Chronicles of Sunno: The Serpent's Door

My mind still holds the memory of those days with such clarity, as if they had occurred just yesterday. I even seem to feel the fresh, damp grass around me and the scent of wet earth and wildflowers. That morning, I was lying on the hillside, imagining shapes in the clouds. The sky was the brightest, bluest one I’ve ever seen in my life. I was very young, even younger than you are now, Lysa. I wasn’t even the Guardian yet. I remember Danyrah’s joyful voice calling out to me as she climbed the hill, holding up her skirt to keep it from getting dirty.

"Edel! What are you doing lying there? Your dress is going to get soaked with the dew from the grass."

The girl was your age, Zari. She was tall, with dark hair and beautiful, intense green eyes. I remember her tired but cheerful expression as she climbed to where I lay. She was a priestess of Arthenia, the Mother. Yes, it’s strange for sorcerers and clerics to get along, but we had only known each other for two days and had already become great friends. And even stranger still, both of us had also formed a friendship with a witch. Her name was Trevina, and I can still picture her waiting for us at the foot of the hill, arms crossed and frowning. Her long red hair blowing in the wind, she was clearly not keen on climbing up to join us.

"Come on, lie down next to me! It’s very pleasant."

"And let my dress get soaked, and stained green by the grass? No way. My parents would kill me. Look, Trevina is waiting for us down there; she says she found a stall selling goat cheese pies that are delicious."

"Goat cheese pies? You sure know how to motivate a hungry girl like me."

As we walked down, laughing and holding hands, I could see the valley below us, carpeted with pavilions and tents of every imaginable shape and color. They reminded me of forest mushrooms after a day of rain. Some were large and ornate, others small and simple. From a few, wisps of smoke rose, showing where food could be found. From others, laughter and music spilled out, signaling where drinks were served. Several were topped with pennants fluttering in the wind, with designs indicating what they sold.

The fact that a witch, a priestess, and a sorceress met in that place, at that time, was no coincidence. As you both know, every hundred and twenty years, a phenomenon occurs that is commemorated by those of us connected to the world of Power. The conjunction of the three Gods, when Arthenia, Ethos, and Emera align perfectly in the sky, right between the Ladies. It’s a week-long celebration during which all magical disciplines call a truce, putting aside their differences. And the best place to witness this event is the ancient temple of Emera, which crowns the mountain rising over the Whispering Valley.

There is little left of its ancient grandeur. Of the magnificent structure it once was, only about twenty columns arranged in a circle remain, most of them neither standing nor whole. At the center stands a pedestal, upon which rests a statue, erected in honor of the goddess to whom the temple was dedicated. This statue is relatively new, as the original would have suffered the same fate as the rest of the construction. Around the perimeter, only ancient ruins remain—cracked marble blocks, fragments of friezes, cornices, and more broken columns—all conquered by moss and weeds. The place holds little interest, except for the shepherds who bring their sheep there.

But from the perspective of scholars and those of us connected to the world of Power, that valley is special. The temple was designed to serve as an observatory and is a prime location to witness the conjunction. Sorcerers, priests, witches, cabalists, astrologers, and all kinds of scholars and sages gather there to celebrate the event. And of course, merchants, eager to profit from the occasion, also come to do business.

That is why the three of us ended up there. Imagine, young and joyful girls with a whole week of festivities ahead of us. For us, it was a unique opportunity to explore, enjoy, and live without the weight of our future responsibilities, discovering new things. In those few days, we became such close friends that anyone would have thought we had known each other our entire lives.

Danyrah was a descendant of an important family, one of the nine merchant clans of Sartaral. Despite that, she was kind, generous, and humble. Always cheerful. She had no problem sharing everything she had with us. Her family had set up a large yellow tent, adorned with banners bearing the symbol of their faith: a red, flaming eight-pointed star encircled with an eye at its center. She had a very conservative upbringing, in line with the customs and dictates of her religion, and her aspirations were to start a family and become a high priestess—a great honor for her clan and her congregation.

Trevina, on the other hand… Ah, Trevina. She came from more humble origins. She had come alone, though she claimed to belong to a large family. The truth is, we never met any of them. She slept at the edge of the forest. She said she felt more comfortable and safer among the trees, but I think she might have been embarrassed to set up her modest tent among the others. Witches, as you know, usually come from rural backgrounds. Their knowledge is based on oral tradition and ancient customs, unlike sorceresses, who focus on research and study. I always sensed a certain envy in her towards us, though she tried to hide it behind a veil of indifference. She was proud, impulsive, and a bit reckless, unafraid to get into trouble.

