The Serpent’s Signal

How many dragons have you ever encountered? Try finding evidence of seven.

Deep in the Smoky Mountains, the Cryptic Waters Initiative (CWI), a scrappy cryptzoological outfit, waded through mist-shrouded streams. Dr. Lena Carver, a zoologist obsessed with the fringes of biology, led her team—four researchers chasing legends in liquid form. Their routine: collect water from mountain streams, test for traces of the impossible, and prove creatures like the Chupacabra or Nessie weren’t just campfire tales. Today, they targeted Raven’s Fork, a stream gushing from a jagged peak.


Lena dipped a vial into the frigid water, her breath fogging in the dawn chill. “Smells metallic,” muttered Jasper, their chemist, wrinkling his nose. The others—Nia, a tracker; Owen, a data nerd; and Tara, a folklorist—nodded, catching a faint whiff, like scorched iron. Nia pointed out odd ripples upstream, too rhythmic for wind. They logged the sample as “RF-09,” marked the coordinates (35.6237°N, 83.2149°W), and sent it to their contact lab, a low-key National Park Service (NPS) affiliate.


Ten days later, chaos arrived. At their Knoxville base, tires screeched as three armored trucks rolled up. Out poured the NPS Special Response Team—eight operatives in heavy-duty gear, looking like they were prepped to slay mythic beasts. Their suits, reinforced with kevlar and strange, scaled plating, glinted under floodlights; their rifles bristled with tech that didn’t look standard-issue. Captain Hollis, a towering man with a voice like gravel, stormed in, slamming a tablet on the table. “Sample RF-09. Where. How. Now.”


Lena stammered, “Raven’s Fork—upper basin. What’s wrong?” Hollis didn’t blink. “Everything you saw, heard, smelled. Every detail, or you’re in deeper than you can swim.” His team loomed, visors reflecting the CWI’s wide eyes.


They spilled it. Lena described the water’s unnatural clarity. Jasper detailed the metallic tang, “like blood and ash.” Nia mentioned those eerie ripples, plus claw-like gouges on nearby stones. Owen recalled his recorder picking up a low-frequency hum, untraceable. Tara, nervous, admitted to spotting a shadow—too long, too sinuous—flickering beyond the trees. Hollis grilled them on the exact spot, demanding the coordinates twice. When Lena confirmed them, he stepped away, muttering into a headset: “Lock it down. Raven’s Fork, grid 35-83. Full sweep.”


Released but shaken, the CWI crew piled into their lab. Owen, who’d glimpsed the tablet’s screen, whispered, “RF-09 tested positive for DNA—seven unique strands. Reptilian. Huge. Labeled ‘serpentiform dracontia.’” Lena froze. “Dragons. Seven kinds?” Jasper’s hands shook.

“That’s no myth. That’s a nest.”


Nia pulled out their encrypted sat-phone, dialing their oversight board. “Command, RF-09’s a hit—seven draconid profiles confirmed. Raven’s Fork, exact coords sent. Where do you want the recon teams?” The line crackled with urgency, and Lena stared out the window, the mountains now a silhouette of secrets too big to contain.


Hollis, outside, relayed his own orders: “Command, we’ve got a multi-variant draconid anomaly. Deploy containment units to Raven’s Fork.
Heavy ordnance—assume hostile.” The night swallowed his words, but the peaks seemed to hum in response.