The market was as good a place as any to offer her services to those who needed it, but here, in the Darkveil city, Del much preferred a passive approach. This city was, historically, not precisely kind to her, though on this particular visit she was much better prepared than before. She has her hair wrapped up and back off her face, her hood is thick, and there is even a little well placed soot to disguise some of the features of her face that might be more recognizable.

This openness seemed to have done the trick. She finds a few things wrong here and there, a wagon with a loose axle, a squeaky door, a jammed up folding table in the market; all things she is happy to offer her services to with a smile, and what ever pittance can be spared, if any. In truth, she is more happy that her time here is not as fraught as it had been previously. Though she was still nervous, there was a depth to the land here that kept singing to her in a way she could not hear, but could feel in the marrow of her. It was the same feeling when she sunk into the shadows to avoid pursuit. An embrace, cool and familiar.

It made it easier to focus on that feeling, tap into it, channel it. She had been doing that a lot over the past couple of months-- remembering. Letting her body remember what she had forgotten, all the things she still didn't know. It was easier to breathe through the moments of chest tightening anticipation now. It was easier to show her face, even among those who had historically cast her out. So, she would take what victories she could. At least she was helping.

As she finishes repairing the stall, returning her tools to her belt, she bows to the shopkeeper to start taking her leave, though not before the hand of a small child pulls at her cloak and Del looks down. The shop keeper's small daughter burbles something incoherent up at her, and Del chuckles softly, kneeling in front of the young girl. "Ah, you want to play, yes?" She looks up at her parent, eyes full of understanding to the frazzled look the shop keeper had. "Do you mind if I give them something? It's only a toy."

The shopkeep shakes their head, looking grateful to have something with which to distract their child. "By all means, lady, if you have such things on hand, I am sure she would welcome the gift."

Taking that as her full permission, Del pulls from her pack a little toy, a wooden carved key-ring rattle wth loops of wood carved around the center hoop. It clatters together enticingly, each loop with a different texture and feel than the last. The child's eyes widen and she takes the toy. "There you go. Thank you for being so patient while I helped your parent fix up the shop. Do you like it?"

"A-BAH!" they declare, shaking the toy vigorously. The shopkeep gives her another grateful look before they are absorbed in alternating between another sale and cooing over their daughter's new toy.

Del laughs, and ushes herself to stand, casting her gaze about for a moment, before moving towards the shadow of an archway to watch people for a few moments, and sip from her water skin.

There was a strange kind of ache that came with realizing you had begun to memorize the comings and goings of a city, when directions and locations had carved out a place in your mind and nestled in there until your body begun to carry you places before your mind could catch up. Iryla had taught him the streets of Darkveil when he moved here some months ago, of course. But every outing since then had been accompanied by careful thought, and the fear that he would get lost, or be the victim of some unsuspecting crime should he not pay attention to where he was going. Today, however, he had gotten nearly halfway through Town Square when Cyran realized that his feet had been carrying him all on his own.

It was a foreign feeling. Not an entirely unwelcome one. In truth, he wasn’t quite sure what to make of the heavy, complicated knot of feelings that had formed in his gut. The prospect should not have terrified him as much as it did.

Cyran quickened his pace through the streets.

Currently, he was out running errands for the orphanage. Every few weeks, someone had to go out and stock up on food, spare clothes, and whatever else they might need that a handful of rambunctious kids had broken. This week, one of them had put a hole in a shelf, and another had managed to flood the playroom with an errant spell, and they needed a new rug and some toys to replace what they lost. There was never a full day when it came to taking care of rambunctious children, and as much as Cyran loved being able to take care of them and give them a safe home, he would be the first to admit that the children far outpaced him in terms of energy. He could barely keep up most days- even now as he carried a large parcel tucked under one arm in search of the next store on his list, he could feel the fatigue that clung to his bones. But a satisfying feeling, nonetheless.

He rounded the corner, in search of the produce store he regularly bought from, when a cry caught his attention. A stall owner, frantically trying to comfort a child who dropped her toy and lost it in the crowd. Passerby gave them a wide berth, some shooting annoyed glances at the poor kid, but none particularly inclined to help the father and daughter.

The sight made Cyran’s heart ache.

At least an assassin’s eyes were good for something, he supposed- the same meticulous attention that could find the details of a mark in a crowd helped him locate the wooden toy on the ground without much trouble, allowing him to dash after it. His hand nearly got crushed in the crossfire, but he managed to grab the little wooden ring toy. It was covered in a thick layer of ash, but after a quick dust-off with the side of his cloak, it was as clean as it could get. With a small, satisfied smile on his face, Cyran made his way to the stall, kneeling down to the crying, snotty child.

“Here.” His voice was gentle as he offered her the lost toy. “I think you dropped this.”

Her eyes lit up as all sadness was immediately forgotten, wrapping chubby fingers around the side of the ring. The exhausted store owner gave Cyran a grateful nod, relieved now that their daughter was distracted by the game once more, and no longer crying.

“Thank you.” They mouthed as they returned back to their current sale. Cyran simply shook his head and waved a dismissive hand- think nothing of it.

He straightened, dusting ash off his knees, when movement in the nearby shadows caught his attention. They sang to him, alerting him to the presence of an intruder in his territory.^[1]

No, not quite an intruder.

Kin.

He’d never received such a reaction from the shadows before. But were they friend, or foe? And what were they doing watching a random stall owner? Curious, almost on guard but not quite yet, Cyran tilted his head to the side, a hand resting gently on the only visible dagger on his belt. The rest were concealed, ready to be grabbed at a moment’s notice. But the intruder had not made a move yet, and Cyran did not either. He simply stood there, staring at their vague outline where they concealed themselves in the darkness, letting them know that their presence was known.

---

1. Shadow Sight

Del allowed herself a few deep, cool breaths in the shade, gazing through the thin, grey veil of the shadow. It was an immersion, but better, safer than water. So much safer than water. It felt much better than feeling as though her back was so exposed at a time, even as relatively pleasant as this recent trip had been. Her thoughts drift a little as she watches people come and go, moving and laughing and existing. It was easier to exist for her, too, without all those eyes on her.

Excepting one.

