like smoke. The water below me rippled, then turned still—like a mirror. And in that glassy surface, I saw them.

Valtor stood in a chamber that boiled with molten lava. Wraiths circled him like vultures, their shadows stretching with every movement. His skin blistered, breath shallow as poisonous gas crept into his lungs. He was on his knees, coughing blood, trying to summon the wind with trembling fingers. But it wasn't enough. Not this time. His once-pristine royal suit was in tatters, his face streaked with blood. He wasn't just fighting the elements—he was losing.

Elara screamed!

I saw her being dragged across a frozen field by a beast I'd only ever read about—an Ice Reaver, its claws the color of the void, its breath a storm of needles. Her arrows were broken, her bow gone, her hands raw from clawing at the ice. The creature pulled her toward a jagged crack in the frozen lake that descended into nothingness.

Seraph, somehow, stood atop the mountain's highest peak, where the air was too thin to breathe. Wind howled around him, lightning crackled above. He fought a figure in a black robe, face hidden. His grin—always there, always unshakable—was gone. His strikes were desperate, precise. Each clash of blades looked like it could be his last.

And Herold...

He didn't fight.

He was bound. Suspended midair by living ivy, thorns digging into his skin, blood trailing down like ink from a forgotten script. His lips moved—chanting, maybe. Or cursing. I didn't know. But the pain in his eyes... that was clear.

They were all suffering. Because of me.

The weight of that realization pressed down on my chest like a physical burden.

They were only here because I asked them to come. Because I insisted on the truth. Because I needed to know. And now, the cost of my curiosity, my relentless pursuit of answers, was laid bare before me. I might never see them again. Not if I failed.

The serpent watched my face shift—watched the hope fade, the weight settle in—and it smiled. A cold, calculating smile that sent shivers down my spine.

"A fair wager, wouldn't you say?" it purred, its voice dripping with malice. "Win, and I will give you an answer. I will give you your heart's desire. Lose..."

It let the words trail off, like a blade that stopped just before the skin split. The threat hung in the air, heavy and ominous.

"You will forget who you are. Your name. Your purpose. Your friends. All of it—forgotten, devoured, like they never mattered. You will be mine. My vessel. My voice. My blade."

The serpent leaned closer, its massive eyes gleaming with centuries of buried hate.

"And they will die here, alone, screaming your name... while you forget they ever lived."

The runes beneath my feet pulsed red again. They were waiting and watching.

Deep within, I knew it had never been just a riddle. It was ruined from the start.

And the wager... was my soul.