Chapter 71: Serpent Origins and Watching Shadows
The Shrouded One wandered through the dim corridors of the Master's house, every corner echoing with painful memories. His hands were clenched, his steps slow. The Master—his Master—was gone, vanished without a trace. No note, no signal, no clue. Just an empty space where his presence once towered like a looming god.
He stopped suddenly, swallowing hard.
"How could he leave without me?" he murmured to himself, the ache in his chest tightening. "He always said he loved me. He promised... he promised we'd always be together."
But that promise now tasted bitter. The silence left behind by the Master was loud—cruel even. The Shrouded One took a sharp breath, his boots creaking against the floorboards as he moved forward, deeper into the house, until he reached a room he hadn't entered in a long time—his old one.
He hesitated at the doorway, then stepped in. The air was stale, as though it hadn't been disturbed in months, yet everything was in place. And in the center of it all sat the pot—the worn, ancient-looking vessel that had haunted his dreams more times than he could count.
The moment he stepped closer, the pot began to shimmer faintly, as if recognizing him.
A voice, low and eerie, curled into his ears. It didn't come from the door. It came from the pot.
"You seek answers. I hold them."
The Shrouded One stood still, then knelt before it, his eyes fixed.
"You are not like the others. You were created through a serpent lineage—powerful, dark, bound to the ancient rites of blood and fire."
Images flashed in his mind: snakes slithering through blackened soil, hissing into the sky; a woman with familiar eyes clutching a baby to her chest; a man screaming as shadowed figures closed in. His heart twisted.
"Your power made you a target. The Master saw it, long before you understood what you were. He killed your parents to claim you. You were his prize. His weapon. His obsession."
The Shrouded One gritted his teeth. "No…"
A stabbing pain pierced his chest. He gasped and fell forward, clutching his heart as the torment consumed him. It was as though the truth itself was tearing through every bone in his body. He curled into himself, gasping—alone, until—
A hand touched his shoulder.
He looked up through bleary eyes, and time itself seemed to freeze.
There, standing before him, was someone he had buried in memory—someone he thought he'd never see again.
"Little 7?" he whispered.
Little 7 didn't answer. His eyes were calm, his expression unreadable, but his arms wrapped around the Shrouded One gently, helping him sit up.
Silence lingered between them, loaded with too many questions. But none were asked. Not yet.
Time passed before the Shrouded One could fully breathe again. Slowly, he stood, steadied by Little 7, and together, they began to roam the house—searching, curious. Perhaps something had been left behind, something that could explain the Master's sudden disappearance.
That's when they found it.
Behind a disguised wall panel lay a hidden room neither of them had ever seen. Dust curled through the slivers of light as the door creaked open.
They stepped in cautiously.
The room was lined with books, artifacts, and scrolls that pulsed faintly with dark energy. But at the center stood something even stranger—a tall, arched mirror framed in black stone and serpent-like vines that curled into snarling heads at the corners.
The Shrouded One paused. So did Little 7.
The mirror didn't reflect their image correctly. Instead, it shimmered as though showing versions of them slightly… different. Older. Tired. Wounded. Or smiling in ways they never had. The images shifted constantly, flickering like candlelight. Then, without moving, the mirror's gaze seemed to meet theirs.
"I don't like that thing," Little 7 muttered, stepping slightly back.
The Shrouded One stared longer, feeling the hairs on his neck rise. He could swear it was watching them—studying them. He tried to turn away but something inside him stirred, a memory surfacing.
A time when the Master had sat beside him and spoken in a low tone, voice trembling slightly.
"I killed your parents. But I wasn't the one who ordered it. Someone else did… someone I can't speak of. Someone more powerful than even I could defy."
The Shrouded One shook his head. "It can't be. That was just an excuse. Just a lie to justify what he did."
Still, a part of him doubted. He turned away, motioning to Little 7.
They left the room quickly.
But they didn't see what came after.
As the door shut, the mirror's surface rippled like disturbed water. From within, a shadowed figure emerged—faceless, cloaked in smoke. It leaned forward, smirking at the now-empty room.
"Fools," it whispered. "So close… yet blind."
---
Elsewhere, far from the shadowed corridors, Elara and Ariella stood beneath the silver boughs in the hidden glade, speaking to the Blue and White Queens. Their voices were heavy with concern, weariness clear in their eyes.
"We were nearly done for," Elara admitted. "If our guardians hadn't stepped in—"
"He would have killed us," Ariella added bitterly. "The Master… he was too strong. We weren't ready."
The Blue Queen's gaze darkened. "Your survival was not by chance. Your guardians intervened at the very edge of time."
"The Master's power was overwhelming," Elara said. "Every move, every strike—he was ahead of us."
"You must be cautious," the White Queen warned. "The Master is not just a man. He walks with something… ancient. He is no longer bound by natural limits."
"We know," Ariella replied. "But we won't stop. Not after everything."
The Queens didn't offer solutions. Only silence. And in that silence, the girls understood—they were on their own.
---
Deep in a dark cave lit only by flickering red crystals, the Master stirred from unconsciousness. His eyes blinked open slowly, adjusting to the shadows. Beside him, Percy groaned, pushing himself up with trembling arms.
The Master sat up, breathing heavily.
"Where…?" Percy asked, wiping blood from his cheek.
"The fallback chamber," the Master answered hoarsely. "I used the emergency seal to get us here."
Percy glanced around, confused. "How long were we out?"
"Long enough."
They sat quietly for a moment, the air thick with the scent of blood and scorched earth. Their bodies were marked with burns and gashes from the confrontation with the girls. Though victorious in many ways, it hadn't been without cost.
The Master gritted his teeth, flexing his fingers. His power felt sluggish, unstable.
"I underestimated them," he muttered. "That won't happen again."
Percy didn't speak. He simply leaned against the stone wall, staring into the crimson glow.
The Master finally stood, wincing as pain shot through his limbs.
"There's still time," he whispered to himself. "They may think they've won something. But I'm not finished."
He clenched his fists.
"No... this was only the beginning."