The distant cries of a child reach her ears through the reverie, and Del turns her head. The child she had given the toy to had lost it, and was crying, her parent kneeling at her side to try and offer some comfort and search at the same time. There's a pang in her heart at the sound, but before she can dislodge from the shadow, someone was moving through the crowd. That was.. unexpected. She sees fast hands find the toy among a sea of feet snatch up the toy and replace it in the child's hands. It quells the cries and Del feels herself relax. That was a rare sort who would risk getting a kick to the head from someone who wasn't paying attention for a little toy, let alone go out of their way to find it. A soft smile ghosts across her face, shifting slightly to get a better look at the person. They sure did move fast--

She freezes as his eyes land on her. A sensation spreads from the back of her head, a rippling crackle of a thin laer of ice giving way underneath the slighest addition of pressure, and with it, a sudden awareness of a connection, sure as the heart beating in her chest. Two notes blending in unexpected harmony. Oh.

Del remains unmoving as she watches, trying to suss him out. Did she know him? No, she didn't think so. Elven heritage, though different than her own. Black and silver hair, well kept, but not up in any ostentatious style. An angular and stoic face, with bright eyes like flint. His bearing was one of someone with the confidence to carry himself, a prowling sort of grace she recognized as a trained fighter. So why, then, was such a trained fighter taking the time to notice her in the midst of the shadow? Why was a trained fighter helping a small child in the market?

She has no way of knowing what was going on, exactly, whether his man was friend or foe-- he did put a hand to the hilt of his dagger, she noticed, but had made no moves towards her location. Was he as unsure as she was? After a few seconds pause remaining still in the shadow, Del takes a step forward. Revealing herself, amber eyes leveled right back at him, her face stony, jaw held taut in such a way so as to give little away to her expression. She didn't want a fight in the middle of the square. But how to reach an understanding without--

"ExCUSE ME." said a small voice, running up. Del's attention was instantly removed, glancing down at the tiefling boy running up, and back at this unfamiliar man. There's a moment of a quiet glare in his direction, a silent warning of 'if you attack me while this child is here, it will be the last thing you ever do', in his direction, before she takes a knee in front of the kid, her expression warming to a smile. "Yes?"

"I saw you gave a toy to the Hanna," He fidgets on the spot, wringing his hands a little. "I was wondering-- can I have one?"

"Oh," Del chuckles and reaches into her satchel. She pulls out a little wooden cup and ball on a string, and presses it into his hands. "I just so happen to have just the thing."

The child beams, "Whoaaa! Thanks, Miss!" He takes the toy and runs back into the crowd, yelling "LOOK WHAT I GOT," to whomever was there to greet him.

Del huffs a quiet laugh, and then remembers the eyes. She stands back up, quickly, and returns her gaze to the elven man... though her eyes are less steely than before. Still wary and cautious, but the child had softened what countenance she had been wearing to prepare for a fight, if it was necessary. Now, remmembering how he had also helped the child from earlier, she was much less certain that was a potential outcome.

For a moment, neither moved. Cyran could not quite make out the stranger’s figure in the shadows where they were still perched, unmoving, but he could make out the coiled stillness, the physique of a trained warrior, waiting for the right moment to strike. He was not the kind of man to start fights unwarranted… quite the opposite, in fact. The presence that he’d sensed, watching the merchant and his daughter, had set Cyran on guard, but they had not made any move to attack, either.

If this stranger had malicious intent, they had yet to make any move. In fact, after a beat of silence, they stepped out from the shadows, allowing Cyran to get a better look at them.

She was an elven woman, nearly the same height as himself, giving him a good look at the steely resolve burning in her eyes and the stubborn set in her jaw, equally as wary as him as he was of her. Whoever she was, it was clear that neither of them were quite certain what it meant that he’d seen her hiding, and neither was sure how to progress from here.

Slowly, Cyran removed his hand from his dagger. Silver eyes still matched gold, as if waiting for her to make the first move… until an excited squeal echoed through the marketplace, and a small tiefling child making his way over towards her. There was a brief moment her gaze softened, before hardening as she glared at him in challenge, challenging him to get any closer. His eyes widened as the child nervously asked for a toy before the woman pulled out a small wooden construction, intricate and as carefully crafted by the same loving hands that had made the ring he’d retrieved for the girl.

And suddenly, that strange feeling of commonality he’d felt before increased.

Kin.

The child dashed into the crowd, showing off his prize to his friends, and the lady turned to him once more. Cyran cleared his throat, his guard dropped completely as he approached her. By now any worries he had that she’d been in wait intending to harm that child had mostly dissipated. Even as he got close, the weighted silence settled over him - gods, what was he supposed to say in a situation like this? - before he broke it with a bow and a small, hesitant smile.

“You’ll have to forgive me if I startled you.” His words were slow, careful, hesitant. I just hadn’t expected to meet someone like myself here, and I don’t know what it means. “There are many unsavory characters in this city. I myself have been victim to some. I did not mean any offense.”

He wrung his hands out, unsure what to do with them. His mouth hung open, a thousand questions on his mind, and unsure where to start. Eventually, he managed, “... Did you make those toys? They’re beautiful.”

They’d be perfect for the orphanage, he thought. Maybe if she had spares... she wouldn't mind parting with them.

Del blinks; she had not expected him to approach so... openly. From this distance, she could see this person had removed their hand from their dagger, and the shift in their expression that softened the lines of their face. Slow and steady, exactly as she would have done, broadcasting non-threat in the clear way he walked. There's a lingering line of nervousness in her chest, squirming as if it doesn't quite know where to go, how to manifest. He had seen, he knew it, she knew it, and that was odd on a level of depth she had not known existed... but he had also helped a crying child in a sea of people who did not bother to look twice. Del's shoulders relax. Now, how did words work again?

...No, actually, how did one address this situation? A joke? A comment? A greeting? 'Hi, I'm Del, I stand in the shadows and watch people some times, I saw you seeing me, how's your day going'. No. No that was bad. Now he was close enough to make out the fine details in his armor, though, and she was still on the back foot, exposed. Words. Pick words.

