Azeal's hand hovered over the hilt of the Star Fire Sword, his muscles tense, but he did not draw the blade. The ancient warrior-centaur stood motionless, his golden eyes reflecting a profound wisdom that belonged to an era long before Draeven Zareth's shadow fell over the realm.
"How do you know my father's name?" Azeal demanded, his voice echoing softly through the misty canopy. He kept one arm slightly extended, keeping Vaelora positioned safely behind his shoulder.
The centaur stepped forward, his heavy hooves making surprisingly little sound against the damp mossy earth. "I am Chiron, the Elder of the Galactic Herd," he replied, lowering his silver-haired head in a gesture of solemn respect. "I knew King Aetheron when he was merely a prince, testing his steel against the world. I watched him carry that very sword into the Zarethian Trial. But more importantly, we feel the heartbeat of the Book of Origins. The forest remembers its creators, Princess."
Vaelora stepped out from behind Azeal, the book in her arms glowing with a soft, comforting warmth that seemed to push back the thick fog surrounding them. "If you know why we are here, Chiron, then you know Draeven's spies are hunting us. We must reach the Vault of Souls,We must travel through that path to reach our kingdom, for Draeven Zareth has sealed the road we were meant to take."
Chiron's expression darkened, his powerful equine torso shifting uneasily. "The path through these woods is no longer safe. Draeven Zareth knows the Harpies failed to stop you. In his fury, he has struck a bargain with the deep darkness. He has unleashed a creature from the subterranean depths of the old myths—a Basilisks."
Azeal frowned, his grip tightening on his scabbard. "The serpent of death?"
"Worse," Chiron warned, turning his body toward a narrower, heavily overgrown path deeper into the thicket. "Its very breath is a plague, and a single gaze from its yellow eyes will turn your blood to ice. It slithers beneath the roots, waiting to intercept you before you can leave our borders. My scouts have tracked it, but our arrows cannot pierce its poisoned scales."
Azeal looked at Vaelora, seeing the exhaustion in her eyes, and then felt the dull, throbbing ache in his own fractured ribs. They were running out of time, and running out of strength.
"We cannot outrun a subterranean hunter," Azeal said, his voice dropping into a fierce, determined register. He looked back up at the majestic centaur. "We will have to kill it."
A proud, knowing smile touched Chiron's weathered face. He reached into a leather pouch slung across his chest and pulled out a small glass vial filled with a shimmering, starlit silver liquid.
"This is the Essence of the Moon-Lily," Chiron said, pressing the vial into Vaelora's hands. "Apply it to the Prince's wounds. It will heal his broken bones and grant his senses the sharpness of the night wind. You will need every ounce of your strength, Son of Aetheron, because the Basilisk does not fight with honor. It fights with venom and shadows."
Vaelora took the vial, her fingers brushing against Chiron's calloused hand. "Thank you, Elder."
"Hurry," Chiron urged, his ear twitching as a low, unnatural hiss vibrated through the distant trees. The air suddenly began to smell of rot and sulfur. "The serpent approaches. I will lead my warriors to distract Draeven's aerial scouts, but the beast under the roots is yours to conquer. May the starlight guide your blade."
With a powerful leap, Chiron turned and galloped into the thick fog, vanishing as quickly as he had appeared, leaving Azeal and Vaelora to face the poisonous terror creeping through the dark.