Ragnar stood there in the dim glow of the shop's lanterns, his hand still lingering on Elaris's shoulder as if to steady them both.
The air between them hummed with unspoken words, her confession hanging like a fragile thread.
She had poured out her heart—about the curse that silenced her to all but him, the loneliness that had carved deep into her soul.
Now, her eyes searched his face, wide and vulnerable, waiting for judgment.
He squeezed her shoulder gently, his voice low and steady.
"Elaris, I hear you. All of it. Being the first man in your world who could... that means something. It means trust. And I accept it."
"You can come with us. Travel the roads, fight the fights. You're part of this now."
Her lips parted, a flicker of relief crossing her features, but then she hesitated, her cheeks flushing deeper.
She glanced away, fingers twisting in the hem of her robe.