Fortunately, the man bowed, relieving her of the need to try and find those blasted words. He seemed... tentative. Just as unsure as she was, and a sheepish little ghost of a smile to match. Del found herself dropping her guard, a small, crooked lilt easing over her lips as her internal tension eases. Had she given him a fright as well? "It's, ah, no trouble. No offense taken, I don't blame you in the least; there's not exactly an easy way to explain why you're just... standing there," In the shadows, she doesn't add. Invisible to everyone else. She emits a light little laugh at her own expense. "Under the circumstances, I would have reacted the same. This city is often unkind."

Oh, now what to say? She could introduce herself, that seemed polite. Then ask more questions. As her mouth opens, she sees he's about to speak, and closes it again quickly, swallowing the words. Let him go first, find out what the situation is, whatever explanation he might have for why his expression -- oh.

Whatever she was expecting out of his mouth, it certainly wasn't that.

Her face erupts in heat at the compliment, the bane of her existence, darkening her deep skin to a shade of mahogany all the way to her ears. On the back foot, again, Del's expression blooms into a bewildered smile, a laugh of surprise escaping in a little burst. She catches herself quickly, coughing, but the smile remains. She lifts a hand. "I apologise, I don't mean to laugh-- I wasn't-- expecting that. People don't usually notice that sort of thing. Ah," She chuckles again and holds out the hand to his. Calloused and scarred, hands that had seen years of labour and work. "Thank you for saying so. I'm Delaela Asiliari. Yes, I did; I'm a carpenter and a blacksmith. It's nice to meet you."

The stranger seemed just as nervous on the outside as Cyran felt on the inside, and somehow, that seemed to calm his nerves. It was a silly sentiment, really. He’d not flinched once in the face of danger countless times before, not when he’d lost his eye in the Sultan’s Tomb nor against any of the other countless threats on his life or harrowing battles he’d endured. In his line of work, he’d learnt to keep a cool face, guard his feelings behind a wall of ice and handle them alone.

But he'd seen her. The shadows had seen her, when she had clearly expected them to cloak her from wandering eyes. How was one meant to broach such a subject? First, he supposed introductions were in order.

Surprise flickered briefly in her eyes as Cyran started with an apology, before her lips twisted into an easy smile. She didn’t seem particularly offended that he’d been suspicious of her, no matter how brief that moment had been - he did not think that simply standing around, even while concealing one’s presence, was grounds for automatic suspicion, but he’d been worried she was watching the child with malicious intent. But she’d treated that child with such kindness, and even now, as he listened to her reply, he could tell that her words were honest. He was not sure what to make of that, either.

“No, it is not.” He murmured in agreement, eye momentarily flicking towards the crowded streets. As safe as a place like Darkveil was for someone like him, there was no shortage of strangers with ill intentions concealed in the ash. He briefly wondered if she was a native to the city, or merely someone passing by. She held herself like a trained warrior, but he did not see the hardened look of a criminal in her gaze. Looks could be deceiving, he knew.

And yet…

“Still, there was no need for me to react with such suspicion. People watching is hardly a crime. It merely... startled me just to see you where you were hidden.” Just as I’m sure you were surprised that I noticed you. But if she were anything like him, then hiding came as natural as breathing - no longer conscious thought.

The conversation lapsed into silence once more until Cyran asked about the toy, and she burst into laughter.

Cyran blinked, confused - had he said something humorous? But then she assured him that his question had merely been unexpected, and he let out a small laugh of his own, hidden behind his hand. “Yes, I suppose it’s a strange question to ask. It’s just… quality like that isn’t something I see often around here. I deal with children’s toys a lot, you see - I run an orphanage a couple streets down. One might say that it’s my business to take notice in such things.” And, oh dear gods, he was rambling now. Perhaps it would simply be in his best interest to quit while he was ahead. He gently resisted the urge to bury his face in his hands in shame at such a stilted, awkward introduction when the stranger offered her own name.

Delaela. It was a lovely name, of wood elf origin, if he remembered correctly.

“It’s lovely to meet you, Delaela.” He replied, returning her handshake - unsurprised that they bore the marks of an artisan, and a firm grip that matched the quiet resolve he’d seen burning in her thus far. “I am Cyran.” He offered no family name, not out of distrust, but out of lack of a family name to claim in the first place. “Are you… do you work around here? I’d love to see more of your work, if you have anything to show.”

It was his turn to flush this time, though whether it was due to the odd nature of his request, or because he was unsure of what else one was meant to say in a situation like this, was unclear.

“Erm, my kids love new things to play with, you see, and… I always try to bring them things that will make them happy where I can.”

The fact that this elvish man seemed truly, genuinely contrite for assuming the worst, gives her a moment of pause. Most would have written it off as a simple, justifiable error in judgement and moved on, but she understands his reasoning-- there was more to it than simply watching from the shadows. He had seen. The fact that it had been as jarring for him as it had been for her. By their very nature, they were obscuring, so to see, to be seen, was quite the opposite of the intended purpose. Del nods her head in solemn understanding. "I should apologise for startling you, then, as well." She replies, lowering her voice a little. "I did not think... I did not expect to be seen, either. An interesting surprise for us both," the sentence ends in a gentle chuckle. "Still, if I interrupted your day, I do apologise."

Thankful he is not offended by her laugh, Del marvels at his explanation of the orphanage he runs. Her eyes widen with interest, softening her expression into one of regard and respect-- And complimenting her work again at the same time, but she was choosing to focus on the part about the children, and not the heat in her face. Being percieved! Her greatest weakness. His dive for the toy earlier, at his own risk, made even more sense, as this was explained. A rare thing in Darkveil, and rarer still in the world at large; a decent man.

Her smile widens as they shake, inclining her head slightly. A name for the face; Cyran. Elvish, certainly, but she did not know-- or more to the point, could not remember-- enough culturally to place the origin. But then, perhaps it was an adopted name. "It is lovely to meet you as well, Cyran," she echoes. It genuinely was. "Please, you can call me Del, if you like." Was that too familiar? She didn't think so, but Del didn't have much of a grasp for the finer points of social interactions like this. Not that there was a handbook specifically for 'what to do when someone finds you in the shadows'. In fact, to her knowledge, there was no book whatsoever. Perhaps Cyran could illuminate on that a little...? She barely understood it, but she did understand intrinsically that they held a very specific commonality that perhaps was the source of this draw.

