Orin knelt in the middle of the throne room, head bowed low, but his resolve stood unyielding like iron forged in fire.
"I request permission to step down as commander of the royal army," he repeated, his voice steady and clear.
He could feel the queen's disappointed gaze even without meeting her eyes.
"Your reason?" Nyxelene asked, fingers idly tracing the carved armrest of the throne.
"I have served the kingdom faithfully for many years," Orin replied. "I trust the queen will understand my request."
"I'm well aware of your accomplishments, Orin," she said, adopting a cold tone. "What I asked for was the reason behind your retirement. If it's to leave Runevale and search for Aeloria yourself, then I refuse."
"But my lady," Orin pressed, "every scout team I dispatched has returned empty-handed. I believe it would be best if I went personally."
Nyxelene studied the man before her, but for the first time she couldn't quite read him. The position of commander of the royal army was no small honor—it was the pinnacle many fought their whole lives for, yet only one could hold. For him to throw it away for one girl, no matter how valuable, was something most would laugh at if they heard.
"While the cannibal is an important asset to Runevale," she said slowly, "I'm not willing to regain her at the cost of the Tyrant."
"I came here only to inform you of the decision I've made, my lady," Orin said, finally lifting his gaze while still on his knees.
"In other words," Nyxelene said, sharpening her voice, "you'd go even if I said no?"
"You are correct, my lady."
"This is the first time you've called me 'my lady' so many times in a row instead of Lady Nyxelene," she observed, her gaze unchanging. "Should I take it as you willing to defy me for the first time?"
"I hope it wouldn't come to that," Orin answered. "However, my lady, if you deny me the only request I've ever made of you, then that seems the only plausible outcome."
Nyxelene stood, her gown pooling around her like a reservoir of fresh blood, but she took no step forward.
"I'm well aware of the importance of my people, Orin. When someone learns Šërēĺįťh, they share a connection with me. That is how I felt she was alive. As of this moment, the connection is stronger than it was in previous days, so I assume she has finished healing her injuries. In other words, she's strong enough to return to her kingdom but hasn't."
"Why is that?" Orin asked, puzzled that Aeloria would choose to stay away rather than come find him.
"I don't know what the cannibal thinks," Nyxelene spoke with the patience of a Xevnora viper. "But one thing is certain—she will return. I remained silent when you sent out scout teams, and now you wish to oppose me?"
Orin fell quiet. He now understood his request had been unnecessary, born of impatience rather than need.
"I'll overlook your misbehavior for the second time," Nyxelene said. "But there are only so many times I can let your blunders slide."
Orin stood. He didn't bow, didn't look at the queen. He simply turned and walked away. It wasn't disrespect—only that he was lost in thought, trying to figure out why Aeloria wouldn't want to come back.
Nyxelene watched the shadow of Orin until it disappeared from sight.
'Little cannibal, just what are you up to?' she thought.
…
Meanwhile, back at the inn, Aeloria sat at the edge of the bed, waiting for Hanon.
She had a sad look on her face. She had lost all drive to return to Runevale. Yoru, the only one who had ever bothered to have real conversations with her, was gone. Orin, the only person she had ever considered an older brother, was gone too. The only things waiting in Runevale were the cold gaze of Nyxelene and the disgusted looks of the citizens who still whispered behind her back.
"Is something bothering you?" Hanon asked after walking in and getting no reaction from Aeloria.
"Oh, you're back," Aeloria said, trying to sound positive as she forced a small smile.
He grabbed a cup filled with herbs from the table in the corner of the room.
Hanon studied the woman who now wore a simple skirt and blouse, the fabric plain but clean, hugging her frame in a way that made her look almost ordinary—almost.
'I didn't think a simple outfit would look so good on her.'
"While I'm a thornsleeper," he said, holding out the cup of herbal medicine, "my grandmother was an oakliner, so she taught me a thing or two. Here, drink this."
Aeloria shook her head gently, pushing the cup away with one finger.
"Na-ah."
"Na-ah?" Hanon repeated, blinking in confusion.
"I don't like bitter things."
'No wonder she always had that disgusted expression whenever I fed her in her sleep.'
