I take another step that leads me deeper within the Ivory Nest. Ancient bones perish underneath me, each with a sickening hiss as I slowly advance. 

The scent of sage tickles my nostrils. I stop, but dare not to open my eyes. Instead, I tilt my head up and down, and side to side.

She is on my left.

"What brings you here, to grace me with your presence?"

Her liquid voice coats me like amber honey. Slithering down from above, she lazily circles me. 

"Such a delectable treat," she purrs. "If it shall not speak, perhaps I shall eat it." 

"Do not play games, Saffiyah. I come here with a purpose. One of which that does not involve being your dinner." 

She hisses when I call her by name. "Will you not deign to look me in the eyes? Or is it too much to ask of you, old man?" 

The aroma of sage intensifies as she closes in.  Likewise, I tighten my grip on my staff. "Legend says that men who lay eyes upon you never leave your Nest. I am taking no chances."

She snaps her jaws and hisses several times. I suppose it is the serpentine equivalent of clicking one's tongue. "Am I really that infamous? You know, what they say in the books aren't true in the least. I have no real eyes. But if I did, I wouldn't have enough spite in me to petrify them," she adds.

My lip twitches. Snakes are talkative, so it seems. "I was referring to your beauty."

"How sweet of you," she coos. "But alas, if my beauty was so enticing, I wouldn't have any reason to devour my prey." 

I open my eyes to the sight of an enormous serpent, whose body is as large as I am tall. "You speak the truth," I observe.

At first glance, she is beautiful. Her velvet hide shimmers like quicksilver in the near-darkness. Black loops and swirls of a language long forgotten adorn her underbelly and forehead. And though I stay well away from the reach of her jaws, I do admire her pristine fangs that are delicately etched with arcane symbols.

But there is a feral sense of cunning that seeps off her. It shows in the way she moves, each subtle motion purposeful and calculated. It shows in the words she speaks, each syllable like that from an ancient spell made to put her prey at ease. And it shows within the eerie glow that pulses from the Eye resting upon her brow, bathing us in its mysterious luminescence.

She hisses softly. "I'd be careful if I were you, old man. Words cut deeper than a knife, and  your ignorance has cost you more than what my Eye will ever return."

I narrow my eyes. "Then I'm sorry that this time, my words will not be enough." 

I lunge.

Time has taught me that every second is worth a lifetime. As I strike and dodge, I count those seconds that I am using to, one day, redeem the lifetimes that I've lost.

I duck in time for her fangs to graze me. Quick as a jack rabbit, I twitch sideways to avoid her pinning me to the ground. She brushes past and coils around me. I clamber onto her to avoid being crushed by the rope of muscle.

"Why must you do this?" she asks. She inclines her head and moves it closer to me. I do not move as she cautiously tastes me with her black tongue. "Has life not brought you enough unhappiness?" 

"So much so, that I have nothing to lose," is my reply. My gaze shifts from the indent on either side of her head—where her eyes would have been, if she was not from a breed of blind snakes—to the Eye that rests on her brow. 

It seems to shine a bit brighter. 

"Do not even think about it," she snarls. She lunges again and this time I am not fast enough to dodge. I slam into a pile of fresh bones. I know they are fresh because of how hard they are, and the faint stench of rotting flesh.

"Let me have your Eye, Saffiyah. You have no business in abusing an old man."

"No business, indeed," she retorts. She evades my next attack to her face with reptilian grace. "And you have no right to claim my Eye as your own.

"Do you know how many mortals have come here before?" she asks. She circles me. "Do you know how many souls have come here to beseech me for my wisdom?

"Many. Generations, even, of sons and daughters have come here hoping to walk a different path than what their fathers and mothers had. They come here with dreams and aspirations that they believe only with my doctrine would flourish.

"And yet, when they see me, it is like I've already betrayed them." Her voice shakes, a beautiful sound rippling with sorrowful chords. "They see only a snake, a creature of manipulation—exactly as what the legends they refused to believe said. They cannot bear to witness a snake carry the Eye on her brow because it goes against their so-called beliefs. And so I have no choice but to leave bodies in my wake.

"Sometimes...sometimes I cannot help but think what I have done wrong. I want to help mankind. That is the purpose of my creation. But how can I say that to myself, when I have done nothing but kill?" 

I swallow. "I thought they were survivors. The few that did not think the same." And yet the books have never mentioned names.

"Oh, they were some," she murmurs. "But then they beheld my Nest, and thought that justice must be served." She gestures with her head to the hundreds of thousands of bones that make up the architecture of her Ivory Nest. Somehow she had the bones woven into each other to line the walls and ceiling in an ingenious but unsettling framework. Skulls grin at me from every angle. They do not bear the feelings that their owners must have felt when they met their end.

"So why?" she asks. "You are a Swift. You recognize the important of snakes in your teachings. To you, they—I—am not a creature of evil." If she had eyes, I imagine they would be filled with hurt.

"You are not. I can say that with all of my heart," I say. But even as I do, I am already regretting my words. 