"Oh, ah," She looks down at her bag and back up, the smile turning a little sheepish. She noticed a little colour coming to his own face, but did not catch why-- perhaps worried he was asking too much? He did seem a very thoughtful, pensive sort. Del shakes her head, "I don't have a proper workshop yet, I'm afraid, I do most of my carving on the road or at night. I have been offering some of my ability as a carpenter to repair some things around here, but I do have a fair amount of trinkets and toys with me." She holds up her bag and opens it to show him, revealing roughly ten more little carved wooden toys, statues and puzzle boxes, smiling proudly. "I would be happy to give you what you would like. How many children are in your care?" There is a small pause as she thinks on her offer and nods to herself. Maybe it was risking talking too much, but it wouldn't hurt to offer. "--Do you need any help with maintenance? I don't know if you run the orphanage with anyone else, but I know there are only so many hours in a day."

Internally, she hits herself. She should have waited to offer, maybe-- she does not regret or retract the offer, but realizes after the words leave her mouth that she did not want to end the conversation with Cyran so quickly by simply providing him with toys and then being on their separate way. That this was a potential way of opening up that potential of maybe learning more about him, and how he had seen her in the first place. Though, she would be lying if she said she didn't have a soft spot for kids. They were so precious in how they interacted with the world, every experience a brand new one. That was why she made the toys ,after all; to give them a happy experience.

“Interesting is a good way to put it.” The encounter made him wonder if she would be able to spot him just as easily in the comfort of the darkness, should he ever attempt to hide from her. The thought was an oddly vulnerable one. Cyran himself was so used to blending into the background, fading from the forethought of others around him, that seeing someone who walked the same path as him, made him feel as if a light had been shined on him in turn. Good or bad, she had seen him just as he’d seen her, knew of the shadow’s grip on him… it was no wonder that he’d startled her.

Still, there was intrigue in his voice when he finally mustered up the courage to speak the words into existence. “But a fortunate surprise, I think.” An encounter that could have just as easily resulted in bloodshed and broken bones… Cyran did not like to start fights, but he had no qualms finishing them. It spoke a lot to her own patience that she had not attacked him for what might have been considered an act of aggression.

It was woefully apparent, the longer they spoke, that Cyran was so accustomed to living in the solitary darkness that he was unsure of exactly how to connect with others. One might have thought it easy for him, but when it came to matters of mundane conversation, he fell short. His eyebrows rose as Delaela offered a nickname so casually, like the two were simply old acquaintances reconnecting rather than incidental strangers. The offer of friendship felt like a precious gift - he would not waste it.

“… Del it is, then.” He replied warmly.

At least she didn’t seem to find his request too strange. Cyran was not sure what he expected… perhaps her confusion, or that she would simply brush him off. So when she offered her goods to him so readily, even going so far as to extend her help to the orphanage, he found himself struck with that strange, heavy feeling once more.

“I… I would hate to put you out.” He mumbled, so touched at her offer, whether it was simply born from politeness or out of a genuine desire to lend her help, that he could not bring himself to say anything for a moment. It felt selfish of him to ask Del for her help when he’d only just met her, but if he turned her down, then he had a feeling this budding conversation would come to an end, both of them going their own ways with nothing more than the uneasy knowledge of what they’d seen in the other. He found that he did not want that to happen. Not yet.

Besides, they really could use some help around Shade’s Valley… Oriole and Andromeda were incredibly skilled at what they did, but neither thief nor assassin was truly skilled at carpentry. Nor had his apprentices expected running and caring for an orphanage to be added to their list of duties. Oh, the two of them tried their best, but they were as skilled at fixing up broken things around the place as they were child-rearing… which was to say, not very good.

Even as Cyran closed his eye, letting out a soft, tired sigh, he could feel himself crumbling, even though it felt incredibly selfish of him as he did so. “There are about ten kids under my care, with the youngest around six, and the oldest thirteen. I would compensate you, of course. I can pay whatever price you see fit for your toys... and your help.” Given her talent with toymaking that he’d already observed, as if carved with careful, thoughtful hands, he would happily pay whatever price she named.

You couldn’t put a price on that kind of passion.

The next offer left his mouth before he could truly think about what he was saying. “And I’d be happy to have you stay for dinner if you’d like. It’s not much-“ Truly, it wasn’t much. Cyran was barely a functional chef, but he knew enough to cobble together something edible- “But it’s a warm meal.” He finished lamely, hoping he hadn’t overstepped his bounds.

The spot at the back of her head that felt like crackling ice splintered again at those words, a recognition of their truth and a deep seated agreement of them that spread like melting shards of water over her back. Cyran was certainly right about that. "A very fortunate surprise," Del agrees, head moving again in a slight nod, the smile on her lips wry. Thus far, this had been her best trip to Darkveil City, but she was keenly aware of how fragile that peace of mind was. That this seemed to be turning into the beginning of making a new friend, meeting a like soul, was an opportunity she treasured.

Being alone for as long as she had been, mainly on the road and moving between cities, being pursued and attacked, frequently left her stand-offish and wary of others; approaching anyone was a risk. She was alright at navigating initial conversation and small-talk, but their introduction had tossed that buffer right out the proverbial window. How do I be a person, again?

"No imposition at all," She assures him, knowing it was probably toeing the line of what was 'socially acceptable', whatever that meant, when it came to first meeting someone, but her offer was genuine, and she could tell he knew that. He seemed to take the impact of that, gracefully of course, but it was in his sigh that Del noticed a little bit of weight seem to shed itself from off his shoulders. Even if he didn't manage the orphanage alone, it was a lot of time and effort and patience to do that sort of work. And a whole lot of love. To Del, that was deeply admirable. "Ten! A full house, that sounds like. That works out perfectly then, though I can always make something specific if birthdays are coming up," she adds casually, thinking out loud.

Her mouth opens and closes as Del wrestles with herself. Ah, right, compensation. She doesn't want to decline the offer, coin never hurt, and who was she to deny a payment that was so generously offered? He had been kind enough to accept her offer, she should accept his. Though she did say she would give the toys to him... But at the offer of dinner, and the increase of the temperature of her face to the point where she thought the scar across the bridge of her nose could have lit up like a torch, Del finds the perfect compromise. She beams.

