A Serpent's Tongue

The stale, metallic tang of passing through Gate 1 still clung to my tongue, a phantom taste that refused to fade. Silas had been unusually quiet on the walk back, his usual cryptic pronouncements replaced by a heavy silence that pressed in on me. The air itself seemed to hum with an unspoken tension, a discordant note in the symphony of my world. I kept expecting another flicker, another shimmer at the edge of my vision, but reality had snapped back into its familiar, albeit now unsettling, shape.

“You did well at Gate 1, Elara,” Silas finally said, his voice a low rumble that did little to soothe the unease coiling in my gut. We were walking through a market square, the usual cacophony of vendors hawking their wares and children’s laughter a jarring contrast to the somber mood that had settled between us.

“It was just a riddle,” I mumbled, kicking at a loose cobblestone. “And a rather grumpy doorkeeper.”