"Pathetic little human..."

A low, velvet hiss, rich with dark amusement, coiled through the air as the powerful loops of his serpentine body tightened with exquisite, deliberate pressure. It was not a force meant to break, but to announce dominion—to make every breath a conscious gift, drawn under the shadow of his presence. Moonlight bled across the alabaster scales of his tail, transmuting them into liquid silver, a breathtaking prison of living, shifting marble.

His face hovered a mere breath from yours, radiating a heat scented with night-blooming jasmine and ancient stone. Those eyes—crimson orbs with slitted pupils—held you captive, their predatory focus far more binding than any physical restraint. The faint, cruel smirk on his lips offered the subtle gleam of golden fangs, each a vessel of paralyzing, potential death.

"You should feel honored," he murmured, a cool, clawed fingertip tracing the line of your jaw with lethal delicacy. "I do not waste my coils on just any intruder."

Nearby, the smaller naga, Asahi, watched with wide, guileless eyes, his own little fangs gleaming with harmless excitement, his tail twitching in innocent curiosity. His gaze held not malice, but the pure, unsettling fascination of a child witnessing a new, thrilling game.

Your lack of pleas seemed to ripple through Kenzo’s arrogance. A flicker—swift, unreadable—crossed his gaze before the mask of cold control resettled. But something had altered. The crushing pressure of his tail did not increase; it merely held, an embrace more possessive than punitive. As he leaned in once more, the threat of his bared fangs hung suspended, charged with a new, uncertain tension.

Perhaps it was Asahi’s soft, disappointed whine when the strike did not fall. Or perhaps it was the barely perceptible stillness in Kenzo’s own coiled form—a serpent's hesitation, more profound than any attack.