"You're-- That's... such a kind offer. I would, ah, be happy to," She agrees; she didn't want to take resources away from the orphanage, even a small meal... however, Del would be happy to combine their offers. "Dinner sounds wonderful, and I would gladly take that, and getting the chance to meet your kids, as more than enough compensation for any toys, today or in the future." She smiles, and pats her tool belt. "For maintenance, I'll have to have a look at what needs done before I can give a price." Though she had already resolved that if she was going to charge him at all, then she would request the barest minimum.

Her smile takes on a softer edge. "I do a fair bit of pro bono work for people who don't have a lot of resources, so I would be happy to extend that, if it's needed. I know what they charge around here," She turns her head, glancing at the Town Square. She knew what other carpenters tended to charge for their services, and it was usually on the expensive side. Wood was a difficult medium in the Ash Lands, though.

It could sometimes be difficult to read Cyran’s expression, for all he hid under layers of ice and careful calm, but even given the nature of his profession, he was an honest man, and not one very skilled at lying. Del would be able to see the obvious, cautious happiness in his face after her agreement that this surprise was indeed a fortunate one, and even accepting his offer for payment and dinner. He’d met plenty before in Darkveil, of course. This was the city he’d met Iryla for the first time, a meeting he would always treasure. It was here that he’d also come under Zarius’s employ, and the man had become a good friend. But rarely did he have the opportunity to speak with others of his own ilk, not just in the sense that she clearly seemed to be another of the shadows’ favored children, but her age, as well.

It was obvious from the light smattering of gray curls in her temple, matching the silver in his own hair that had begun to creep in over the years, and the experience in her eyes, that she was close to his age. Not just a kindred spirit, but a peer. And one that was not only kind with kids, but attentive and even offered to make them something special for their birthdays. She had no reason to offer such kindnesses, but it made him happy all the same. “Yes, ten. Soon to be a few more, once I prepare their rooms.” He explained. “And there aren’t any birthdays coming up, but I’m sure they’ll appreciate anything new. Getting things delivered here for them is… difficult to manage. They’ve taken to coming up with new games to amuse themselves, but I wish I could provide more for them sometimes.”

He let out a wistful sigh in lament, before realizing that he was rambling again.

“Um. Yes. Dinner.” He scrambled, trying to remember what he’d been planning on making. “Like I said, nothing much. Just beef and potatoes, I think.” A simple meal, but one that would provide him a chance to get to know Del better. “And please, I insist on payment. Your time and effort for both the toys and repairs are worth more than one small meal.” It felt a crime to ask an artisan to do so much for nothing, not when her work would mean a hell of a lot to himself and the kids. Not to mention… there were a lot of repairs that needed to be taken care of.

His heart softened when she explained she was used to doing work for people who could not afford to pay as much. She truly was a generous person. “There’s no need to worry about the price. I can afford it.” He still had some of Astrid’s funds set aside specifically for Shade’s Valley maintenance. He might not have had much in the way of money for himself, but no expense was spared for them. “You’re not from around here, are you?” He presumed Del was staying at an inn, perhaps the Dancer’s Den. “Charity work is admirable, but I would much prefer you save it for those who need it. I am more than capable and willing to compensate you.”

As they walked through town square, Cyran occasionally stopped and spoke with some familiar stall owners, making more purchases for the orphanage. Little things here and there - a few more blankets, some extra food for dinner. Some of them, he was beginning to build a rapport with after months in the city, and would voice their troubles to him. He would kindly listen while nodding along before reminding them that Remarnd was always present around the city if they needed any help.

But for the most part he stuck close to Del, still utterly intrigued by her but unsure how to break the silence. He could not help but wonder how a carpenter had come to work this far up north, in a place where good wood was scarce. Or what business had brought her here in the first place. He didn’t want to pry. But curiosity still burned in his chest, the desire to get to know Del better. “So if you’re not a local, where are you from?”

There. That seemed an innocent enough question.

A few more of those internal walls crumble as Cyran speaks to how he wished to do more for the children under his care, her gaze reflecting that tenderness he clearly had for them. "I imagine any imports have to be expensive." She agrees. She can see the way Cyran wears his heart on his sleeve, in his own careful way, the subtle tugs at the corners of his eyes that speak to his genuine delight and warmth, the relaxed slant to his shoulders. She feels... welcome. Understood. Confident that if something were to disturb either of them at the other end of the street, they would both immediately snap a look in that direction, before going back to their conversation without missing a beat, if all was well.

"If there's more arriving soon, then I will have to make sure they'll have toys as well," she resolves with a light laugh. Hearing what was on the menu made her smile appreciatively; modest it might be, but she would rather a humble meal cooked by hands that nourished the mind and the soul, than a fancy meal by someone who was only concerned with appearance and rarity. "Beef and potatoes sounds delicious, actually. Since I'm on the road a lot, I tend to mostly eat rations, or whatever I can forage."

Her brow arches, the corner of her mouth lifting in a slightly askew lilted smile. Even though he managed an orphanage, he still insisted on paying her in full, and with an assurance that he could afford it. It felt... new to have her work feel so valued. It was clear Cyran understood the effort, time, and skill involved in her work, something her mentor had driven home, but was something he had reserved implementing on the richest of people. Most would be glad for the offer of inexpensive labour and trinkets, but that he was adamant he would be able to afford it.

Though Cyran did seem well equipped, she notes, keen blacksmith eyes looking over the armor, but it wasn't flashy or ostentatious. Practical, refined, unique, but not designed to show off. Del's eyes close in a slow blink, gracefully accepting. She could tell he meant it, that he wasn't just saying it out of some faux humility-- he had said it three times. She had a feeling if she tried to decline, she would find a certain amount of solars somewhere in her bag that hadn't been there before. A quiet huff of a laugh escapes her. "I wouldn't dream of declining your generous offer, then. It might give me more ability to be able to help out others in need of similar work, now that I think on it," she reasons with a knowing look, taking the compliment again for her work. That felt like a very fair exchange.

