The sun hung directly above, yet clouds muffled its rays on the afternoon of their third day on the road.
Aeloria and Hanon had found a spot to rest beneath an old, sprawling tree at the edge of a wide meadow. Its branches hung low under the weight of long, pale gray fruit that swayed gently whenever the breeze stirred. They had shrugged off their packs and spread a simple cloth between them, laying out the last of their travel food: dense bread stuffed with meat, and the leather pouch of water.
"Hey, Hanon," Aeloria said after a quiet stretch, watching him tear off a hearty bite of his bread.
He chewed for a moment, then glanced over with mild concern. "Something wrong? You haven't touched yours yet." He nodded toward the untouched portion in her hand.
She shook her head and finally took a small bite, savoring the warm spice before speaking again. "It's not the bread. It's good. I was just wondering… who exactly are we going to meet in Norco?"
Hanon didn't reply right away. He finished the rest of his bread in steady bites, brushing crumbs from his fingers, then reached for the water pouch. He took a long pull, letting the cool liquid settle before capping it again. A deep breath escaped him as he leaned back against the tree trunk, his eyes lifting to the gray fruit overhead.
"You remember what I told you about the Thornsleepers," he began at last, his voice even. "How the other vipers—mark innocent people for death, and others are chosen to stand against it?"
Aeloria nodded, taking another careful bite. She chewed slowly, waiting.
He kept his gaze on the swaying fruit above as he continued. "I've never understood why the Vipers choose their victims the way they do. It's random. A farmer tending his fields. A merchant counting coins. Even a child playing in the street. Once the mark is placed, that person is meant to die—offered as sacrifice to the Viper."
The words hung between them like the heavy clouds above. Aeloria lowered her bread to her lap, appetite fading as she listened.
"When a mark is set, another force—the Ishnore Viper—reveals it. Not just to me, but to the one in danger. We each receive the same dream: a clear vision of the threat, of each other, and of the place we're meant to meet. It's unmistakable."
He paused, picking up a small twig from the grass and turning it between his fingers.
"In the beginning, people dismissed the dreams as nothing more than nightmares. They went about their lives… and paid the price. Word spread slowly—tales of people dying after telling their dreams to their families, villages gripped by terror. After enough deaths, people started to listen. When someone wakes sweating from that dream, knowing death walks toward them, they seek the protector shown to them. They come to us."
Aeloria brushed a stray strand of hair from her face and swallowed the last of her bread. "But won't they be terrified of you? You're a Thornsleeper too. How do they trust someone like that?"
Hanon's mouth curved in a faint, almost wistful smile. "They don't know us as Thornsleepers. To them, we're something else entirely. The Protectors."
Her eyes widened. She shifted to face him more fully, the grass rustling beneath her. "The Protectors… I've heard those stories. Travelers speak of them in taverns—shadow warriors who hunt thornsleepers and bring them to justice. You're saying the Protectors are Thornsleepers all along?"
He nodded once. "We fight our own kind to keep the balance. We pay a price for it, every time. So those we save offer what they can in return. Most often coin, if they have it. A wealthy merchant might pay handsomely. But many have little—only food, a roof for a night, tools, information. We take whatever they can give freely."
He rose then, stretching his arms high until his shoulders gave a soft crack. The movement sent a few gray fruits swaying harder overhead. He turned and offered his right hand down to her, palm open.
"We should move on. Norco should come into view soon."
Aeloria looked at his hand for a quiet moment—steady, scarred in places she hadn't noticed before—then placed hers in it. His grip was warm and firm as he pulled her easily to her feet. Well, that was because she didn't pull at all, otherwise, he would've fallen over. She steadied herself, brushing bits of grass from her purple gown, and accepted the water pouch he held out.
"Thank you," she said softly, taking a drink. The water was cool and clean, cutting through the lingering taste of spiced meat.
She handed it back, and they gathered their things. The cloth was folded and tucked away, packs shouldered once more. Together they started down the gentle hillside, tall grass parting around their legs like a pale green sea. Birds called from distant hedges, and far off, a herd of deer grazed unaware on the next rise.
"We'll see Norco within a few hours," Hanon said over the whisper of the wind.
As they walked down the grassy slope, Aeloria glanced at Hanon again.