She senses my hesitance. "Do not speak anymore," she says. "Go back. And I will leave you alive."

I have no doubt that she tells the truth. However...

"There is no turning back now," I say. "And I do need your Eye."

I flip my staff in my hand and let it fly.

It smacks her straight in the head. She recoils and hisses in pain. As I hoped, the Eye dislodges itself and falls. I rush to get it.

"Not so fast," she spits. I am so focused on her front that I forget she has a tail. The latter blocks my way and in a matter of moments, I am immobilized in her grasp.

"Give me your Eye, Saffiyah," I say again, to no avail. "Give me your Eye, and I will stop." My eyes frantically search for the stone; where is it? It could easily be concealed beneath the bones, or beneath herself.

There. The Eye. Lodged in a skull's eye socket, it still pulses with a faint light. 

"Never," she says. "I haven't endured this long for nothing."

She squeezes me with her tail. Her muscles contract, and I am compressed painfully. My lungs are left with little room to expand. I breathe in and out in short gasps. 

"Should I squeeze the life out of you, right here and now?" she muses. She tilts her head, as if mildly amused. "Or will your mouth spill first? I do hope it's the latter."

"Give—me—your—Eye," I gasp. Struggling will only inflict injuries upon my weak body. My staff is out of reach. And I foolishly decided not to carry an extra blade. 

"But why?" she asks. Her tone has a light hint of curiosity sharpened with the smoldering edge of cynicism. "If by some miracle you are more blind than me, the Wise One is before you. Ask me, and I will answer your questions."

She waits. 

I wait.

She hisses with frustration. "Surely you're not conceited enough to want my Eye all for yourself?"

I hold her gaze as best as I can, considering she has no eyes. Yet my resolve is waning by the seconds. I should not have come here. I should not have disgraced this holy place with my selfish wants and needs.

 She sighs. "Then I'm sorry for what I am about to do to you."

A black hole ringed with white knives envelop my vision.

In hindsight I should have been more merciful. But that day, I was not ready to leave this world. 

She screams in agony—a horrible, horrible sound—as I plunge the jagged rib bone deep into her flesh. It miraculously penetrates her thick hide. I let go. Golden ichor, the blood of immortals, starts to ooze. 

Adrenaline pumping through me, I scramble past her to search for the Eye where I last saw it. Along the way I spot my staff and grab it, the familiar weight offering some measure of comfort.

The Eye. I pick up the skull in which it is stuck and try to pry it loose. It does not budge. I debate whether crushing the skull would be appropriate. Or should I risk carrying it away from its resting place?

"Fool," she hisses. Too late, I realize she is right behind me. 

Her fangs, dripping with venom, graze my arm. At the same time, I use my staff as a battering ram and aim it at her forehead, where I know it will cause the most damage. There is a crack as I make contact with her skull.

The snake falls with a thump. I stumble before falling myself. For a moment, there is deafening silence.

My gasps are what brings back my attention. I am panting in rapid irregular inhales and exhales. Gripping the staff, I try to clear my mind and slow my breathing.

The snake is pale, very pale. Its skin, previously rippling with life, is on the  muted shade of grey. 

It is not working. I try again. Breathe in. Out. In. Out.

The snake looks dead, very dead. There is a large dent in its skull, too large for any healer to mend. Liquid gold stains the bones beneath it, gold so bright like the marigolds that I harvested a few days ago...

I grimace. Now is not the time to be thinking like that.

I struggle to stand. I grip my staff for support, but I nearly buckle and fall. I try again. This time is more successful. I start to hobble towards the opening of the Nest, away from the snake. 

Bones shift from behind me. I hesitate. 

"Old man," the snake rasps.

I clutch the Eye protectively, even though the dull throbbing that echoes through my being intensifies. 

"Do you not feel remorse for what you did?"

I look down, unable to turn around and face her. Only then I notice that the dull throbbing is coming from a gash on my arm. The wound is not deep, nor large. But the dark raisin hue suggests I am in trouble—or will be, very soon.

"Face me."

How does she know? I wonder. The Eye is no longer in her possession. Or have the gods bestowed her with an eye that sees right into the hearts of men?

I slowly, painfully turn my head. 

She says it in such a quiet voice that I strain to hear. 

"Wisdom cannot answer everything. I hope you realize that."

My eyes linger on her abrasions left from eons of being hunted. Before they were not noticeable, but the phantom scars stand out more than ever.

I bow my head in acknowledgement. "I know—"

"I also hope," she continues, "that because you know, and I'm assuming you are telling the truth, I hope you realize that it'll never bring them back. It'll never bring you back to your former glory, Swift Master of Assassins, and there is nothing—"

"Stop." My plea comes out as a strangled croak. 

"Nothing you can do about it." Its cool voice stabs my heart, one final wound inflicted upon me.

My lip quavers. I force myself to look at it, one last time.

"Then I hope that there will be nothing you can do about this."

With that, I turn on my heel and begin to hobble away. Away from the being of mystical knowledge and ancient time, away from the creature of unanswered questions and questionable answers, and away from the monster that has determined my fate.