"Ah, but, no, not from around here. Is it so obvious?" Del laughs, knowing that, yes, it indeed was. "I don't usually go anywhere with any place to stay in mind, though I will take a room in a tavern most nights when they're available." Or when it was safe. Most times, being in a building with lots of other people was risky, both for the bystanders and for her. It increased her changes of being recognized, and when she wasn't sure what locales were safe, being stuck in an area where she was vulnerable and couldn't easil get away was often a bad decision. That did mean that she spent her nights outdoors more often than not, but she was resourceful.

As they walk, she stays near, careful to give some respectful space when Cyran approached someone he knew, but staying within his orbit. She greeted those who looked to her with a nod and a soft hello, but for the most part, watched Cyran at work. Surmising he was picking things up for the orphanage, she eyed what was apparently at need, while listening. He extended a kind ear to everyone, treating them with a gentle understanding she found... heartwarming, was close to the right word. Cyran truly cared about the people here, had enmeshed himself in the city enough where these normally very wary people were openly pleased to see him. It brought a little sting to her eyes she held carefully back. A true kindred spirit. She could only hope to have that impact on others.

She offered to help carry some of the procured items as they walked, getting a good look at the neighbourhood and wondering what to ask next, fidgeting with words and topics, turning them over in her head. So much she wanted to ask-- oh, he wanted to know more about her...? "Oh, I'm, ah..." Del pauses, and then laughs a little. It was a weird topic to tell the truth about so early on into a conversation, but she didn't want to lie, even by omission. It meant a moment of vulnerability, but she could bear that. He had already seen her where she wasn't meant to be seen, that was about as vulnerable as a first meeting could get.

"To tell you the truth, that's a complicated question. I have a fair bit of memory loss, so I am not sure where I'm actually from. The time I can remember was spent in the mountains of the Crescent Isles, learning my trade. Nowadays, I do a lot of travelling, so, I suppose I'm not really from anywhere." A small lift of her shoulder is offered as a sort of punctuation; Del didn't mean for that to sound sad, but it was something she was used to.

"The people here though really seem to enjoy your presence," Del notes, looking over her shoulder with a smile at the stall owner who waved at Cyran. The way he had impacted the city was incredible to see. ...She should ask something as well, right? Which one... "Are you originally from here as well, or do you hail from elsewhere?"

Well, it wasn't original, considering it was basically what Cyran had just asked, but it was a start.

“Quite expensive.” Cyran confirmed. “But we supplement as much as we can from local resources.” The orphanage itself and most of the inside had been built into the old bones of a building whose original purpose Cyran could not determine, mostly comprised of stone, with little wood to be seen save in the floors, as well as the bookshelves and other furniture that Cyran had supplemented when putting the place together. “And I’m sure that would make them feel right at home.”

Really, he wasn’t sure why he was going on so much about the orphanage to someone he’d only just met. Maybe it was the earnest expression on Del’s face, as if she was genuinely interested in what Cyran had to say and wanted to know more. It made him feel less guarded than he would normally be when talking about his kids, a little more open. Speaking to Del made him feel at ease in a way he hadn’t expected upon their first meeting. That kind of connection, their meeting, was one that could have easily turned on its head. And yet, he found that her even-tempered and firm personality was one that was all too easy to fall in step with, just as easy as it was to fall in sync with her as they walked, both with the gait of those who held far more power than one might expect from those who claimed to be a simple orphanage-owner and blacksmith. There was understanding in this, too.

“Then I’m happy to provide a home-cooked meal… though I cannot claim to be a chef.” He added at the end. Still, he hoped it would at least be better than rations, namely because it was fresh and not-dried.

He did not expect Del to grow hesitant as he asked where she was from… for a moment, Cyran wondered if he’d asked the wrong question, and wished he could take the words back before they’d even left his mouth and clearly caused her internal strife. It had seemed innocent enough, but he knew all too well the turmoil that came from your origins. He opened his mouth, unsure of what he meant to do - apologize for prying?- but before he could, Del had started speaking once more, admitting that she couldn’t quite remember where she was originally from.

He would not show her pity for the admission. Del was obviously no wilting flower. She moved with the confidence of someone who knew who she was, even if the mind could not remember what the body was so confident of. But he was sure she’d heard no level of empty apologies and insincere words from those who thought such a thing made her weak. Anyone who saw her, truly took a moment to look, would see that was not the case. Still… part of Cyran wondered how much Del felt the loss of those memories.

He waved his hand, as if brushing away his previous inquiry. “In my opinion… where you’re from doesn’t matter one bit, so long as you know where you’re going.” There was a hint of melancholy in his own voice that matched the serious tone in hers before he broke into a smile that crinkled the edges of his eyes, a small reminder of his age. “But the Crescent Isles are lovely. I’ve been there a few times myself, and some dear friends are from there.”

As they walked, Cyran occasionally speaking with local shop owners where they went, Del eventually flipped the question back on him. The answer… did not come quite as difficult to him as it might once have. “Perhaps not enjoy my presence… I would say they tolerate it.” Cyran was a man of two reputations here in Darkveil - the orphanage owner and the assassin. He provided a service, whether one was in need of the former of the latter, both conflicting with one another. Most weren’t sure what to make of it, he thought. But that was neither here nor there.

“I’m from Moonglade myself, originally. Eclipse City.” He replied, unable to stop his own memories from simmering to the surface, for the briefest moment, as they always did when he thought about home. High society parties and cold looks and a gilded cage disguised as a home. “But… for the last few years, I’ve been a wanderer, same as you.” He added with a small laugh. “I have only settled down in Darkveil in the last few months or so.”

Hardly any time at all, really, in the grand scheme of things. That strange feeling from before returned as Cyran led Del through the market, closer to Shade’s Valley. The crowd began to disperse as they entered a quieter street.

“So, you learned… carpentry in the Crescent Isles, then?” That small talk seemed innocent enough, he hoped.

Her expression brightens; she certainly hoped it would help those children feel more at ease, more welcome in a new environment. Something about people, but especially kids who lacked homes and people to care for them, spoke to her on a spiritual level. Saw a little bit of herself in them. Though she was no longer a child-- far from it-- and she could not remember her upbringing, she still understood what it was to feel displaced an adrift, surviving on the whims of others. Cyran was providing safety for the most unsafe. That spoke to her, too.