"You said the Ishnore Viper gives you orders—to save the marked person, and then to hunt down the Thornsleeper who marked them." She kept her voice low, though no one else was near. "Have you ever killed one of your own kind?"
Hanon's steps did not falter, but his jaw tightened for a moment. He stared straight ahead at the path winding toward the distant town.
"I'm not proud of it," he said at last, "but yes. I have."
A short silence followed, broken only by the rustle of grass and the distant cry of a hawk overhead.
He turned his head slightly, meeting her eyes. "And you? They call you the cannibal. I've traveled with you long enough now to wonder how much truth there is in those stories."
Aeloria gave a small shrug, her expression unchanged. "There's truth in them. I've killed. More than a few."
Unlike Hanon, there was no trace of regret in her voice—only calm acceptance. The lives she had taken weighed on her no more than stones dropped into a deep river.
After that, neither spoke again. They walked on in steady silence, the rhythm of their footsteps matching, the space between them comfortable.
...
After what felt like an age, the ground leveled out and the entrance to Norco came fully into view.
There were no walls, no gates, no guards checking travelers. Buildings sprawled in every direction without pattern or plan—tall houses leaning beside squat stone shops, tents and stalls crammed between them like weeds. Caravans rumbled in and out along wide dirt tracks, wheels kicking up dust that hung in the air. People moved freely: armed mercenaries, robed merchants, ragged beggars, and chained lines of captives being led or dragged.
"It looks like a lawless den," Aeloria said quietly as she watched the constant flow of bodies.
Hanon shook his head. "Don't judge it by the surface. Norco has rules—strict ones, even if you won't see many enforcers. No murder inside the town limits. Steal if you're skilled enough to get away with it, but get caught and you'll be executed on the spot. Because so many kingdoms meet here, they keep a few hard lines. Everything else—fights, gambling, trade of any kind—is allowed. Even slaves, so long as the seller has proper stamps of ownership."
As if to prove his words, a heavy wagon rolled past them. Iron cages rattled on its bed, filled with men, women, and children in chains. Their faces were blank with exhaustion; a few stared dully at the ground. The driver cracked a whip over the oxen without looking back.
Aeloria watched the wagon disappear into the dust before turning away.
"Follow me," Hanon said. He started forward, weaving through the crowds with practiced ease.
They entered the town proper. The streets buzzed with life: vendors shouting prices for spices, weapons, cloth, and stranger wares; the clang of a blacksmith's hammer; the smell of cooking meat mingling with sweat and animal dung. Beggars huddled in doorways, while wealthy merchants in fine silks haggled over jewels at nearby stalls. Fights broke out and ended just as quickly, onlookers cheering or placing bets.
Hanon turned right into a narrower street choked with people. Stalls lined both sides—piles of bright fruit, racks of blades, cages of exotic birds squawking overhead. Buyers pushed through, some purchasing, others only browsing with wary eyes.
At last he stopped before a large building that rose three stories high, its timber beams dark with age and its windows shuttered tight. A faded sign swung above the door, too worn to read clearly, but the structure looked sturdier and wealthier than most around it.
"The person we're meant to meet should be inside," Hanon said, nodding toward the entrance.
Aeloria studied the building with intent curiosity in her gaze.
...
Meanwhile, on a hill a few hundred paces away from the town, four figures stood beneath the cover of an ancient oak. From their vantage, Norco spread out below like a chaotic map.
"That's where the marked sacrifice is hiding," one of them said in a cold voice. He pointed down toward the sprawl of roofs and dust.
"Two of us should go in," another replied. "Find out which Ishnore bastard is playing protector, then strike once they leave the town."
The third figure shook his head. "I'll go alone."
The first turned sharply. "Explain yourself. Need I remind you that Protectors are not to be taken lightly?"
"I'm well aware," the lone speaker answered. His tone carried quiet confidence. "But word has reached me that Ramius—the great strategist from Runevale—is due to arrive in Norco soon. He's sharp as a Xevnora viper. If he catches wind of us, it becomes troublesome. Better one moves unseen than two draw notice."
He paused, his eyes fixed on the town below.
"Rest easy. No matter how strong this Protector turns out to be, he won't be able to take on all four of us at once. I'll learn what I need, and we'll end it cleanly."