The Serpents Whisper

I ran with a desperate, lung-searing intensity, the consecrated dagger clutched in my hand. It was an arrow now, pointing me in the direction Sophie had fled. The forest floor was uneven and dark, but the silver dagger pulsed faintly, a cold, guiding light against the thick shadows.
I didn't try to track Atlas. A wounded, enraged Dragon King with the power of an Elder God was not a predator to be followed; he was a storm to be evaded. My only mission was to catch up to my children and put distance between us and the collapsing Grove.
Run. Find the point. Send the word.
Before the war with Atlas began, Marcus and I had established dozens of secondary, hidden communication points throughout the ancient forests surrounding the capital—minor, consecrated markers known only to the two of us and the most trusted members of the Dragon Guard. They were designed for exactly this: a catastrophe, a need for swift, silent rescue when the main nexus was compromised.
I skidded to a stop near a massive, moss-covered boulder. The air here felt wrong—not hostile, but muted, a pocket of silence in the noisy, agitated forest. This was it. Hidden beneath the boulder was a slate of Dragon-carved obsidian, a low-powered, emergency magical relay.
I knelt, tossing the dagger aside and shoving my shoulder against the boulder's base. It weighed hundreds of pounds, but sheer terror lent me the strength. With a grunt of effort, it ground aside, revealing the obsidian slate recessed into the earth.
I only had a few precious seconds. Atlas would have sensed the residual surge of King’s Presence I’d used to distract him, and he would be closing the gap. If he caught me while I was trying to send a message, he would simply destroy the nexus and me with it.

Coded Contact

The slab was cold to the touch. It required the contact of Dragon blood to activate, a security feature Atlas, with his corrupted bloodline, could never replicate.
I retrieved the dagger and used its razor edge, scoring a shallow cut across my palm. The pain was sharp, but irrelevant. I slapped my bleeding hand onto the obsidian slate.
The moment my blood met the rock, the slate flared—not with light, but with an internal, humming warmth. A soft, focused hiss entered my mind, a mental channel opening:
< Dragon Point Beta-7. Queen Authentication Required >
I am the Queen of Dragons. I pushed the thought through the mental channel, transmitting the royal signet, the specific wavelength Marcus and I shared, and the secret key phrase we’d prepared for a scenario involving his death or incapacitation: The Crown is shattered. The Heartwood burns.
The slate hummed faster. < Authenticated. Priority Gamma-Zero. Message required >
I didn't waste time on a broadcast to the entire Guard. That would be too slow, too risky. I targeted a single, trusted name: Jerrick. Captain of the Shadow Guard, Marcus’s most loyal and skilled operative, known for his speed and absolute discretion.
Jerrick. Listen closely. My thoughts were a torrent, a frantic data-dump of pure information. The King is gone—sinkhole at the Grove. Atlas is alive, wounded, but imbued with Elder God power. He is hunting. The children and I are currently heading due North from Beta-7, toward the Old Watchtower Ridge. He will be hunting us until we reach stable territory.
Do not engage. Do not seek the Grove. Your mission is absolute: Intercept the Queen and the Children. Extract them immediately. We are running out of time. Do you understand?
I waited, my breath held tight in my chest. Even across the distance, communicating through a makeshift magical relay, the silence felt deafening.
Hurry, I pleaded mentally, pushing a final, desperate burst of urgency. Hurry, Jerrick. We are exposed.
The faint hiss in my mind shifted, becoming a single, cold, crystalline thought that felt utterly reliable, utterly certain:
< Understood, Your Majesty. Initiating retrieval vector. ETA: T-minus one hour. >
One hour. An eternity in the dark woods, with a broken, god-powered King hunting two children and a pregnant Queen.

The King’s Shadow

Just as the mental channel snapped shut, a different sound pierced the silence of the forest. It was a crunching, heavy tread, closer than it should have been. Atlas. He hadn't seen the marker, but he had definitely sensed the concentrated magical burst of the transmission.
I scrambled back, kicking dirt over the exposed obsidian slate, trying to hide the evidence of my communication. It was a futile gesture, but instinct demanded it.
“I smell it!” Atlas’s voice tore through the trees, closer now, a raw, manic shout. “The power! You try to run, little Queen, but you can’t hide the signal! You are broadcasting your location to me!”
He burst through the undergrowth about fifty feet away—a terrifying, half-human, half-monster shadow, his purplish eyes scanning the trees. He didn't see the tiny, hidden slate, but he saw me. And he saw my moment of distraction.
He raised his good arm, and a sickly, violet fire began to coalesce in his hand. He wasn't aiming to kill, but to incapacitate, to capture.
"You are mine!"
I didn't wait for the blast. I spun, lunging in the same direction I'd told Jerrick we were heading. I gripped the dagger tight, and with a new, frantic purpose, I plunged into the inky blackness. One hour. I had to outrun a monster for sixty minutes, using only darkness, wits, and the faint traces of the two souls I needed to protect.
The pursuit was about to begin in earnest.