"Nor can I," she concurs, "not much opportunity for fine cuisine on the road. I can cook a half decent pheasant, though, if I can manage to scrounge up a bit of rosemary. I am definitely looking forward to it, and to taking a look at what you've done so far with the place." The tone remains buoyant, casually joking about her ability, or lack thereof, while offering a little positivity in there. It seemed a good cover, at least, following her honesty about her memory.

It was a strange feeling to not remember what she could not remember, to not be burdened by the weight of that loss but only to see a gaping chasm of what she'd once had, all she had forgotten, was not unlike viewing a desert and knowing it had once been an ocean. The few people she had mentioned it to had varying responses to it; some flat out didn't believe her, others extended sincere concern... but in the end, it was a platitude, wasn't it? A way to disengage from the discomfort of the truth that Del had to live with. She didnt begrudge anyone, but it did often add to the level of distance most people held her at.

Cyran did not shy from it. He met her gaze levelly and without flinching, a somber understanding in his silver eyes, and did not offer empty words of pity or ones of doubt. In his silent, sincere way, he acknoweledged and accepted the weight of her words, all without ever asking her to divulge more. He understood, Del realized, hearing his response and noticing the way his gaze softened, crinkling at the corners. Here was someone who knew what it was to forge your own identity, your own path, with only what was left behind you, or at least had seen it enough times to recognize it. His words were... heartening.

Del returns his smile with an agreeing tilt of her head. She wasn't quite sure where she was headed, but she was enjoying the journey, and for now, that was enough. "I agree. How you get there is part of the fun, right?" Scarred brows lift, delighted to hear he had been to the Crescent Isles. "You have? It is really lovely, isn't it? I miss the smell of wisteria and cherry blossom in the early spring." She could almost smell the fragrant flowers carried on the mists that rose with the dawn off the mountain.

Glancing behind them at the more recent shop owner, and back to Cyran, Del gave an understanding nod. Everyone seemed friendly enough, to Cyran at least, but she was all too aware of how paranoid and cagey a lot of the citizens here were. They had good reason for it, but it also meant their attitude could turn on a dime. It makes sense even moreso as Cyran reveals he is from Eclipse City. There's a quality to his tone, a neutrality as if his mind was elsewhere for a moment, that when combined with his statement that he had been a wanderer for a few years himself, that implied something about his departure. Del didn't try to ascertain the deeper meaning, stopping on the observation. Which was something of an internal surprise; as a safety mechanism, Del often examined people to try and gather their true intention. Here, though, she stopped deliberately.

She didn't want to guess. She would be happy to know, but it wasn't important presently, wasn't vital to her safety. Instead, Del simply wanted to listen, and be present. What a concept.

"I did, yes," her eyes shift, looking up and around at a quiet street she hadn't been down yet; habitually checking points of ambush and finding everything clear, to her eye. She did not think Cyran would lead her to a trap, at least, she had certainly thought not; this was simple reflex, done without thinking. "I had an instructor, an old dwarf who taught me his trade, and how to smith. It proved to be an excellent way of keeping the hands busy, and I found I really liked that bit of creation, making a new shape out of an old material. Like breathing a little wonder into the world, one whittle at a time."

Del blinks and then chuffs a little in amusement at herself; that was a bit philosophical. Sheepish, she tucks a strand of hair behind her ear, gold loops that her curls threaded through here and there clinking slightly. "What, ah, is it that brought you to start an orphanage here in Darkveil City? You mentioned you haven't been here that long, but you've done something pretty incredible in that short amount of time, from what I can see"

Cyran could only nod emphatically while Del described the woes of living on the road. He could definitely empathize - his own travels were spent eating dried food and whatever stale bread he could carry on him. He usually didn’t bother carrying spices or seasoning with him at all. Even if Cyran did cook while he was out and about, it was stale, and usually only for survival. “Do you find yourself cooking pheasants on the road often?” He asked, only partially joking. On some level, he was also curious how Del traveled… the kind of things that people carried on them or the time they spent on the road said a lot about them. “It is a… nice space.” It had not been put together and into working order by the hands of laborers, but by someone who cared about what he was doing.

And then the tone of the conversation shifted to something more somber - Del’s memory, or lack thereof. Cyran felt guilty for bringing up this topic of conversation, and in an awkward twist of social etiquette, had accidentally made her reveal this secret of hers. It was not something that would make him think differently, of course. He still felt… odd, somewhat, knowing something so vulnerable about her, when she knew nothing about him in turn. He supposed she would, eventually. If there was nothing they could hide from one another, as their meeting had seemed to imply, then one day, Cyran would be placed in an equally open position, if they were going to be seeing more of one another.

Cyran had a feeling they would.

He only hoped that she would not judge him in turn.

At the very least, she knew what his words meant in offering. The past didn’t really matter, not when you knew where you wanted to go. And for Del, right now, that seemed to be wandering, as far as he could tell. To what, or from what, he didn’t know. And it wasn’t his place to know yet. But whatever it was that she was looking for, Del had a surety and a confidence about her that spoke that she knew what she was looking for, and that was enough. When she spoke again, she sounded… lighter than she had moments ago.

“The starting point doesn’t matter.” Cyran replied. “And the destination is only the endgoal. The journey is the longest part.” So it was best to enjoy it while one could. That was something he’d only begun to learn recently.

“I was there a few months ago, around Winter’s Crown.” He confirmed. Admittedly, that had been for work, and the results of that mission had been… disastrous, to say the least. There was no chance to stop and smell the cherry blossom trees when one was attempting to evade the mercenaries sent after you by a vengeful businesswoman… one who had turned out to be your daughter, a thought that ached as relieving as it was to see that she was still alive and well.

He cast a sideways glance at Del. It was far too soon for him to speak of such things, wasn’t it? He was the kind of person who held his insecurities and troubles close to his chest, but when it came to speaking of them, he found himself at a loss.

“I… truly wish it had been under better circumstances.” He admitted. “I was down there for work, but it ended rather disastrously, you see.” Here, he offered her a sheepish look in lieu of any other explanation of what happened. “I would love to visit for matters other than work. The Crescent Isles are beautiful, and Moonglade is not without its own charm. If life had been different, I would have been content to live there for the rest of my days.”