It wasn’t long after meeting her that I realized she was an extremely ambitious girl. Too ambitious. She was intensely interested in everything I told her about the Temple of the Serpent, the key amulet, and what it meant to be the Guardian. She wouldn’t stop asking questions about the power and nature of the Entity that lingered on the other side. That’s what fascinated her the most. Looking back, I should have suspected something. But we were both young, and I must admit, the attention made me feel important. No one had ever shown such interest in my heritage or my stories. My pride and arrogance got the better of me.

Still, I hold a fond memory of those days. I also met a boy with whom I spent a lot of time. But that’s another story for another time, not now.

After the week of celebrations, which we wished would last a whole month, we parted ways with sadness. Each of us returned to our own worlds after sharing long embraces, tearful goodbyes, and promises to keep in touch. And at first, we managed to do so—a letter every month. But over time, it became one letter every six months, then one letter a year. Until one day, Danyrah decided it was time to reunite us again. She invited us to celebrate a joyous occasion: the birth of her second daughter.

We traveled to Sartaral, where we were warmly welcomed by her family in their large house on the outskirts of the city. Those were long days filled with joy, endless celebrations, exquisite meals, and dancing under the torchlight. But the most special part was meeting her two daughters. The eldest, dark-haired like her mother, tall for her age, though very shy. She hid behind Danyrah’s skirts, watching everyone with her large, curious eyes of a beautiful deep green.

Yes, that was you, Lysandra. The moment I saw you and you smiled at me, it brought light to my heart. It was like reliving the moment of witnessing the sunrise for the first time. And that was also when I met you, Zari. You were just a tiny rosy face peeking out from a bundle of embroidered cloth, cradled in your mother’s arms. You couldn’t have been more than a week old, but there was already a hint of blonde hair, just like your father’s. And the same beautiful green eyes as your sister’s.

At that moment, I realized how fortunate Danyrah was, and I felt envious. But not a bitter envy, for I was immensely happy that my friend had been blessed with two such beautiful and healthy daughters. And she had a husband who, from what she had told me in her letters, was a true gem. Still, there was a bit of sadness in that envy, knowing that I had long since accepted that I could never have children of my own. Many sorceresses had examined me, and they all came to the same conclusion. There was no cure. I had resigned myself to it. But I couldn’t help feeling a twinge of pain at seeing you both, knowing that I could never experience something like that in my life.

Trevina’s envy, however, was sickening. A poison that consumed her heart. She hadn’t had children either, though not because she couldn’t, like me. Seeing Danyrah, filled with happiness, surrounded by her beautiful daughters and the wealth of her large family, caused something inside her to break. I didn’t notice it at first, and it’s something I will regret for the rest of my life.

In addition to this, arrogance and ambition had grown within her. Her insatiable interest in everything related to the key and the Serpent’s door began to worry me. She even spoke to me privately about some dark ceremonies she had been studying, which, according to her, could even control the entity that awaited on the other side. Forbidden rituals that only the most horrible witches would dare to perform, requiring an abominable sacrifice: a young girl with the gift of Power who had not yet reached puberty.

Though her words made me shudder, I tried to reason with her, to rid her of those terrifying ideas. Not even the ancient and powerful sorcerers of Hulfgar, whose wisdom far surpassed that of modern sorcerers, had been able to dominate that being—what made her think she could? But she was blinded, obsessed, fixated, corrupted by envy and a thirst for power.

I warned Danyrah, though she was so good-hearted and innocent that she downplayed my words. She thought they were just fleeting notions from her "friend." Silly witch talk. And she said she would speak with Trevina, to persuade her. I trusted her so much that I followed her lead and dismissed my worries. Another of my great mistakes. Every time I think of it, I curse that foolish young woman I was at the time.

The days passed, filled with joy and happiness. But I had to return to my family, so I spent that last day making preparations for my departure. At sunset, I said my goodbyes with hugs and smiles, promising we would meet again soon. Most of all, I longed to return soon to see you both, my girls. But to my great surprise, Trevina’s farewell was cold and unfriendly. It almost seemed as though she were rushing me to leave. Unfortunately, I later discovered the reason for her behavior. For by a twist of fate, after leaving the city with my companions, I realized I had forgotten to deliver a few gifts. Curse my forgetful head. I returned that night, and it was then that the nightmare began.

