Violet was finalising the last braid — the centre one, running crown to nape, the point where all seven converged. Three on the left, three on the right, the centre forming an encircling band at the back that locked the whole architecture into place. Tight. Overlapping. The impression of serpent scales, if you knew what you were looking at.
"Well?"
Her voice came out precisely as depleted as it felt.
His head tilted slightly. "That favour. I'd like to cash it in now."
She sighed once, pressing the two golden hairpins into place — one to each side, anchoring the Crowned Serpent to his head. Internally, she hoped it wasn't something outrageous. Outwardly, she was almost certain it was.
"Is it outrageous?" she asked.
"Not really."
"Dangerous, then?"
"For me, perhaps."
She stilled slightly. Then pushed herself upright. "Let's hear it first."
He lingered on the floor a moment, then rose.
Her eyes tracked him carefully as he crossed back to the open chest. He drew out medical reagents and herbs, arranging them in a precise line on the floor — vial, powder, leaf, extract — each placed with the deliberateness of someone who had already run this sequence through his head several times. Then he reached deeper, past the visible inventory, into what appeared to be a hidden partition.
He produced a dagger.
Or something like one. It had the rough shape of a dagger — blade, hilt — but the resemblance ended there. Strange runes crawled the length of the steel, and along the spine ran a thin glass tube ending in a suction mechanism she had no immediate name for.
It was followed by more. Fire stone tablets. Reagent cylinders. Instruments she half-recognised and half-didn't.
"What exactly is this favour, Chion."
Her voice had gone flat. Not calm — controlled.
He turned back to face her. She was already settled on his bed.
Again.
His eye twitched. Slightly.
"There were a few specifics about my morning with the Council that I chose not to mention — in the presence of your friends." Her brow twitched. She was listening. "They did more than simply approve the Blood Trial. I believe they've poisoned me as well."
Poisoned…?
The word left her lips barely above a breath.
"Or a blood curse. Perhaps both." His voice was calm. Almost conversational. "I've sensed at least three anomalies within my constitution thus far."
I'm sorry — what?
The words didn't make it past her lips. They stalled somewhere between disbelief and the slow, creeping realisation that he was entirely serious.
"You're going to help me fix it."
"Fix it?" Her voice rose slightly. "Do I look like a Healer?"
He smiled.
"I don't need a healer. Just hands that can follow instructions."
Her gaze tightened.
_____
Some time later.
The floor had been transformed. What had once been empty space was now a deliberate arrangement of alchemical intent — fire-stone set low and steady, its ember glow breathing heat into a suspended lattice of glass and metal. Reagent cylinders stood in ordered lines. Powdered compounds rested in shallow trays. The air itself carried a sharp, bitter tang.
Three bottles already sat to the side. Complete. The fourth had just come off the flame.
Chion lifted it carefully, the glass still warm between his fingers. A slow swirl — viscous, controlled. His silver eyes caught in its surface as he brought it closer, the reflection bending along the curvature of the vial. He flicked it lightly. Once. Twice. Watching the way the contents settled.
Satisfied.
Still — he was faintly surprised. The process had taken far less time than he'd anticipated. She had been unexpectedly helpful.
"So let me get this straight —" Violet's voice cut through the quiet. "You want me to cut you open?"
Chion didn't look at her. "Correct."
She stared at him. "Can't you just… brew a potion for that as well?"
"No." Flat. Immediate. He set the vial down with the others, aligning it with precise care before continuing. "The medium carrying the curse has to be removed entirely. Dissolution isn't enough. Neutralisation isn't enough. It has to be extracted."
Violet's arms folded slowly across her chest, though the motion lacked its usual sharpness. "…Didn't you say you weren't even sure there was one?"
"I did." He reached for another instrument, checking its edge, its alignment. "But I have a strong hunch."
Her head snapped slightly. "A strong —" She stopped herself. Then didn't. "A strong hunch?" Her voice rose, disbelief cracking clean through it. "You're betting your life on a hunch?"
He turned his head. Not fully. Just enough.
"No."
His gaze met hers. Steady. Certain.
"On you."
His hand extended, offering the dagger-shaped instrument.
"Y-you bastard…"
Her voice caught between anger and something far less certain.
But her hand moved anyway. And accepted it.
______
Within minutes the floor beneath them was sanitised. Rune-stones ringed the space in a tight perimeter,curved with simple light rune, their pale glow was steady and cold, casting no shadows, leaving no place for error to hide.
Chion lay at the center. Bare-chested. Still.
His breathing was measured — too measured. His pulse, if it moved at all, refused to show itself. Fine lines traced his ribs, precise and deliberate, faint ink mapping where steel would meet flesh.
Violet loomed above him. Her hair was bound tight. Her hands were steady. A tremor lived in her wrists, barely suppressed. To her right, reagents and instruments lay arranged on a low tray — glass, steel, thread. To her left, a single sheet of parchment. Guidelines.
Her eyes met his. He looked comfortable. Too comfortable.
"This is a bad idea," she muttered.
"I know."
He picked up one of the reagents and drank it in a single motion. It hit instantly. His eyes went white. Veins surged, threading dark beneath his skin. Then silence. His head dropped back against the floor. Slack. Gone.
Violet didn't move. Didn't breathe. Her eyes dragged toward the parchment.
Ninety minutes.
By the gods —