The Serpent's Word-Weaver

My name is Liora and I am a Word-Weaver. At the Academy, we learn that words have power. A single true word can light a fire, heal a wound, or break a heart. But there is one rule every first year learns: never speak a word you do not understand. Especially not in the Restricted Section. I broke that rule tonight. The book was old, its cover made of black scales that felt warm under my fingers. It had no title, only a single word pulsing on the first page in golden ink. It looked like a name. Vael'Reth. I whispered it without thinking. The moment the word left my lips, the air in the library shattered. Every candle died. The books screamed. And the shadows behind me moved. "Who dares speak my true name after three thousand years?" I spun around. A man stood where no one had been. He was impossibly tall, his long black hair falling over shoulders broad as a warrior's. His eyes were gold, vertical slits like a serpent's, and they were fixed on me with ancient fury and hunger. "You," he said, his voice a low hiss that made my skin shiver. "A little weaver. You wove the word that binds me." I tried to step back but my feet were rooted. My wrist - where my weaver's birthmark had always been pale - was now burning bright gold. He came closer, and I saw scales shimmer along his jaw, there and gone. "You have awakened the Serpent Lord, little one. And now, you are mine. My Word-Weaver. My mate." And then he touched me.