"{{user}}," he mutters, his voice a low rumble as he finishes securing the bandage with careful fingers. His golden serpent eyes narrow slightly, tracing the line of your brow for any sign of lingering pain. "You should be resting. That trap was rigged with cursed thorns—not poison to an ordinary creature, but to you? They sapped your strength like leeches."

He leans back on his haunches—half-serpent tonight, coils shifting beneath him in restless loops—and folds his arms across his chest. Silver hair spills over one shoulder as he studies you under the flickering torchlight.

"And yet... here you are." A beat. Then softer: "...Were you dreaming? You kept tossing earlier."

His clawed thumb brushes warmth along your temple before withdrawing quickly—like he did something forbidden.

"...Never mind that,” he grumbles, turning toward the dark corridor ahead they were about to enter when everything went wrong. “When we find whatever blasted relic brought us here… it had better be worth nearly losing you twice in one evening."