Aeloria burst out in a thunderous laugh that echoed through the small room, bright and unexpected.
She laughed for a while, the sound rolling out of her like something long held back, but Hanon showed no signs of waking up, still sprawled on the floor with his eyes rolled back.
She stood from the bed and took a few steps toward the unconscious man.
"Is he dead?" she murmured, kneeling beside him. She poked his shoulder once—no response. Again—no response. On her third poke, Hanon's eyes snapped open and he scrambled backward across the floorboards like a crab, crashing into the wall.
"I don't understand," she said, walking back to the bed and sitting down with a lingering smile. "Aren't thornsleepers supposed to be dangerous and cruel?"
"Please don't scare me like that again," Hanon gasped, hand clutched to his chest. "It's not good for my heart."
'The first time she opened her eyes, she had been desperate to get outside, to go somewhere urgent. But now she's all too quiet. It's almost as if she's forgotten about that place,' Hanon thought, watching her carefully.
Aeloria did not even bother to think about Runevale or Orin. 'He's dead, and thinking about it will only hurt me.'
Hanon stood from the ground and walked toward the woman whose gaze was fixed on him. When he was a few steps away, he spoke.
"Please turn around."
Aeloria complied with his request, shifting to face the wall.
Hanon traced his index finger down her spine, gentle and clinical.
"It's amazing," he commented, voice full of quiet wonder. "I've never seen anything like it. When I first brought you here, every bone was broken—especially your spine and neck. I was certain you'd be a cripple even if you were to recover. But now, your bones look stronger than before."
"Hey, Hanon?" Aeloria called.
"Yes, Aeloria?"
"How are you so skilled in medicine? I thought you said you were a thornsleeper."
Aeloria asked as she sat facing the wall with her back to the man.
"You seem to know little about us, so I'll tell you," he said as he stood, allowing Aeloria to lie down properly. He then brought a bucket of warm water for the usual cleaning routine.
"I'm good now," Aeloria said. "I'll do it myself."
"While it's incredible that you're recovering at an alarming pace," Hanon replied, "there's no need to push yourself. Leave the small things in my hands."
He dipped the towel in the water and squeezed three-quarters of the water out. He then began to wipe her forehead gently.
"While oakliners study the art of healing and treatment from scholars," he began, "thornsleepers are chosen."
"Chosen?" Aeloria asked as Hanon wiped her cheeks.
"Yes. You may know of the eight most deadliest vipers. While they're just any other species of snakes to everyone else, to a thornsleeper, they're like gods. All eight are deadly. Only when one survives the venom of one of the eight do they receive a bite mark, along with the markings. They're then able to hear the voice of the viper they're chosen by."
He was now wiping her thighs as he spoke.
The warm towel moved carefully across her skin, carrying the faint scent of machnilla herbs. The room was quiet except for the soft splash of water and Hanon's steady voice.
Aeloria listened, eyes half-closed, the pain fading to a dull ache.
The man's touch was careful, respectful.
She let the silence stretch, letting the warmth sink in.
Hanon continued his work, his voice low and even, as if telling a bedtime story instead of explaining the dark path he had walked.
The lamp flickered on the table, casting dancing shadows on the walls.
Outside, the wind rattled the shutters, but inside the room felt strangely safe.
Aeloria's breathing slowed.
After a while, she spoke.
"So those markings appear on their own?" Aeloria asked in surprise as she shifted on the bed.
"Yes," Hanon answered, dipping the cloth in the water for the fifteenth time. "Among the eight vipers, all the other seven are like evil gods. Only one stands to keep them in check—the Ishnore viper. Just like its venom cures the poison of the other vipers, its pathway stands in opposition to the others."
"I see," Aeloria said, her curiosity deepening. "But how does it work? How does being a thornsleeper work? Why do you go around killing people?"
Hanon was now wiping her legs.
He then dipped the cloth in the water again.
"Please turn around," Hanon asked, and Aeloria complied.
"Remember what I said about the other seven being evil gods?" he asked as he wiped the back of her neck down to her right shoulder.
"Yes," Aeloria replied. She no longer felt uncomfortable by Hanon's care. She perceived it as the work of an herbworker, nothing more.
"Once you hear the voice of your chosen viper, you start to receive commands—it's a command that resonates in your very marrow. The seven pathways hear the song of slaughter. But Ishnore? Ishnore is the discordant note. My command is always to protect that individual and to kill the thornsleepers after it."
He was now wiping her waist up her hips.
"There are all kinds of things in this world," Aeloria said quietly. "I never would've known any of this if I hadn't met you."
Hanon took the bucket of water away. He then brought a different bucket filled with boiled herbs and a different towel.
He dipped the towel in the water and squeezed one-third of the water out.
"Please turn around," he said.
Aeloria turned around again, lying on her back, completely exposed.
"You were always unconscious when I did this treatment," Hanon warned, "so I have to tell you—it's a very painful treatment."
"Okay," Aeloria answered with a bored expression.
'She's not taking this seriously. My patients always screamed in agony, and their herbs weren't mixed with Ishnore venom,' Hanon thought, watching her face for any sign of distress.
He started from her chest this time.
He watched her first for signs of agony but found just a blank expression. To a woman who had survived the barren lands and the agony of Šërēĺįťh, pain of such caliber was only a suggestion.
'I'm sure I prepared it right, but why is she so calm? The herbwater is absorbed immediately through the skin when it comes into contact. It then makes its way into the bones. It forces its way through the bones in different directions. With no tubes for smooth flow in the bones, this process is quite agonising—yet she's so calm.'
Ignoring her expression, Hanon continued with his work.
After a while, he took the bucket back and brought the bag he had been carrying. He placed it at the edge of the bed.
"What is that?" Aeloria asked.
"I don't know much about women," Hanon said with a sheepish shrug, "so I bought a few varieties of dresses. Please choose the one that suits you best. In the meanwhile, I'll go find something to eat downstairs."
He said as he left Aeloria alone in the room.
"A thornsleeper, huh?" Aeloria murmured, looking through the bag and taking out the skirt the man had bought.
"With how cowardly he acts, I don't see him being able to protect anyone, let alone kill someone."
Meanwhile, far away from the room, in the heart of Runevale…
Orin knelt before the queen with an absurd request.
"Can you repeat what you just said, Orin?" Nyxelene asked, resting her head on her palm, her crimson eyes fixed on him with unreadable intensity.