Nia hadn't eaten in a day, but fear was more filling than bread. She drifted through Ketu Port's back alleys like a ghost, her hood low, her steps quiet. The serpent mark throbbed faintly beneath her sleeve, each pulse a reminder she could never take it off.
By dawn, the city had changed. She saw the proof in the faces of the people. Doors slammed at the sight of her. Mothers yanked children away. Even the dogs avoided her shadow. The Empire's whispers moved faster than she ever could: a courier cursed by forbidden power.
Her chest tightened, but she kept moving. She needed a way out.
And then she smelled it.
Smoke.
Nia turned the corner and froze. A small home was ablaze, flames licking through the wooden beams. A woman knelt in the mud outside, screaming, clutching her child. Soldiers stood nearby, their expressions cold, their armor catching the morning light.
"Please!" the woman begged. "My husband—he's still inside!"
The soldiers didn't move. One spat on the ground. "Witch sympathizers burn with the witch."
Nia's stomach lurched. She knew this family. The father, Eri, had once paid her in dumplings instead of coins when she was starving. He was kind.
Her body moved before her mind agreed. She darted toward the fire.
"Stop!" a soldier barked.
But she was already through the smoke, choking, eyes stinging. She found Eri collapsed by the stairs, coughing blood. She grabbed his arm, heaving him onto her shoulder with all the strength she had.
The serpent purred in her mind. Call me. I will make the flames bow to you.
She ignored it, stumbling back into the street with Eri half-dragged across the mud. The woman screamed and pulled him from her grip, cradling him as he gasped for air.
The soldiers' eyes narrowed. "You," one hissed. "The marked one."
Nia's chest seized. The woman froze too, horror flickering in her gaze.
The serpent's voice coiled tight. Strike now. Leave no witnesses. Or you will die here.
Her hands trembled. She looked at the woman — at Eri — at the soldiers raising their blades.
Choice.
If she unleashed the serpent, she could save herself. But the woman would see what she was. And once she saw, would she spit her name in fear like all the others?
If she didn't… she'd be cut down.
Heat surged in her palm, fire curling like a living snake. The serpent laughed, low and hungry. Yes. Yes. Burn them.
Nia gritted her teeth — and thrust her arm forward.
Green fire exploded, hurling the soldiers into the dirt. Their armor sizzled, their screams ripping through the street. The air stank of iron and ash.
The flames faded as quickly as they came, leaving silence behind.
Nia stood panting, the serpent's mark blazing on her skin.
The woman clutched her husband, staring at Nia as if she were some monster pulled from the old stories. Fear shone in her eyes, sharp and cold.
Nia's throat closed. She wanted to say I saved him. She wanted to scream it. But the words never came.
The woman gathered her husband and child, dragging them away without a thank you, without a glance back. Only fear.
Nia's knees weakened. She pressed her hands into the mud, trying to ground herself as the serpent hissed softly.
Do you see? They will never love you. Only fear you. So choose: their fear… or your survival.
Above, a shadow shifted on the rooftops — the cloaked figure from before, watching still.