The cavern never slept.
Even when Mother rested, her coils stretched across the den like rivers of scale, the nest was alive with whispers, hisses, and silent struggles.
It was here, in the quiet hours, that Seraka made his move.
Whispers Against MeI sensed it first in the way the others looked at me.
Not curiosity anymore. Suspicion.
Where once I had been invisible, now every flick of my tongue, every shift of my coils, was watched. And I could feel Seraka's gaze like a thorn pressed into my scales.
He had not forgotten my bite.
By the second day, whispers spread. Hatchlings hissed of "cheating" and "unnatural strength." Of how I had stolen prey that should have been Seraka's.
Lies. But in this nest, perception was power. And Seraka knew it.
Testing LoyaltiesWhen the next prey came—a battered wild hare—chaos erupted as usual. Hatchlings struck and swarmed, and I, Sythis, and Marrow darted as one toward the opening.
But Seraka was already there.
He didn't lunge for the prey. He lunged for Marrow.
With a savage strike, he slammed my brown-scaled ally into the cavern wall, leaving him stunned. Then, with calculated ease, Seraka coiled around the hare and snapped its neck in one crushing motion.
The nest fell silent. Dozens of eyes turned.
"See how weak your friends are?" Seraka hissed, his voice low but carrying across the den. "You drag them down. You drag us all down."
He flung the hare's corpse into the mass of waiting hatchlings, who tore it apart before anyone else could react. Then he slithered past me, his golden eyes locking on mine.
A message. Clear as day.
DoubtMarrow limped to my side, blood dripping from his snout. "He's trying to break us apart," he rasped.
Sythis's scales bristled. "Then we don't let him. Three coils are stronger than one. We proved it already."
I wanted to believe her. But the nest was shifting. Seraka didn't need to fight me outright. He just needed to turn enough siblings against me—to make my survival impossible before I even left this cavern.
The thought made my coils tighten. Not with fear. With determination.
Shadows StrikeThat night, when Mother slept, the cavern grew quiet. Too quiet.
My tongue flicked, tasting the air. Bitter. Wrong.
I moved just in time. A hatchling lunged from the shadows, fangs sinking into empty stone where my neck had been. Another struck from the side, their body tangling with mine.
A trap.
Seraka's pawns.
I twisted, striking back, my fangs sinking into the first attacker's eye. He shrieked, thrashing, but another slammed into my flank, rattling my ribs.
Sythis appeared like a ghost, her pale body flashing in the moss-light. She sank her fangs into one attacker's tail, dragging him back. Marrow, battered but unyielding, coiled around another, squeezing until bones cracked.
Together, we fought in silence, the only sound the hiss of scales and the cries of hatchlings who had chosen the wrong side.
When it was done, two bodies lay twitching on the stone. Not dead—but broken.
The rest slithered back into the dark, fear in their eyes.
Mother's ShadowBut before we could catch our breath, the cavern rumbled.
Mother stirred. Her massive head rose, eyes glowing in the dim. She looked at the blood, the writhing hatchlings, then at me.
Her gaze lingered. Too long.
Then she lowered her head again, coils shifting. No words. No strike. Just silence.
As if to say: I am watching.
The Weight of RivalryLater, coiled tight beside Sythis and Marrow, I couldn't rest. Hunger clawed at me still, but worse than hunger was the certainty in my mind.
Seraka wasn't just a bully. He wasn't just strong. He was clever. Cunning. Patient.
He would not stop until one of us lay dead.
And if I wanted to live—if I wanted to rise—I couldn't just match his strength.
I had to surpass it.
The cavern air had grown stale.
Not because of the stone or the moss or even the scent of blood—it was the weight of Seraka's shadow pressing on everything I did.
Every meal, every hiss, every glance felt like a test.
I couldn't stay on defense forever.
If we were to survive, if we were to grow, we had to hunt. Not scraps thrown by chance. Not leftovers. A hunt of our own.
Breaking the RuleSythis was the first to whisper the forbidden words.
"We leave the nest."
Marrow's head jerked up. "You're mad. Mother forbids it. The world out there eats hatchlings alive."
Sythis's pale scales gleamed in the faint glow of moss-light. "And in here, Seraka eats us alive. What's the difference?"
I said nothing at first. My tongue flicked, tasting the air of the den, the damp warmth, the countless siblings coiled in restless sleep. Out there was danger, yes. But in here… I felt the walls closing.
Finally, I hissed, "Then we do it. Together."
Into the TunnelsThe tunnels beyond the nest were colder.
Each flick of my tongue tasted damp stone, moss, and the faint trace of life.
We slithered in silence, scales whispering against the rock. The cavern behind us shrank until it was nothing but a glow in the dark.
Marrow's coils trembled. "If Mother finds out—"
"She won't," Sythis interrupted. Her voice carried sharp certainty, though her tail flick betrayed nerves.
I pressed forward, leading. The air was sharper here. Wilder. Alive.
The First PreyWe found it near a dripping pool.
A fat cave rat, blind eyes twitching as it gnawed at roots. Its whiskers trembled. Its ears twitched. Unaware of us.
Not a hare tossed by chance. Not prey gifted by Mother. This one was ours to take—if we were strong enough.
"Three sides," I whispered. "Sythis, drive it right. Marrow, wait left. I'll strike the head."
For once, neither argued.
The StrikeSythis moved first, slipping across the moss with pale grace. Her body brushed stone just enough to send a sound. The rat's ears twitched—it spun, squealing.
It bolted—right where I wanted it.
Marrow lunged from the shadows, his bulk slamming the rat sideways. It shrieked, claws raking his snout, but he held, coiling fast.
That was my moment.
I shot forward, fangs sinking into the creature's neck. Hot, bitter blood filled my mouth as the rat thrashed and squealed. Its claws raked, its tail whipped, but together our coils closed, squeezing the life from it.
The squeals weakened. The body went limp.
Silence returned.
We had done it.
The Taste of VictoryThe three of us fed. Slowly. Carefully. Not fighting. Not biting at one another.
It wasn't much—not compared to the prey Mother brought—but it was ours. A victory won not by chance or scraps, but by unity.
Sythis's tongue flicked, sharp and satisfied. "We can do it again. Bigger next time."
Marrow's coils shifted, his voice low but steady. "Seraka hunts with fear. We hunt with each other."
I coiled tighter around the fading warmth of the kill. My fangs still tingled. My hunger was not gone. It never would be.
But for the first time since my hatching, I felt something stronger than hunger.
Hope.
Shadows Still WatchingAs we slithered back to the nest, bellies warmed by our kill, I felt it.
A gaze.
Not Mother's. Not a sibling's.
Something else. Something deeper in the tunnels.
The hunt had given us strength. But it had also drawn attention.
And in this world, attention was as deadly as any fang.