The serpent's tongue finally uncurled, its slick, muscular length loosening with a slow, deliberate grace. Eli barely processed what was happening until he felt himself lowering—gently, impossibly gently—toward solid ground.
His boots brushed the damp Aerth first, sinking slightly into the mud. For a heartbeat, his body remained tense, his muscles locked in anticipation of pain, of fangs, of death.
But it never came.
The wet, suffocating pressure slipped away from his waist, sliding back into the darkness with a faint hiss. And then—he was free.
The serpent had placed him down. Not dropped. Not thrown.Placed.
Eli stumbled forward, his knees buckling beneath him. His palms hit the ground hard, sinking into the cold, dew-soaked soil slick with serpent saliva. He gasped, the air sharp and wet against his lungs as he coughed, each breath shaky and uneven.
'It finally let me go.'