I heard screams coming from inside. I knocked with concern, but no one answered. Desperation drove me to use the Power to unlock the door, and as soon as I stepped inside, I found two young maids lying on the ground in the courtyard, their bodies twisted in pain, surrounded by puddles of vomit. Poison, I was certain. I ran upstairs to the room from where the screams were coming, and what I saw when I arrived… that moment will forever be etched in my memory.

Danyrah, my friend, lay on the floor, covered in blood. In the bed, her husband lay, also covered in vomit. She was reaching out in desperation toward Trevina, in one final plea. The witch stood motionless in the middle of the room, her face contorted with madness, stained with her friend’s blood. She was holding something in her arms. It was you, Zari. She wanted to take you, surely to perform her twisted ritual. I didn’t let her. I could have killed her right there. Unfortunately, I didn’t have the courage. I paralyzed her and took you in my arms. I tried to help Danyrah, but it was already too late. The poison hadn’t killed her, but the dagger in her abdomen had. Then I rushed to the room where you were sleeping, Lysa. And I took you both from there, without looking back, fleeing the horror of that night.

At first, I thought of taking you to your family—your grandparents or your uncles, perhaps. But I didn’t. I was terribly selfish, I admit it. At first, I justified it as fear that Trevina might try again, thinking that you would be safer with me. I was going to be the Guardian, after all—who better to protect you? Next, I turned to logic. The world needed a trained and prepared Guardian, for when I was gone. But in the end, I realized that these were just excuses. My real motive was much darker, more selfish: I wanted to have what I knew I could never create myself. I should have returned you to your family, but instead, I raised you as if you were my own daughters. My selfishness blinded me…

Edel’s words faded, and she began to weep uncontrollably.

"I ask for your forgiveness... from the bottom of my heart. You have every right to hate me. I understand," she said, her voice breaking with guilt and regret.

"We don’t hate you," Zari quickly replied, tears in her eyes, as she ran to embrace her. "You saved my life. We couldn’t have asked for a better mother."

"My dear girl. I love you so much..."

"What happened to Trevina?" the girl asked, wiping her eyes and trying to ease the tension.

Edel took a deep breath, trying to calm her emotions before continuing.

"I lost track of her for quite some time," she replied, her voice still marked by sadness. "Until rumors reached my ears about a wedding between a nobleman and a mysterious red-haired woman. Something inside me knew immediately. I went to the celebration, mingling with the crowd, watching from the shadows. And there I saw her. She had changed her name and was posing as the descendant of a powerful foreign family, dressed in fine, expensive clothes. But it was her, Trevina, without a doubt."

"You didn’t say anything, didn’t denounce her?" Zari asked, intrigued.

"I preferred not to get involved," Edel let out a long sigh. "I wanted that woman and her affairs as far away from me and from you both as possible. But unfortunately, fate had other plans. Our paths have crossed once more. For you have met her son, Marcell, the Count of Brademond. It seems he inherited his mother’s obsession with the Temple and the medallion."

"And afterward?"

"The last I heard of her, she died under strange circumstances. They say she committed suicide by throwing herself from a tower after murdering her husband. But something about that doesn’t sit right with me. She was far too proud to take her own life."

A silence fell over the room. Lysa slowly stood, tears streaming down her cheeks. Her expression was a mixture of anger, sadness, and disappointment.

"Mother, do you realize that when you fell ill and left the medallion in my care, you never told me that I wasn’t the true heir?" The resentment trembled in her voice as she continued, "That because of that irresponsible act, that entity was free to extend its power and take control of my fiancé’s mind? And that, in truth, everything that is happening is your fault?"

"No, Lysa! That’s not true," Zarinia replied, her voice filled with pain. "It’s not mother’s fault. It’s all that witch’s fault. And that thing. Lysa, please…"

She ignored her sister’s words and turned to leave for her quarters. She clenched her fists and bit her lip, trying to maintain her composure, but she only managed to take a few steps before collapsing into uncontrollable sobs.

"My dear girl..." Edel whispered, unable to contain the tears that continued to flow. Her heart broke at the sight of her daughter’s pain. She stood to go to her, but hesitated, unsure if she would be welcomed.

Alaric also approached, placing a hand on her shoulder, but Lysandra pushed him away violently. Her eyes glowed with a greenish light, causing him to move back.

"Stay away!" she commanded, her voice hoarse and raw. "Don’t come near me. I need to be alone. Leave me, please."

Everyone stepped back. The magic emanating from her was overwhelming, wild, a manifestation of the pain and betrayal she felt in her heart. But it only lasted a moment. She rose slowly, regaining her composure, and headed for the stairs, saying nothing more, nor looking at anyone.