It was a concession - the closest he could come to saying he’d been forcibly removed. Even a decade later, his exile was a bit of a sore spot. Perhaps it made him a hypocrite, when he had told Del the past was unimportant, but he just… worried, was all. It was not a burden he needed to bother Del with, but it was a small bit of honesty in turn for what she had admitted to him.

He still felt odd admitting such a thing, but there was no judgment in Del’s eyes whatsoever. He quickly changed the subject, much more content listening to Del speak about her experience with the smith and carpentry, and the satisfaction that came with creating something for once. He was well-acquainted with the feeling. When you made a living destroying things it felt good on the rare opportunity you got to make something for once. And she was good at it, from what he’d seen. Clearly, Del was filled to the brim with passion for the things she did, reflected in her speech, her mannerisms, the rough quality of her hands. Almost like there was so much life in her that she simply had to release it into the world in whatever way she could, through woodcarvings and bits of scrap metal.

“I think that’s lovely.” He whispered. “And your mentor sounds like a wonderful person.”

Del paused, fiddling with her curls for a moment as if embarrassed by how excited she’d just gotten. Cyran would have liked to listen to her speak more, until she turned the subject back to him.

“I didn’t move here to start an orphanage, not originally.” He shrugged. “I came up here for some… unrelated business, only to get robbed in the first couple of days I’d been in town.” That had been a rather eventful day, his first meeting with Iryla and reunion with Zarius. His meeting with Iryla, getting to know her and grow to cherish her more than anything, had been his inspiration for opening Shade’s Valley. “I ended up getting dinner for my pick-pocketer, and she showed me around the city. It was while I got to know her that I realized that Darkveil is woefully lacking in safe spaces for the city’s lost children, and if it was something I could provide, then I figured there was no reason why I shouldn’t.”

He flushed.

“It may be idealistic, I know. But it’s something I’m happy doing.” And it made him feel like his actions mattered in a good way, for a change.

"When I can get my hands on them," she laughs; they were easier to trap than rabbits, at least, but they were still usually scarce near the roads, especially where she had been travelling as of late. "They make for good trade at outposts, too, but sometimes you just need a proper meal. I usually stick to rations, for the most part."

Del ponders the words as they fall from her lips; had it been so long since she had a proper conversation with someone that she was just saying whatever came to mind, or was she just... comfortable? That was almost stranger.

A brow lifts at Cyran's cautious words regarding the orphanage, something guarded and hesitant there, a little proud. Is he uncertain, maybe? She doesn't press, figuring she will see for herself soon enough. He cared very much about the orphanage and it's occupants, that much was clear, but she was aware that organizations of altruism and social care were often not very well funded. Del made a note to not bring any judgment, if things weren't in the most ideal order... but she doubted that was the case, for some reason. Cyran seemed very meticulous and thoughtful, he did not seem the type to allow something to fall into heavy disrepair. Her interest in the situation grew.

Following his explanation of his most recent visit to the Crescent Isles and his footsteps, Del listened, paying careful mind to his words and his expressions. There was a deliberateness with which he spoke, choosing words with precision and care. It was the things not said that she understood the depth of, if not their subject matter; his sheepish admittance it had ended very poorly indeed, a silent apology. There is a degree of openness there that is not a rejection or a rebuke of her questions, only a careful caution and a hesitance she understood. Something had happened that had caused him to no longer be in the Moonglade, but saying what exactly would be... too much. Like the slow opening of a flower bud, similar to the one on his eyepatch. That couldn't be earned in half an hour after meeting someone. That needed patience and time.

Del hoped she would get more time to find out.

"I hope you get the chance to, one day. The spring must be coming there soon, they're such pretty flowers." her smile broadens. She was happy to allow him the grace of changing the subject, to give her the chance to explain her instruction and her mentor. Hearing he thought her philosophy 'lovely' sends a wave of heat back up through the skin of her face, not used to such honesty. Or acceptance. Or softness in one's voice. Her smile turns shy, to acknowledge how much that meant, but any words to accompany it unexpectedly die in her throat. "He certainly is."

Hearing he had been robbed on his first visit here, Del's brows lift all the way up, surprised-- and surprised how he seemed to take it in such stride. Though learning more about the circumstances, how he had turned around and made a wonderful moment of it, filled with a compassion towards the little pickpocketer she knew not many would otherwise have. Especially not in Darkveil. This place was rough and dangerous for an adult, never mind being a child. It's easy to follow Cyran's logic for how he wound up coming to his conclusion. Not something he had intended, but a need he had seen that required being filled. Something about that makes her heart squeeze; it was so damned nice.

That solidified it for Del. This was a man of integrity, who care openly about others, who unabashedly expressed compassion and earnest hope for those who were less advantaged in life. This was someone very much worth knowing. In truth, she felt a little dwarfed by the magnitude of the impact he clearly had on those around him. Cyran wasn't just a man who spoke pretty words, he was a man who took direct action. Talk was cheap, but he understood. He was kin.

Del appreciated that. Perhaps more than even she realized, as curiosity evolved into interest, and an urge to learn more.

"That's an incredible story," Del beams, "that's so sweet; and now she has a home and safety, a space to just be a kid. I think the world sorely needs idealism like yours." Her voice is sincere throughout, but on that, especially. "How much would change if we saw people as people and not simply as their actions? You gave her a second chance. That's... very admirable."

Moving, actually.

Realizing that was probably a bit much, seeing a bit of colour on his cheeks, she clears her throat again, fearing she may have overstepped. It was just... so exciting to meet someone who thought along her same lines. "I mean, ah, that's in the same area of why I work like I do; there's people that need help they can't get elsewhere. There are countless people who suffer with broken rooves leaking rain, wagons with wheels that fall off when they need to get to the market, or a pot with a hole in it that can't hold water. Or a child that hasn't ever been able to have something of their very own." That one always got to Del. It was almost enough to choke her up now, but she pushes it back, flexing her jaw in a pause before speaking again. "If I have the skills and ability to do things that matter, then I should do them."

...oh, was that too passionate? She tries on a gentler smile instead. "I completely agree with your reasoning, and I'm interested to see what you've built."