"Ishnore vipers are rare," he explained, his voice turning a little stern, "but since I follow a pathway tied to it, it's easier for me to find them and harvest the venom. While it cures poison, it also builds the body's resistance and strengthens the organs. So you will drink it, you have to."
"No," Aeloria said firmly, crossing her arms.
"What do you mean 'no'? Stop acting like a spoiled child and drink it. If there's one thing I hate, it's a difficult patient."
He reached for her jaw, trying to pry it open, but nearly broke his finger against her unyielding strength.
'Just how is she so tough?' he thought in annoyance, shaking his hand.
Aeloria stood from the bed and walked toward the door.
"I won't drink that bitter medicine."
"How do you even know it's bitter when you haven't tried it?" Hanon asked, following her while she kept moving in the opposite direction.
"Stay in one place, will you?"
"Get away from me."
'Why is she behaving like a child?'
"Don't tell me you have osnile," Hanon muttered, looking at the warrior-woman as if she were a trembling child. It was a rare affliction of the palate, a psychological revulsion to the mordant sting of herbal decoctions.
"Os-what? I don't know what it is but I don't want it either." Aeloria retorted, getting further away from Hanon.
"Tell you what," Hanon said, changing tactics. "If you don't drink this, you won't get a single bite of the delicious food I brought from the inn's eatery."
Aeloria hesitated. Her stomach growled loud enough to echo in the small room.
'Wait a moment. What am I doing, nothing good will come out of starving the cannibal.'
Hanon quickly set the cup down and turned to her with a bright, innocent smile.
"I was rude," he said smoothly, "trying to force a patient to drink something she didn't want, how shameful of me."
'She said she wouldn't hurt me, but there's no telling what a hungry person is capable of. I can always feed it to her in her sleep later.'
"So I don't have to drink it anymore?" Aeloria asked, eyes narrowing with suspicion.
'Why is he being nice all of a sudden?'
"Of course not," Hanon replied cheerfully. "Come have a seat. You wouldn't believe just how delicious the inn's food is."
He pulled the chair back and set the table with practiced speed. Aeloria took hesitant steps toward the table, sat, and watched him arrange the plates—roasted meat, fresh wheat cakes, a small bowl of stewed vegetables, all steaming and fragrant.
"It's ready," he said, grabbing the nearest chair for himself. "Eat up."
He clasped his hands and spoke quietly.
"A great gratitude to you for the food given to us."
"What was that?" Aeloria asked, pausing with a piece of meat halfway to her mouth.
"A prayer," Hanon explained. "You mean you don't pray when you eat?"
"A prayer?" Aeloria repeated, tilting her head as she finally took the bite.
"Yes. There are people who starve every day—slaves with no homes, travelers lost in the wild. People are killed for no reason, and many die from illnesses we can't name. You can call it luck, but it can't be coincidence that we're not among the unlucky ones every single time. I believe someone—or at least some being—keeps me safe from all those misfortunes. So whenever I have food, when I'm still alive and healthy, I give thanks to that unknown being."
He pointed upward with a small, sincere gesture.
"I see," Aeloria said thoughtfully. "So you pray to Ishnore, then?"
"No," Hanon replied, tearing a piece of wheat cake. "As mythic as they might be, you can't deny the eight deadliest vipers were created just like us. I pray to the one above all—the one who made everyone and everything."
"Is there such a being?" Aeloria asked in a quiet voice as they ate.
"I don't know," Hanon admitted. "But I believe so."
Aeloria looked at him, her split pupils dilating in the low light. She thought of the child she had eaten, the blood on her hands, and the Queen who watched the world like it was a board game. She then remembered the queen's words, 'As long as the kingdom is not affected, my intervention will always be unnecessary.' "If such a being existed, He was either a silent observer or a cruel architect." Aeloria said with an expression only someone who's lost it all would have.
There was silence for a while as they ate, the only sounds the soft clink of utensils and the occasional crackle from the hearth downstairs.
Then Hanon spoke again, voice gentle.
"If such a being truly exists," he said, "then our tiny brains wouldn't be able to comprehend their actions."
Aeloria looked at him for a long moment but said nothing.